All Chapters of The Triplet's Bullied Mate: Chapter 291 - Chapter 295

Elowen’s POVThe sun, a molten orb sinking towards the horizon, cast long, dramatic shadows across the secluded sparring field nestled behind the ancient stone walls of the academy. Golden rays, thick and warm, bled across the soft, yielding grass, painting the familiar landscape in hues of amber and rose. The other students, their energy spent after the rigorous combat class, had long since scattered back to the relative comfort of their quarters, but I had lingered, my body still thrumming with the residual adrenaline of earlier matches, and my heart… still a tangled mess of conflicting emotions that the physical exertion hadn’t quite managed to unravel.“I knew you’d wait.”The deep, familiar timbre of his voice sent a shiver down my spine. I turned slowly.Ranon stepped out of the long shadows cast by the ancient oak trees bordering the training ground, his presence as always both silent and undeniably solid. His dark training shirt clung to the sculpted lines of his torso, damp w

Elowen’s POV Before I could even form a coherent response, he captured my lips with a fierce, possessive hunger, his hands moving with a renewed urgency, exploring every inch of exposed skin with a desperate need. The lingering tension from our sparring match dissolved into a raw, primal desire that mirrored my own burgeoning need. His knee nudged my legs apart with a subtle command, and he settled his weight more fully against me, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing insistently against the slick heat gathering between my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped my lips, my body arching instinctively into his, a silent plea for connection. I needed him, wanted him, with a ferocity that eclipsed anything I had ever felt before. With a low, guttural groan that rumbled deep in his chest, he entered me, filling me completely. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust a measured exploration, the rhythm designed to stoke the already blazing fires within me until they burned hotter than the midda

Alaric’s POV My fists were still trembling, the residual adrenaline of the confrontation coursing through my veins. I could feel the dull throb of the scrape on my knuckles from where they’d connected with Lysander’s arrogant jaw—a sharp, satisfying impact that had barely scratched the surface of the consuming fury that still burned within me. How dare he touch her? How dare he look at her with that possessive glint in his eyes, as if she were some prize to be won, something to conquer? The possessive rage was a living thing inside me, a primal fire threatening to consume me whole. My wolf was clawing just beneath the surface, snarling and restless, demanding blood. Demanding retribution. Demanding justice for the blatant disrespect. But beneath the burning rage, a flicker of something colder, more unsettling, remained. She’d looked… scared. Not of him. Of me. I replayed the chaotic scene over and over in my mind as I stormed down the deserted corridor, the air around me prac