Semua Bab The Triplet's Bullied Mate: Bab 371 - Bab 380

Elowen's POV The river whispered again. It always did—soft and slow, a liquid sigh against the ancient stones, as if it knew secrets older than the stars, secrets whispered from the dawn of creation. Its silver surface shimmered in the moonlight, a vast, rippling canvas reflecting the celestial tapestry above. These reflected ripples of power danced across the smooth, cold stones at my bare feet, pulling me deeper into a trance. I stood at its edge, shivering slightly in the cool night air, in the exact same spot I had seen her before. The Moon Goddess. The first time she appeared, I had been utterly broken. Lost. Tearing at the seams of the girl I used to be, a fractured echo of a human trying to hold onto a life that was no longer mine. But now… now I was something else entirely. I had faced the darkest corners of my bloodline, confronted the horrifying truth of my father’s betrayal. I had ended Caelum, that twisted wolf who sought to claim me, a raw force of vengeance unleas

Elowen's POV The house was quiet when we returned, a hushed sanctuary after the storm. Not a storm of thunder and wind, but one of raw, tumultuous emotion, of cosmic choices and brutal ends. It was the kind of sacred quiet only such a tempest leaves behind, a profound stillness that settled into the very timbers of the ancient mansion. My limbs ached in strange, unfamiliar ways, a deep, pervasive weariness that felt as if every part of me had been broken open, rearranged, and then meticulously put back together. My magic had changed, tempered and refined, shedding its wild edges. I had changed, irrevocably. But they—Alaric, Theron, and Ranon—were still the same unwavering anchors in my ever-shifting world. I didn’t speak. Not yet. The words felt too heavy, too fragile to form. Ranon carried me inside. There was no argument from me, no protest, no need for words. Just his arms, strong and sure around me, holding me against his broad chest, his heartbeat a powerful, rhythmic thunder

Elowen's POV Breakfast was… chaotic in the way only they, with their vibrant, clashing personalities, could make it. Yet, it was the most perfect chaos imaginable. Ranon, having claimed the seat directly beside me, refused to let me cut my own fruit. He peeled an orange with infuriating slowness, then separated each segment, smirking as he fed me each bite himself. “Say ‘thank you,’” he drawled every single time, his golden eyes daring me to argue, challenging me to defy him. “Thank you, Alpha,” I mocked sweetly, my voice dripping with exaggerated politeness, and was rewarded with a low, possessive growl as his hand gripped the back of my neck, his thumb stroking my pulse point. “Careful, little flame,” he murmured in my ear, his voice dropping low, thick with a husky promise that sent shivers despite myself, cheeks burning with a delicious flush. “You know what happens when you get smart with me. You might find yourself alone with me, with no brothers to save you.” Theron,

Elowen's POV The rooftop was alive with starlight when we emerged from the narrow hatch at the top of the stairs. The cool evening air wrapped around me like a promise, a soft caress against my flushed cheeks, invigorating and fresh. The faint, sweet scent of pine and moonflowers drifted up from the garden below, mingling with the crispness of the night. The dark red tiles of the roof were still warm from the day’s sun, radiating a gentle heat beneath my bare feet, but the sky above was a vast canvas of black velvet, scattered with countless brilliant silver stars, each one a tiny, distant jewel. Theron and Ranon were already up there, of course—their figures silhouetted against the nascent cosmic backdrop. Theron leaned against the short, sturdy wall at the edge of the roof, his posture relaxed, almost deceptively so, but his eyes were sharp, ever vigilant, scanning the horizon, ever protective. Ranon sat sprawled against a luxurious pile of thick blankets and plush cushions they

Elowen's POV It didn’t stop there. Their love, their care, their desire, was a tapestry woven by three unique threads. When Alaric finally released me, his lingering touch a warmth on my skin, Theron was already standing behind me, his hands settling lightly, yet possessively, on my shoulders. His touch was a stark contrast to Alaric’s gentle warmth, more electric, more demanding. “You’re still tense,” he murmured, his voice a low, knowing rumble that vibrated through my bones. Before I could protest, before I could deny it, he began to knead the stubborn knots in my neck and shoulders with long, sure fingers, his touch firm but careful, precisely targeting the points of tension. “You don’t have to—” I started, a sigh escaping my lips as the immediate relief of his massage spread through me. “Shut up, little witch,” he interrupted, his tone laced with amusement, a playful command that I instinctively obeyed. His touch was firm but careful, imbued with his kinetic energy, a