Semua Bab The Triplet's Bullied Mate: Bab 391 - Bab 400

Elowen's POV “You’re terrible at letting go, Luna,” he teased, his breath hot and ragged against my wet cheek, his lips brushing my skin. “Always holding on too tight.” “Maybe you’re just bad at catching me, Alpha,” I shot back breathlessly, my voice laced with a playful defiance, my chest heaving from the laughter and movement. That earned me a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through his chest, a sound that was both a warning and a promise. He spun me again, faster this time, his hands steady and sure even as the ground became slick beneath our bare feet, a challenge to my balance, to my trust. We moved together like we’d done this a hundred times before, like we were born to dance in the rain—laughing and stumbling and kissing between movements as the rain drenched us all to the bone, plastering our clothes to our bodies, revealing the powerful forms beneath. It was a dance of pure, unadulterated joy and fierce, undeniable connection. Alaric caught me when I nearly slipp

Elowen's POV Alaric sank down onto the rug at my side, his presence a comforting weight, completing the circle of warmth around me. One large hand rested lightly on my knee, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate patterns through the fabric of the shirt. His other hand reached up, his fingers surprisingly gentle, to tuck a damp, stray strand of my hair behind my ear, his touch lingering on my skin. “You’re beautiful like this, Elowen,” he murmured, his voice a low, sincere caress. “Messy and wet? My hair’s probably matted,” I scoffed softly, a self-deprecating laugh escaping me, still unaccustomed to such unwavering adoration. “Gorgeous,” he corrected smoothly, his gaze fixed on mine, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name—a profound tenderness, an overwhelming devotion. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Utterly, breathtakingly gorgeous. More so because you’re unapologetically yourself.” Theron chuckled softly from his place opposite me, h

Elowen's POV Days passed like this, a gentle succession of moments woven into a tapestry of pure contentment. We moved through them wrapped in warmth, and quiet, and the strange, unspoken rhythm the four of us had begun to move in, a fluid dance of intertwined lives. Each morning unfurled with the promise of lingering touches and soft whispers, each afternoon invited playful chaos, and each evening settled into a profound, intimate peace. The world outside didn’t stop, of course. There were still whispers of the Council’s disapproval, a low hum of dissent that reached even into our secluded haven. There was still the shadow of the immense power within me that I didn’t yet fully understand, a raw, untamed force waiting to be mastered. And there were still enemies, like Caelum, lurking in the periphery, who might strike when we least expected, when our guard was down. But here, within the comforting, impenetrable cocoon of their home, none of that seemed to matter. It felt distant, m

Elowen's POV Theron, still crouched, stilled completely, his gaze fixed on my face. Alaric’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly as he seemed to catch onto the shift in my demeanor. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Ranon demanded, his golden eyes blazing with renewed worry and a flicker of impatience. “Elowen, you’re clearly unwell.” I straightened slowly, carefully, pressing a trembling hand to my belly, an instinctive, protective gesture that felt utterly foreign and profoundly natural all at once. “I…” My throat was dry, suddenly parched. The word caught there, sticky and impossible and yet undeniably real. It felt monumental, a truth too big for the small kitchen. “I think… I might be…” I couldn’t even say it. The word felt too immense, too sacred, too terrifying to utter aloud. But the silence that fell in the kitchen said everything. It was thick with unspoken questions, with dawning comprehension. The air seemed to thrum with a sudden, anticipatory energy. Ranon

Elowen's POV The woman’s sharp, intelligent eyes softened, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see.” She nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her gaze. She straightened, moving to a small, cluttered table nearby to gather what she needed—a crystal pendulum, its facets glinting in the dim light, a shallow, hand-carved bowl of clear, shimmering water, and a few pinches of finely crushed, iridescent herbs that she sprinkled carefully into the liquid. “Hold still, child,” she instructed softly, her voice carrying a gentle authority. Her hands, glowing faintly with a soft, internal luminescence, hovered over the bowl, then over my body. When she began to whisper the words—old words, a language that seemed to hum with the very pulse of the earth, older than even the Moon Goddess herself, a low, melodic chant—the clear water in the bowl began to shimmer and glow, reflecting the subtle light of her magic. For a long, breathless moment, nothing happened. The silence in the room was a