Semua Bab The Triplet's Bullied Mate: Bab 411 - Bab 420

Elowen's POV “What did you say?” His voice was quiet, a dangerous, low growl that was sharp enough to cut stone, to freeze blood in veins. The girl paled visibly, her face draining of color, her bravado vanishing like smoke in a strong wind. She looked utterly terrified, trembling as she dropped her eyes to the floor, unable to meet his furious gaze. “I—nothing, Alpha,” she stammered, her voice a reedy whisper, barely audible. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, the unspoken threat clear in his tone. He held her in his chilling stare for another agonizing moment before finally, contemptuously, dismissing her. Theron’s grin was a little wicked, a flash of predatory satisfaction, as he muttered under his breath, just for our ears, “You’re lucky he’s the one who heard you first, you little fool. I might’ve actually enjoyed tearing out that petty tongue.” Alaric simply shook his head, a weary but understanding sigh escaping him. He pulled me closer to him, his arm firm around

Elowen’s POV It had been a quiet afternoon, a deceptive blanket of peace that lulled you into believing nothing bad could ever touch you here, within the hallowed grounds of the pack. The sun, a benevolent orb, cast long, golden fingers through the meticulously pruned hedges of the private garden. I was sitting on a stone bench, bathed in that warmth, my fingers tracing lazy, aimless circles across the gentle swell of my stomach, a smile playing on my lips as I imagined the baby’s face—whose eyes they’d have, whose fierce temper, whose mischievous grin. The air was sweet with the scent of late-blooming roses and damp earth, a symphony of calm. And then… I felt it. Not magic. I didn’t have that anymore, not in the raw, explosive way I once did. There was no sharp burst of instinct that screamed danger, no internal light flaring in my veins like a beacon. Just a… wrongness. A subtle disharmony in the peaceful hum of the garden. A prickle on the back of my neck that defied logical

Elowen’s POV I woke to silence. A profound, sacred stillness that wrapped around me like a warm, protective blanket. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no shouting echoing in my memories, no wind roaring with the phantom sound of magic, no cruel whispers of prophecy or the crushing weight of destiny clinging to my soul. Just the muted hush of morning sunlight, soft and golden, spilling across the luxurious silk sheets, and the steady, rhythmic breathing of three powerful hearts beating in unison around me. I lay there for a long while, suspended between sleep and waking, my eyes half-closed, letting myself fully absorb the comforting weight of them. One arm, heavy and possessive, lay draped across my hip, anchoring me. Another, equally strong, was curled gently around mine. And a third, a large, warm hand, rested lightly over the gentle swell of my stomach, a silent, reverent guardianship. Ranon’s warmth was a solid presence at my back, his breath, even and

Elowen’s POV By the time breakfast was over, my cheeks literally ached from the sheer, unadulterated joy that had kept them stretched in a constant smile. The previous night’s terror, the lingering shadows of doubt, had been meticulously, lovingly, banished by my mates. It still amazed me, how easily they made the heaviness in my chest dissolve—with soft, reassuring hands and playful, teasing smirks, with quiet, profound words that somehow always found the cracks in my walls and filled them with warmth, with light. The packhouse was unusually quiet that afternoon, a rare calm settling over everything after the intensity of the past few days. It seemed even the pack was holding its breath, absorbing the momentous news. The four of us, drawn together by an invisible thread, ended up in the west wing of the grand mansion—a large, sunlit room, rarely used, that overlooked a sprawling, ancient oak forest. Its high ceilings and vast windows lent it an airy, almost ethereal quality. “T

Elowen’s POV Morning sunlight, ethereal and pure, spilled through the tall, newly hung nursery windows in gentle, golden beams. It caught on the soft cream curtains, chosen specifically for their ability to diffuse the light, and illuminated the sparkling dust motes that danced in the air like tiny, joyful sprites. I sat on the edge of the polished wooden rocking chair, its smooth curves a perfect fit, wrapped in one of Alaric’s oversized, wonderfully comforting sweaters. Its sleeves swallowed my hands, the soft wool a reassuring presence as I cradled a warm mug of fragrant herbal tea, its steam curling up to warm my face. My belly had grown, subtly but undeniably. Just enough for the edge of the sweater to stretch slightly across it, a gentle curve that was becoming more pronounced with each passing day. Just enough to feel truly real, a tangible testament to the life growing within. Just enough for people to start noticing, for the whispers to turn into knowing glances. The tr