Semua Bab The Triplet's Bullied Mate: Bab 421 - Bab 428

Elowen POV The night was strangely quiet, a profound stillness that settled over the ancient Western Forests. It wasn't the kind of silence that felt empty or desolate—but the kind that hummed with a palpable anticipation, like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for a profound shift. The wind, usually a boisterous companion, barely moved, stirring the leaves with only the gentlest whisper. Even the stars felt closer, glowing with an intensified, low silver light above our secluded clearing, as if leaning in to witness a sacred event. And beneath them, within the sacred confines of the birthing tent, crafted from thick, fragrant canvas and imbued with ancient wards, I labored. The pains, once manageable waves, now crashed over me with relentless force, each one pulling me deeper into the raw, primal dance of creation. The birthing room itself was a haven of warmth and comfort, meticulously prepared by the pack’s healers. It was lit with low, golden lanterns that cast f

Elowen's POV The moon, a luminous disc of pearl, hung low in the velvet sky, casting long, ethereal silver shadows that danced and shifted across the bedroom walls. The only sound in the vast, quiet room was the soft, comforting crackle of the hearth fire, its flames a warm, flickering counterpoint to the cool moonlight. That, and the gentle, impossibly soft breaths of our daughter, a tiny symphony of new life. Lyra lay nestled in a small, exquisitely carved cradle beside our grand bed, a delicate masterpiece of dark wood and soft, organic cotton. Her tiny chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath, a perfect rhythm that seemed to orchestrate the entire room. Her little fingers, miniature and perfect, twitched in her sleep, curled instinctively around the edge of a pale blanket, hand-stitched with intricate patterns of golden thread that shimmered faintly in the dim light. I sat propped against the headboard, my legs curled to one side, tucked comfortably beneath me. My soft, w

Elowen's POV It began as a deceptively peaceful evening, one that lulled the senses into a false sense of ordinary tranquility. The persistent rain of the afternoon had finally come and gone, leaving behind a crisp, clean scent of wet earth mingling with the sweet perfume of blooming petals from the rain-kissed gardens. The packhouse, usually a bustling hub of activity and conversation, was unusually quiet—almost too quiet, a hushed anticipation hanging in the air. The only sound breaking the serene stillness was the soft, contented cooing of Lyra from her cradle, nestled by the dancing flames of the nursery hearth. I had just stepped out of the nursery, intending to retrieve a fresh cup of chamomile tea, having asked one of the gentle omegas, Elara, to keep a watchful eye on Lyra while I was gone for mere minutes. Ranon, ever the diligent Alpha, was in the training yard, his powerful form likely cutting through the lingering dampness of the air. Alaric, the meticulous strategist,

Elowen's POV The sprawling meadow behind the packhouse was in full, glorious bloom, a vibrant, living canvas stretching to meet the horizon. It was a wild ocean of soft lavender swaying gently in the moonlit breeze, dotted with the sun-kissed faces of daisies and the delicate chime of tiny bellflowers. The night was warm, thick with the lingering heat of a long, sun-drenched day, now steeped in that golden hush that only came with the deepest hours of summer. Fireflies, tiny living jewels, danced in slow, mesmerizing spirals through the tall grass, their ephemeral glow flickering like whispered magic, mirroring the silent, ancient pulse of the earth. Above, the stars shimmered—endless, eternal, stretched across the indigo canvas of the sky like a blanket of scattered diamonds, each one a tiny world of light. It was one of those rare, perfect nights when everything felt exquisitely still—when the very air seemed to hold its breath, as if the world itself was savoring the profound qui