บททั้งหมดของ Alpha’s regret : The return of his rejected mate: บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

HELEN’S P.O.V.Leaving a grave is harder than digging one.The convoy idled in the muddy yard of the farmhouse. The engines of the trucksrumbled, a stark mechanical contrast to the rustling of the giant corn leaves.I stood on the porch one last time.The Martha-tree had already taken hold. Its bark was gray and weathered, looking like ithad been standing there for a century rather than an hour. A single shotgun shell lay atthe base of the trunk a memorial to the woman who had taught the earth to bite back."We're loaded," Vance called out from the lead truck. He looked out of place in thedriver's seat, a sea captain steering a humvee through an ocean of grass.I walked to the tree. I placed my hand on the rough bark."Watch the house, Martha," I whispered.A breeze rustled the leaves. It sounded like a dry chuckle.I walked to the jeep where Leo was waiting.He sat in the passenger seat, cleaning his fingernails with a piece of star-metal wire. Helooked calm. Too calm. The manic

HELEN’S P.O.V.We hit the Beltway at 100 miles per hour.The convoy wasn't just a collection of vehicles anymore; it was a battering ram ofnature. The vines wrapped around the tires had hardened into run-flat treads. The truckswere covered in a thick, mossy armor that deflected small-arms fire."Contact front!" Vance yelled over the radio. "The Outer Ring blockade!"Ahead, the highway was blocked by a wall of shipping containers, razor wire, andautomated turrets. Ironwood had turned the ruins of D.C. into a fortress."Do we stop?" Kai asked, gripping the panic handle of the jeep.Leo sat in the passenger seat. He rolled down the window."Maya," Leo said. "Clear the path."Maya, riding on the hood, didn't shout. She just pointed.The Green Children on the roof of the trucks leaned forward. They inhaled deeply,sucking in the polluted air of the capital, and exhaled spores.A cloud of neon-green dust rolled forward, moving faster than the trucks.It hit the blockade.Usually, rust ta

LEO’S P.O.V.I poured the sun onto him.The pillar of white star-fire I unleashed was hot enough to vaporize tungsten. Itslammed into the Architect’s obsidian shoulders, filling the hangar with blinding light.The concrete floor around him turned into a lake of lava instantly. The steel beams ofthe ceiling dripped like wax."Burn," I screamed, pushing every ounce of my core density into the beam. "Burn out!"For ten seconds, I held the fire.Then, the light changed.It didn't fade. It bent.The white column of fire began to spiral. It twisted like water going down a drain. Itwasn't hitting him anymore. It was flowing into him.The Architect stood in the center of the inferno. He wasn't burning. He was inhaling.He opened his mouth a cavern of absolute vantablack and drank the fire."DELICIOUS," the Architect rumbled.His voice wasn't just sound; it was a frequency that canceled out other noises. Myscream died in my throat. The roar of the fire vanished.He grew.He absorbed the ene

BOOK VI: THE GARDEN OF BONESSIX MONTHS LATERHELEN’S P.O.V.Civilization used to be about keeping the wild out. Now, it was about negotiating withthe wild to let us stay in.I sat in my office in what used to be the Smithsonian Castle. The red sandstone wallswere intact, but the roof was a canopy of woven oak branches. The floor was a carpet ofmoss that needed to be trimmed twice a day or it would grow over your desk and digestyour paperwork."Director," Vance said, walking in. He wore a machete on his belt instead of a sidearmthese days. "We have a situation in Sector 4. The Foggy Bottom district.""Is it the refugees again?" I asked, signing a ration order for filtered water."No," Vance said grimly. "It's the architecture. A townhouse on K Street just... ate a family."I put the pen down."Ate them?""The Venus Flytraps growing in the basement," Vance explained. "The family tried toprune them. The plants took offense. They sealed the doors and filled the house withneurotoxi

The infirmary in the Smithsonian Castle was usually the safest place in the city. Thickred sandstone walls, filtered air, and the smell of antiseptic.Today, it smelled like spoiled milk.Leo sat on a reinforced gurney. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His arms usually corded withmuscle and glowing with that faint, golden star-light were mottled.Where the Beast had bitten him, the flesh wasn't red or bleeding. It was gray. Aspreading, web-like pattern of necrosis was creeping up his biceps toward his shoulders.And from the center of the bite marks, tiny white spores were puffing into the air withevery beat of his heart."Don't breathe it," Silas warned, adjusting his respirator. He held a scanner over thewound."What is it?" I asked, standing behind the bio-shield. "Infection? Poison?""It's thermodynamic theft," Silas said, looking at the readings with wide eyes. "Usually, afever is the body generating heat to kill bacteria. But look at the thermal cam."He turned the screen toward