Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Triplet Alpha's Outcast : Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

Amara's POV The last vestiges of daylight surrendered to the encroaching dusk, painting the sky overhead in a breathtaking yet melancholic tapestry of lavender and gold, the vibrant hues bleeding into each other like the fading colors of a bruise on the clouds. I remained unmoving on the cool forest floor, the damp earth seeping into the fabric of my trousers, a silent connection to the unyielding ground beneath me. My fingers, restless and seeking a distraction from the turmoil within, played absently with a single blade of grass, tracing its delicate veins over and over, as if the simple, repetitive motion could somehow anchor me to the present, prevent me from being swept away by the relentless tide of my emotions. I hated the oppressive silence of the woods. It was a deceptive stillness, because within its quiet embrace, the memories came flooding back, sharp and vivid, amplified by the absence of external noise. Jaxon’s voice, low and laced with a self-loathing that had felt l

Jaxon’s POV The forest had never felt so suffocating, its ancient embrace now a claustrophobic cage pressing in on me from all sides. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig beneath my furious strides, grated on my nerves, amplifying the chaotic thunder of my own heart. It pounded like war drums in my chest, a frantic, desperate rhythm fueled by a cocktail of dread and something dangerously close to hope. I could feel her – Amara – through the bond that, despite my attempts to sever it, still thrummed beneath my skin. A whisper, a pull, a faint magnetic north. She was close. Too close. And the insidious dread that had been gnawing at me since I left her intensified. She wasn’t alone. My wolf snarled under my skin, a low, guttural rumble, pacing restlessly within the confines of my control, sensing something I wasn’t ready to name, wasn’t ready to face. Not until I saw it. Not until my fears solidified into a devastating reality. Not until I saw them. The dense canopy of t

Amara's POV I was halfway to the library, the comforting scent of old paper and dust already a promise of quiet solitude, when it happened. The main hallway, usually a churning river of students, had cleared enough for me to breathe a sigh of relief, making me think I might finally get a moment alone to process the morning’s surreal events. That illusion shattered the instant a sharp, syrupy voice rang out from behind me, cutting through the low hum of distant chatter. “Well, look who suddenly thinks she’s a Luna.” My stride faltered, my heart giving a familiar, unwelcome lurch. Slowly, deliberately, I turned, the muscles in my neck stiff. Sienna. Of course. The beta’s daughter, her perfectly styled blonde hair and immaculate uniform a stark contrast to my own still-somewhat-rumpled appearance. She stood with her two usual shadows, Lena and Paige, both of them dripping with the same smug superiority I’d seen countless times before. I knew that look. It was the same one they wore

Amara's POV The word hit me like a physical blow. Former. It was meant to diminish, to remind me of my place, or rather, my lack thereof. My stomach twisted, a familiar humiliation stinging my throat. They were already stripping me of any new identity I was trying to forge, reducing me to the weakest, most vulnerable part of my past. “You’ve been summoned because word has reached us of an unnatural bond,” Elder Theran continued, his voice devoid of emotion, each word a pronouncement. “A bond between a she-wolf of no standing and the Alpha triplets of one of the most prominent lineages in the Northern Region.” The accusation hung in the air, a poisonous vapor. Ryder, sensing my flinch, his protective instincts flaring, his voice tight with suppressed anger, immediately countered. “The bond isn’t unnatural, Elder. It’s fated.” Another Elder, a woman with formidable silver hair braided intricately around her head, her eyes a diamond-piercing gaze that missed nothing, spoke next.

Amara's POV The sun had barely begun its ascent over the ancient stone of the courtyard, painting the dew-kissed grass in hues of gold and amber. But I barely noticed the fleeting beauty of the dawn. All I felt was the tension in the air, a cold, sharp prickling on my skin, a premonition of the battle ahead. As I stepped onto the expansive training field, preparing for another morning of arduous drills, I could already sense the stares—cold, focused, heavy—weighing me down like stones in my pockets. My heart quickened, a frantic bird trapped in my ribs, each time I caught a glimpse of someone whispering behind their hand, their eyes darting furtively in my direction. I tried desperately to concentrate on the familiar movements we’d practiced countless times: the graceful parries, the swift thrusts, the grounded stances. But the insidious undercurrent of derision, the buzzing static of their judgment, made it impossible. My focus fractured, my mind a chaotic mess of self-consciousne