Semua Bab The Triplet Alpha's Outcast : Bab 241 - Bab 250

Amara's POV The Alpha mansion, usually bustling with the low hum of life, felt unusually quiet that late afternoon. An unsettling stillness had settled over the grand rooms, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy it typically held. Jaxon, Ryder, and Caden had left hours earlier for a crucial meeting with the pack elders, a council that required their undivided attention away from the mansion. Their moods had been tense even then, a faint edge of concern lingering in their farewell kisses, each promising to be back soon, their gazes lingering on me with reluctant protectiveness. I’d told them I’d be fine. I'd promised to rest, perhaps read one of the ancient pack histories, or begin organizing the myriad details for the upcoming Luna ceremony. And for a little while, I genuinely was fine. I had even found a soothing rhythm in the mansion’s quiet solitude, enjoying the rare moment of calm. But now—standing in the spacious, sun-dappled kitchen, reaching for a glass of water—the faint

Amara's POV The mansion’s grand upstairs bedroom, usually a sanctuary of shared warmth and blissful peace, felt strangely amplified by the weighty silence that had settled between us. I sat curled up at the head of the massive bed, cocooned by the soft duvet, my eyes fixed on the three powerful men who moved around the room with an unsettling watchfulness. Jaxon stood by the tall, arched window, his powerful arms folded across his chest, his posture rigid. His dark eyes, usually so intense when focused on me, were now scanning the velvet expanse of the dark yard below, sweeping over the moonlit lawns and the distant tree line. He looked like a sentinel, expecting something—or someone—to appear from the shadows at any moment. The faint hum of the bond, tight with his unspoken tension, pulsed against my heart. Ryder lounged at the foot of the bed, stretched out like a restless cat, but his sharp blue eyes were a little too focused on me, missing nothing. His usual playful smirk was

Amara's POV By mid-afternoon, the grand mansion should have settled into a tranquil hum, a peaceful backdrop to the day’s fading light. Or it would’ve been, if not for the persistent, low-frequency hum of their hyper-awareness, and the way Ryder kept humming a tuneless, off-key melody under his breath while draped across the plush sofa, one arm lazily slung over my shoulders, effectively pinning me to his side. His lightheartedness was a thinly veiled attempt to lighten the mood, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. Caden sat in an armchair across from us, his golden eyes unnervingly sharp, even though his posture was outwardly calm. His fingers tapped a restless, almost imperceptible rhythm against his knee, a subtle tic that always betrayed his deep concentration or suppressed anxiety. He was thinking, always thinking. Jaxon stood by the tall window, staring out at the long, winding driveway that led to the pack lands, his arms crossed over his formidable chest, h

Caden's POV The master suite, usually so bright and open during the day, was now bathed in the ethereal, soft silver glow of moonlight slanting through the tall windows. The quiet hum of the night, a symphony of distant crickets and the rustle of leaves, filled the air, lending an almost sacred intimacy to the scene. My gaze, as it so often did now, found Amara. She sat at the very edge of the massive bed, a vision of vulnerable strength. Her hair, a dark waterfall of loose waves, tumbled down her back, catching the moonlight in shimmering threads. The silk robe she wore, a delicate whisper of fabric, barely clung to her shoulders, revealing the exquisite curve of her collarbone and, more significantly, the faint, yet undeniable, mark I’d left there only days ago. My mark. A symbol of a bond so profound it resonated deep within my wolf. But her eyes… they told another story. Despite the soft light, shadows lingered there, deep and bruised, remnants of the day’s trauma. Faint, almost

Caden's POV The scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee mingled with the undeniable, potent musk of Alpha and Luna, thick in the kitchen air. Amara was still in my arms, her laughter a bright, melodious sound that chased away any lingering awkwardness from Ryder and Jaxon’s untimely entrance. She was a vision of radiant warmth, perched on the counter in my oversized shirt, her bare legs swinging, her face flushed from our intimacy. “You still want those pancakes, Luna?” I murmured against her hair, my voice rough with affection. The primal need to mark her, claim her, still hummed beneath my skin. “More than anything,” she whispered, her arms tightening around my neck, her eyes sparkling. “And you promised to make them.” “A promise I intend to keep,” I replied, gently setting her down on the floor, my hands lingering on her hips. I turned to the pantry, a faint smile playing on my lips, already pulling out the flour and mixing bowls. The sheer joy of making her breakfast, of nur