Semua Bab The Lycan King's Hybrid Mate: Bab 141 - Bab 150

Victor's Point of ViewThe air is thick with the aftermath of battle, burnt wood, blood, sweat, but through it, I catch the sharp tang of something else: fear. It rides the wind like smoke, faint but distinct. I know what it means even before the mind link crackles to life.“Some of the Crimsonclaw wolves are retreating,” I say, my voice sharp and commanding as it cuts through the pack link. “Let’s go after them and put this fight to an end.”For a second, there’s silence, then murmurs of agreement ripple through the connection. No hesitation. No fear. My pack is with me.I sever the link and immediately shift, my bones snapping and reforming with brutal precision as fur rips through skin and claws replace fingers. The pain is fleeting, familiar, grounding.Then I run towards where I saw a wolf run off to.The world sharpens instantly in my wolf form, the ground a blur beneath my paws, every scent in the air vivid and layered. I lift my nose to the wind, inhaling deeply, filtering thr

Rosalee's Point of ViewI gently help the last injured wolf into their hospital room, careful not to jostle her too much. Her weight leans against me, but I don’t mind, I know she needs the support. As she settles into the bed, she turns her head and gives me a small, tired smile."Thank you, Luna."I freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the title. I open my mouth to correct her, I’m no Luna, but the exhaustion crawling through my body makes it hard to care about titles right now. Instead, I just return her smile with a quiet nod of my head and softly close the door behind me.It took several trips, but we did it. All of the injured wolves are finally safe inside the hospital, getting the care that they need. My entire body aches, my arms, my back, even my bones feel sore. Every step feels heavier now, like I’m slowly sinking into the earth with each movement. I could honestly sleep for a week right now.But before I head back to the house, there’s one more person I need to check

Rosalee's Point of View I blink awake slowly, the sunlight streaming through the window casting warm golden lines across the floor and sheets. My bed feels empty and cold now with Jensen gone. My body protests the movement as I shift beneath the covers, every muscle feels heavy, sore, and slow to respond, as if even they haven't quite recovered from yesterday. I sigh, sinking deeper into the warmth of the bed, tempted to stay cocooned in the safety of soft blankets and the faint lingering scent of Jensen. But the day has already begun, and I don’t want to waste it. Reluctantly, I throw back the covers and ease myself into a sitting position. My body groans in quiet rebellion, every inch of me reminding me of the fight, the running, the weight of the day before. Still, I stand, stretching carefully before making my way to the wardrobe. I pull out a long, soft skirt that brushes the floor in gentle waves, its earthy tone soothing. I pair it with a simple but elegant blouse, cream

Rosalee's Point of ViewI stand on the porch, watching Jensen walk away towards the pack house. His stride is sure, purposeful, the sun casting a soft glow along his shoulders. There is something about the way he moves, like he is carrying the whole pack, yet he still made time to carry me.A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, warm and full, and I let out a soft sigh. The good kind. The kind that tells me, for the first time in a long time, everything might actually be okay. I glance down at the shoes dangling from my hand, dirt clinging to the soles from our walk, and laugh quietly to myself. I turn and step back into the house, the silence wrapping around me like a gentle hug.I spot my clothes exactly where he left them on the kitchen table. He even folded them for me. My skirt underneath and my blouse placed neatly on top. I pick them up carefully, the fabric cool between my fingers, then I head down the hallway towards my room.Once inside my room, I set my clothes aside and

Jensen's Point of View The morning light filters softly through the curtains, golden and quiet. I wake slowly, not in a rush, not startled, just eased into consciousness by warmth, by comfort. Rosalee is curled against me, her leg thrown over mine, her head resting on my shoulder. My arm is wrapped around her, keeping her close like my body instinctively knows she belongs there. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way her fingers move, absently, softly, tracing slow, looping shapes across my bare chest. Tiny circles, lazy figure eights, lines that go nowhere and everywhere all at once. It’s not conscious, not purposeful. She’s still half asleep, I think, her breath steady and warm against my skin. But each delicate stroke grounds me more than words ever could. I don’t move, don’t speak. I just lie there and feel. My other hand comes up slowly, brushing through the strands of her hair that spill across my shoulder and chest. It’s messy and soft, smelling faintly of whatever soap sh