บททั้งหมดของ The Lycan King's Hybrid Mate: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Rosalee's Point of View I slowly stir awake, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The room is quiet, the house still, aside from the occasional distant sound of birds chirping outside. A deep sigh escapes me as I stretch, my muscles slightly sore from staying curled up in bed with my book until late last night. Sitting up, I take a slow glance around the room, reminding myself of where I am. Today is the day I start training. My first lesson. I’m not exactly sure what to expect, but I know I need to be ready. With reluctant determination, I push the blankets aside and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. The air feels crisp as I stand, making my way over to the closet where I had packed my clothes. Pulling the doors open, my fingers brush over the neatly folded fabrics as I decide what to wear. Finally, I settle on a dark green pair of tights and a matching sports bra. The material is stretchy yet snug

Rosalee's Point of View I walk across the training mat toward Nyx, my heart pounding slightly in anticipation. I extend my hand toward her, offering a small but determined smile. "Hello, my name is Rosalee," I say. Nyx takes my hand in a firm grip, nodding her head as she studies me with a sharp, assessing gaze. "Hello, Rosalee. It’s nice to officially meet you. My name is Nyx, and I’ll be in charge of your training. For today, I just want to get a sense of your strength and endurance so I can put together the right training plan for you." I nod my head, signaling that I understand. Nyx folds her arms and tilts her head slightly. "Have you ever done any combat training before?" I shake my head. "No, I’ve never trained before." Nyx nods her head again, her expression unreadable. "Alright, let’s start with something simple." She lifts her hands in front of her and gestures for me to do the same. "Make fists with both hands." I follow her instruction, curling my fingers ti

Jensen's Point of View The quiet ticking of the clock on the wall draws my attention away from the documents scattered across my desk. I glance at it and realize how late it has gotten. Rosalee is still at Marcus’s house. I exhale, running a hand through my hair before opening a mind link to Josh. “Josh, can you please go to Marcus’s house and get Rosalee? Escort her to my office.” His response is immediate. “On my way.” I cut the link and immediately open another to Marcus. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. Josh is on his way now to bring Rosalee back to my office.” Marcus acknowledges my message with a simple “Understood,” before the link fades. With that handled, I return my focus to the folder in front of me. It’s a detailed report on pack business, territory disputes, security concerns, supply management, and diplomatic efforts with neighboring packs. The first section outlines the territory patrols and border activity. There have been

Jensen's Point of View I reach down and offer Rosalee my hand. She takes it without hesitation, her fingers warm as they wrap around my hand. As she rises from where she had been crouched beside an injured pack member, she looks up at me, concern evident in her eyes. “Is something wrong?” she asks, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. I sigh as nod my head, my expression grim. “Ronan and Nyx found the trackers, two of them are dead, the other two are still alive, but injured. They are on their way back now.” Rosalee’s lips press into a thin line, her shoulders tense as she shakes her head. “I hate this. All of this. All this destruction, the pain... The loss. And what is it all for? Power? Land?” Her voice is tight with frustration, the same helpless anger that’s been gnawing at me for weeks. I shrug slightly, though the weight of the situation makes it feel heavier than it should. “I really wish I knew, what the point of all this is.” For a moment, we stand

Jensen's Point of View The pack house looms ahead, a beacon of familiarity after what has felt like an endless drive. The weight of exhaustion settles over me, but there’s no time to dwell on it. As soon as we step out of the vehicle, Ronan, Marcel, and I move with purpose, heading straight for my office. Inside, the warm glow of the desk lamp casts long shadows against the walls. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood, paper, and the faint lingering traces of whiskey from previous nights spent strategizing here. I reach for the bottle on the shelf, pouring three glasses of the rich amber liquid. Wordlessly, I hand one glass to Ronan and the other one to Marcel. They both nod their heads in thanks, and together, we take a heavy swig, the burn running down my throat and settling deep in my chest. Breaking the silence, I say, “This has been a draining day. Let’s get some rest tonight. We can form a plan for our next move in the morning.” Ronan and Marcel nod in agreement,