All Chapters of THE ALPHA'S FIERY FATE : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

KANEShe’s asleep on her bed, curled in on herself like she’s trying to vanish. Like the words they threw at her are still clinging to her skin.I haven’t moved for an hour.I’m just… watching.Her hair spills across the pillow like ink. She breathes in soft, fragile waves, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. There’s a faint crease between her brows, even in sleep—like she’s still bracing for impact.She fought so hard not to cry today. Didn't flinch when they called her a mutt. A ghost. Less than them.But now, with her guard down, she looks like the girl who nearly shattered in front of me.And I let it happen.I should’ve stopped them sooner. Should’ve stood beside her the second they started snarling.But I needed them to show their teeth. I needed her to see who they really are.Still… I regret how much it cost her.I brush my knuckles lightly over her arm. She doesn’t stir.But my wolf does.He’s restless. Whining inside me like he knows we’re standing on a ledge, one step from l

KANE The night feels alive. Every breath I take drags smoke through my lungs. Every heartbeat thrums with the weight of the curse clawing its way up my spine. The chains bite into my wrists, silver burning through skin and fur as my body fights itself. I can taste iron in my mouth. The full moon presses against the world like an open wound, spilling light through the cracks in the old walls of the east wing. The mansion hums with silence—no footsteps, no whispers, no reminders of the people I’ve locked out. Very good. No one should see me like this. I dig my claws into the floorboards, muscles convulsing under the strain. My wolf, Kian, snarls within, a roar of need and fury that shatters whatever control I have left. Let me out. His voice ripples through my mind, primal and commanding. She’s close. I can feel her. “No” I rasp, jaw tightening. My body trembles, sweat and blood dripping down my arms. “She can’t be here. She mustn’t.” But Kian doesn’t listen. The wolf never

The morning light hurts more than it should.I step into the dining hall just after dawn, the scent of fresh bread, butter melting on warm rolls, and coffee brewed dark and bitter hitting me like a slap. The long table stretches out, empty except for the end where Nevaeh always sits alone.She’s there now, back straight, fork moving in slow, measured arcs between her plate and her mouth. Today she’s chosen a high necked dress the color of deep green, sleeves tugged down to cover her wrists, collar buttoned to her throat. Hiding. The fabric is too heavy for late summer, but I know why. Beneath it, the bruises I left last night are spreading. Purple fingerprints blooming across her hips. Crescent gouges where my claws bit too deep before I pulled them back. The small split on her lower lip is scabbed over, dark against her pale skin. She moves carefully, like every shift of her body reminds her exactly where the pain lives.She doesn’t look up when I enter. Doesn’t startle. Doesn’t ackn

The fog rolls in thicker as I wrap Nevaeh in the thickest blanket I can find from her room, a heavy wool thing that smells faintly of cedar from the closet. She is still out, her breathing steady but too damn shallow, like she is barely holding on. Four days. Elias poked and prodded, muttered about energy thresholds and bond overload, but nothing has changed. Her cheeks are hollower now, skin pale as milk. I cannot wait anymore. The pack doctor is out of his depth. This is goddess territory. Curse territory. Elara’s territory.I scoop her up carefully, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She is light, too light, like the drain has already hollowed her out. I carry her down the back stairs, avoiding the main halls where pack eyes might catch us. Lyall meets me at the garage door, quiet, no questions, just hands me the keys to the old Jeep.The bike would not work for this. I thought about it for a second, the roar of the engine cutting through the woods like always,

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. The forest is wrong. The trees lean in too close, branches twisting like fingers that forgot how to let go. Fog clings to my ankles, cold and wet, and every time I take a step the ground feels softer than it should, like it’s breathing. I keep calling out, but my voice comes back thin, swallowed by the mist before it can travel far. “Kane?” Nothing. My throat is raw. My legs ache. I don’t remember how I got here, only that one moment I was floating in darkness, distant chants echoing somewhere far away, and the next I was falling through gray into this place. I wrap my arms around myself. The air smells like wet earth and something sweeter, almost like night-blooming jasmine. It should be comforting. It isn’t. I keep moving because standing still feels worse. The path, if you can call it that, narrows until I’m brushing leaves with my shoulders. Then it opens suddenly into a small clearing. Moonlight spills down through a gap in the can