All Chapters of Alpha’s Claimed Mate.: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

POV: Asher Nightshade.The storm hadn’t broken yet, but the air carried that heaviness—like the world was holding its breath.Asher stood by the window of their small cabin, watching the treetops bend slightly in the wind. His coffee had gone cold in his hand. Behind him, Ember was still asleep on the couch, a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, her hand resting over the swell of her belly.The sight of her, peaceful for once, tightened something in his chest.She shifted slightly, brow furrowing, then relaxed again. Asher stepped away from the window, set down the mug, and knelt beside her quietly.Her hair had fallen across her cheek. He brushed it back gently.The child was due soon. Any day now. And somehow, despite all the chaos and pressure from the outside world, their little world here had held steady.“Marry me,” he whispered softly, the words slipping out before he even realized he was saying them.He laughed under his breath. She hadn’t heard—still deep in sleep.

POV: Ember Wellesley.**EMBER**The night was warm for spring, the kind that smelled of moss and rain-soaked bark. Ember stood by the open window, her newborn son cradled against her chest. His breath was soft, slow, like he trusted the world completely.She rocked gently, humming something her mother used to sing—a lullaby without words, just a tune carried by the breeze and the beat of her heart.Behind her, Asher stirred in bed, his voice groggy. “You okay?”She turned with a tired smile. “He needed air. So did I.”Asher rose, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders as he came to stand beside her. Together they looked out at Raven’s Peak, the lights of scattered cabins glowing like quiet stars through the trees.“You think he’ll love this place?” Ember asked softly.“He already does,” Asher murmured, brushing a thumb along their son’s tiny hand. “It’s in his blood.”Ember nodded, then rested her head on his shoulder. “I think he’ll grow strong here. Loved. Free.”They stood like th

Raven’s Peak — Wedding NightThe celebration had died down to a hum. Music faded into the rustle of leaves and low murmurs as the pack dispersed, retreating to their homes, their dens, their mates. The land seemed to hold its breath around the big house — wrapped in soft laughter and clinking glasses left on tables covered in flower petals.Inside, Asher and Ember stood alone in the quiet warmth of their shared room.Candles flickered low on the windowsills, bathing the wood-paneled walls in golden light. A fire crackled in the hearth, its scent mingling with pine and lavender. Their joined hands hadn’t let go since the vows.Ember stood in front of the mirror, pulling the last pins from her hair. It fell in waves down her back, wild and loose like the woman she’d always been beneath the fear.Behind her, Asher leaned against the wall, still wearing half his suit, the other half rumpled from the dancing and hugging and clumsy kisses from pack elders who were trying not to cry.“You’re

POV: Asher Nightshade. Asher leaned against the gnarled oak tree, its rough bark pressing into his back as he stared at the twilight sky. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. His fingers traced the edge of the silver pendant hanging from his neck—a small, worn thing shaped like a crescent moon. It was the only piece of her he had left. His mother. The memory of her face was a blur now, like a photograph left too long in the sun, but her voice… her voice still lingered, soft and steady, in the quiet corners of his mind.He closed his eyes, and the world slipped away.He was six, maybe seven, sitting cross-legged on a threadbare rug in a cramped apartment. The walls were yellowed, peeling at the corners, but the room felt warm, alive with the smell of chamomile tea and the faint hum of a radio playing some old song. His mother knelt in front of him, her hands gentle as she tied a loose shoelace on his sneaker. Her hair was dark, like his, but streaked with stran

POV: Asher Nightshade. Asher leaned against the gnarled oak tree, its rough bark pressing into his back as he stared at the twilight sky. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. His fingers traced the edge of the silver pendant hanging from his neck—a small, worn thing shaped like a crescent moon. It was the only piece of her he had left. His mother. The memory of her face was a blur now, like a photograph left too long in the sun, but her voice… her voice still lingered, soft and steady, in the quiet corners of his mind. He closed his eyes, and the world slipped away. He was six, maybe seven, sitting cross-legged on a threadbare rug in a cramped apartment. The walls were yellowed, peeling at the corners, but the room felt warm, alive with the smell of chamomile tea and the faint hum of a radio playing some old song. His mother knelt in front of him, her hands gentle as she tied a loose shoelace on his sneaker. Her hair was dark, like his, but streaked with s