Semua Bab The Alpha's Mute Mate : Bab 151 - Bab 160

My fingers twitched at my sides, and I found myself turning away from the surrendering wolves, my gaze drawn inexorably toward the heart of the compound. The inner ruins called to me with a voice that wasn't quite sound, wasn't quite thought—something deeper and more unsettling. I'd felt this pull before, in dreams that left me gasping and cold, but now it was stronger, urgent. Whatever waited in those shadows wouldn't be denied any longer. The sensation crawled under my skin like insects, impossible to ignore despite every instinct screaming at me to walk away. But I couldn't. Something unfinished lurked in the darkness ahead, and it knew my name.My boots made no sound against the worn stone as I moved deeper into the compound. The other hunters were too busy securing prisoners and tending wounds to notice my departure, and Killian was still dealing with the formal surrender of the remaining Bloodfang leadership. Hasor knelt among them, his mouth bound by silver thread that glowed

The forest was supposed to be my sanctuary. Instead, it became my nightmare.I pushed deeper into the twisted maze of ancient oaks and silver birches, my bare feet finding purchase on moss-slicked stones and fallen logs. The ancestral energy thrummed through my veins like electricity, pulling me forward with invisible threads toward something I couldn't yet see but desperately needed to find. Each step felt heavier than the last, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what I carried—the knowledge that I was changing, becoming something monstrous, something that could hurt the people I loved most.The ritual stone called to me through bloodlines stretching back centuries, promising answers, promising healing, promising salvation from the curse that was slowly devouring my humanity from the inside out. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the strange energy that seemed to seep from the very earth beneath my feet. The scent of decay mixed with something older,

Just as I was beginning to feel some measure of calm, some sense that I might actually be heard and believed, the air in the room shifted. It was subtle at first, just a change in the quality of light, a new scent carried on the breeze, but my hypersensitive nerves picked up on it immediately. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my wolf, still buried deep in my psyche, let out a soft whine of warning. Then she walked into the room, and the world tilted sideways. Elara Vaughn moved with the same predatory grace I remembered, her pale hair swept back in a perfect ponytail, her clothes immaculate despite the chaos of the day. She carried a tray of medical supplies, her expression one of professional concern, as if she had every right to be there, as if she belonged in this place where she had once tried to destroy everything we held dear. "I bought supplies for the injured," she said, her voice warm and helpful, pitched to carry just the right note of compassion."I heard t

Everyone was literally busy.The packhouse buzzes with frantic energy, transformers working overtime to transform our home into something worthy of sacred ceremony. Servants scurry past carrying armfuls of white silk and silver thread, their footsteps echoing against marble floors that gleam like moonlight. The courtyard is being draped in ceremonial banners that flutter in the morning breeze, each one bearing ancient symbols I recognize but don't fully understand. They say being Luna is an honor, but no one talks about how much it hurts to wear a crown made of broken promises and unanswered prayers. I move through the chaos like a ghost, watching my future unfold in preparations I have no control over. Pack members bow when they see me, their smiles practiced and polite, but their eyes linger too long, scanning my face, my posture, my hands for signs of the power they expect to see. Do they trust me? Or are they watching for the first crack in my facade?The first sign that the

I wake not to silence, but to a symphony of whispers that seem to seep through the very stones of my chamber walls. My body still pulses with the afterglow of last night's awakening, silver markings tracing patterns across my skin like living tattoos that shift and breathe with each heartbeat. The whispers aren't words—they're something far more primal, a language of growls and ancient hunger that makes my bones ache with recognition. I press my palms against the cold stone, and the sensation nearly overwhelms me; the walls feel alive, pulsing with a heartbeat that matches my own. Something ancient has been disturbed by my transformation, something that has been sleeping within the very foundation of our packhouse for generations. The whispers grow louder, more insistent, and I realize they're not coming from outside—they're rising from deep within the earth itself, as if the ground beneath our feet holds memories of blood and betrayal that my awakening has stirred to life.Each