Semua Bab The Rejected Omega's Redemption : Bab 291 - Bab 300

Desmond stood before the hearth in his study, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the orange glow as if it held answers to the storm that had been churning in his mind since the day before. Yesterday’s encounter with Eugene gnawed at him. The accusation Eugene had thrown at him abput rouges stationed along the border, supposedly Desmond’s doing still rang in his ears. “Ridiculous,” Desmond muttered under his breath, pacing. His heavy boots thudded against the thick carpet, each step betraying his agitation. “Eugene thinks he can rattle me with baseless accusations? My rogues never show themselves unless I summon them. If there are wolves skulking by the borders, then they are not mine.” His gaze flicked to the map spread across the oak table. The inked lines of Blackwood’s territory seemed to pulse beneath the candlelight, the borders clear, yet suddenly blurred by suspicion. Someone else had rogues, someone else was bold enough to station them near Blackwood lands, and

Becca’s fingers moved with steady precision, measuring powders of dried sage and willow bark into small clay bowls, grinding them into finer form with a pestle. Becca wiped her brow with the back of her wrist, exhaling softly. The day had been long, but she found rhythm in the work, the repetition both soothing and empowering. Every jar she sealed meant one less person in pain, one less child fevered through the night. Still, beneath the calm façade she wore for her people, her mind lingered restlessly on Seraphina’s cruel words. The memory moved like a shadow through her chest. She pressed her lips together, grinding the pestle harder, until the herbs became powder fine. “Becca!” Mira’s voice pierced the tent from outside, urgent and strained. Becca’s head snapped up. She set the bowl aside and rose quickly, brushing stray powder from her hands onto her apron. Pulling the tent flap aside, she saw Mira hurrying toward her, her expression sharp with concern. Behind Mira stood

The ropes bit into my wrists until I could feel my own pulse beating against it. My eyes were covered with some coarse cloth that smelled of smoke and damp earth, making it impossible to see the path my feet stumbled across. All I knew was that the ground had changed. It was no longer the smooth ground of the pack town, but uneven grounds, with roots that caught at my ankles and twigs that cracked beneath my shoes.The woods.They were taking me into the woods.My captors said nothing as they dragged me along and I counted at least three sets of footsteps. One was heavier and deliberate, the leader perhaps. The second shuffled, like someone nervous but determined. The third had a lighter step but was the one who tugged at the rope tied around my wrists. It was this one I stumbled after the most, like some unwilling puppet.Finally, I couldn’t bear the silence anymore.“You do realize,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart, “that what you’re doing

Alpha Eugene stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, facing Councillor Hadrian. His expression was stern, but there was an undertone of exhaustion in the hard set of his jaw. Councillor Hadrian watched Eugene with the patience of one who had seen too many wars, too many lies, and too many crowns. They had been talking for a long while. The conversation was not one Eugene would entrust to just anyone, but Hadrian had been like a second father to him since his youth. “You must know, Eugene,” Hadrian’s voice was low and deliberate, “whispers travel faster than blades. They slice deeper, too, when not put to rest.” Eugene exhaled heavily, the breath leaving him like a groan. “And you’ve heard these whispers as well?” Hadrian’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded once. “I would be a fool not to.” He stepped a little closer. “The people are restless. They talk of succession, heirs and bloodlines.” Eugene tilted his head to the side, almost in irritation. “They speak of Desm

The woods were darker than the night sky above them, a suffocating blanket of shadows draped over the trees. The faint light of the moon slipped in weakly through the leaves, painting silver patterns across the forest floor. The smell of blood clung to the clearing where Becca stood. Her wrists burned from the coarse rope that bound them. Her lungs ached from the gag that had only just been removed, and yet her spirit, though cornered and bruised, was not broken. Her chin lifted defiantly as she stared at the man pacing before her. Brian’s dark eyes were blazing hot, his lips twisted in a snarl that seemed more beast than man. His presence radiated Alpha energy, but it was not the noble, commanding aura of Eugene. This was jagged, broken and filled with rage and resentment. Around them, his rogues shifted restlessly, the growls in their throats blending with the night. Their ragged clothes, their scarred faces and their hungry eyes showed they were wolves exiled from honor