บททั้งหมดของ The Alpha King's Omega: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The silence was heavier than stone. Freya lay in bed, limbs aching, skin prickling with the heat of battle and confusion. The sheets stuck to her back, damp with sweat. She couldn’t rest. Not with all the things constantly screaming in her head, creating a huge chaos inside her. Not with him in the room. Not with Ragnar sitting in that cursed armchair like a demon on watch. He looked so huge that his intimidating presence made her chamber look smaller and not to mention his strong scent.She heard the low sound of his breathing. Controlled. Measured. But beneath it, something simmered. The sound of violence was restrained. Blood dried in strokes across his bare chest, flaking at his collarbone. His claws were gone now, but they’d carved the memory of death into the floor, the walls, the air.Freya turned her face away from him, but it didn’t help. She could still feel him like a storm crouched in the dark, waiting. And then... all of a sudden. Her mark throbbed.Not the usual dull ach

Freya stiffened. Her heart drummed wildly in her chest. The name shattered something inside her.Skyrana.It echoed through Freya’s bones like an ancient bell tolling through time. Her knees nearly buckled. She staggered back a step, her heart thudding like it was trying to escape her ribcage. The earth beneath her boots no longer felt real.She had never heard the name spoken aloud before with such certainty and familiarity that it called to the hidden soul residing in her.And she knew it. Her wolf growled within, not in protest, but in recognition.Ragnar’s hand brushed the hilt of his blade, tense, standing ahead of her as he slowly faced her silently. Watching. Waiting.The Elder Vizier slowly rose from his bow, his strange eyes shimmering with awe. “Your light has returned,” he murmured. “After centuries of silence, your soul finally crossed the veil again.”“I’m not her,” Freya whispered, her voice trembling like fragile glass. “I don’t even know who she was.”“No,” the Elder

Ash fell like snow.The trees were skeletal now, charred bones of what once stood tall. The clearing smoldered with dying embers, the ground blistered and blackened from the fire Freya had unleashed. She lay slumped against a twisted stump, skin streaked with blood and soot, the taste of copper thick on her tongue.Her mark pulsed faintly, no longer a simple symbol but cracked open, glowing like a fracture in her skin. A seam of light ran down her shoulder, raw and unnatural. It felt like her very soul had been split.Her wolf was silent. Caged.Freya didn't know how long, but it felt like she had passed out. The girl tried to recall what had happened as her eyes darted around the destroyed and burnt forest, as long as she looked. She tried to move, but every limb trembled. The forest hummed around her, not with life, but with something older. Something aware. Watching.Wind slithered through the branches, carrying whispers that didn't belong to the living."She is waking… The fire bl

Dawn bled slow and silver through the canopy, seeping into the world like the exhale of an ancient god.Mist coiled between the gnarled trees, thick and spectral, like the breath of sleeping giants dreaming in the earth below. Every step Freya took felt heavier, not from fatigue, but from a gravity older than time. The soil was thick with memory. The roots beneath her boots pulsed faintly, as if alive, aware of her presence, brushing against her mind like distant echoes trying to remember her.There were no birdsong greetings, no rustling of creatures in the underbrush. The air whispered instead, soft syllables in a language she didn’t recognize, but one that made her blood stir like it should. It was not sound, but memory. Not words, but remembrance of something that was hers.The witch walked ahead in silence. Her silver cloak drifted just above the moss-covered ground, trailing mist like vapor spun from moonlight. She didn’t seem to step on the forest floor so much as through it.B

The training circle had barely cleared before Ragnar moved.He didn’t walk, he hunted.Each step was an unspoken vow, silent and sharp, the kind of silence that came before a kill. His eyes, those molten grey eyes, never wavered from Freya. She was still wiping blood from her lip, her braid half-undone, tendrils of hair stuck to the sweat along her jaw. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, but she didn’t look weak.She looked wild.Untamed. Defiant. Burned through with exhaustion but still standing.She turned toward him, instinct already coiled to fight, but not fast enough.His hand clamped around her wrist.Firm.Unyielding.His voice was low, rough as gravel dragged through fire. “Come with me.”Freya didn’t wince. Didn’t jerk away. But she felt the burn of his grip, not on her skin, in her soul. Like he was touching more than flesh. The mate bond and its spark was doing its freaking thing.Nyra stepped between them, her silver cloak catching the breeze like a blade.“She needs rest,