Lahat ng Kabanata ng Alpha’s Dark Redemption : Kabanata 181 - Kabanata 190

Jonathan’s POVPain. That’s all I’ve known for days. A fucking real pain—the kind that crawls under your skin and builds a home there. The kind that mocks you every time you try to breathe. My gums ache where my fangs used to be, raw and bloody reminders of my humiliation. Every vampire has nightmares about it—fang extraction. It’s not just agony; it’s degradation.And Lucas Blackwood made sure I felt every second of it.I can still hear his voice, calm and cold as he crushed me beneath his boot. “Now you’re just another man with bad habits, Carr.”That bastard. That wolf-born mutt.I’ve fought wars, ruled cities from the shadows, fed on kings, and whispered to queens. And he—he stripped me of what I was. My power. My identity.Now I sit in the ruins of my own mansion, the walls charred, the furniture overturned, and the scent of blood and smoke thick in the air. My reflection in the cracked mirror looks wrong—hollow cheeks, torn lips, and two dark holes where my fangs used to be.I l

Selina’s POVThe first sign came as a vibration through the floor.Soft at first—like the purr of something too big to see—but it grew, rising until the very air inside the safe house began to hum. The lamps flickered, the walls groaned, and every instinct inside me screamed the same warning: something has found us.I jolted awake, heart pounding, hand already reaching for Damon’s room.Vera was faster. The moment the vibration hit, she was on her feet, knife drawn, eyes shifting from human brown to the molten gold of her wolf. “That’s not an earthquake,” she muttered. “That’s magic.”Before I could answer, a scream ripped through the hallway. Damon’s.Not frightened, not startled—terrified. I ran.He was sitting up in bed, his little fists clutched at his ears, tears streaking down his cheeks. The air around him shimmered, vibrating with some invisible force. The night-light by his bed blinked on and off as if it couldn’t decide whether to exist.“Mommy!” he cried. “Make it stop, mak

Selina’s POVThe tunnels were never meant to shake.They were carved from enchanted stone, built to withstand siege and spell alike. Lucas designed them himself, layering every wall with runes of endurance. He once told me, half joking, “If the world ends, you’ll still be standing under Blackwood soil.”Tonight, even that promise is breaking.The tremors started small—vibrations in the air, dust sifting down from the ceiling—but they’ve grown into something alive, rhythmic, echoing like the heartbeat of a monster buried deep beneath us. Every pulse carries heat, a wave of energy that makes the torches gutter and Damon flinch.“Mommy?” he whispers, his small hand tightening around mine. His voice shakes, but he’s trying to be brave. “Why’s the ground angry?”Vera scans the darkness ahead, her blade already drawn, eyes glowing as if she were a wolf. Maybe she's starting to be one since her mate is a wolf. “That’s not the ground, pup,” she mutters. “That’s your father.”I can feel him to

Lucas's POVThe bed was too big when she wasn’t in it, but my wolf never let me sleep when she was gone. Selina’s side always smelled like home, even when she wasn’t there—her pillow, the dent in the mattress, the faint ghost of her shampoo. I could lie there for hours, eyes burning, every muscle locked in a permanent clench. The moon was almost full, white light smearing through the open window, but it barely touched the darkness inside me.I heard her before I saw her. The double doors creaked open, followed by the soft slap of bare feet on the marble tiles. Selina never bothered with slippers; she liked the cold, said it reminded her of the mountains where she was born. I stayed on my back, arm thrown over my eyes, pretending not to notice her shadow gliding over the carpet. But every inch of me was tuned to her, strung tight as a tripwire.“You’re awake.” Her voice was always low, always a little amused, as if I’d told her a dirty joke she planned to remember for later.I grunted.

Malachai’s POVI don’t walk back to my realm so much as I decide to be there.One blink and the world folds, a silk sheet pulled off a table without disturbing the cutlery. The forest, the wards, the very self-importance of Lucas Blackwood—gone. In their place: my favorite room in creation.It isn’t a throne room—those are for people who need strangers to clap. It’s a study. A museum. A morgue. I call it the Room of Unmade Things. The ceiling is high, arched out of nothing but shadow and memory; the floor is a black mirror that reflects everything except me. Shelves run the length of the chamber, stacked with curiosities that never were: a crown for a king who died before he was born, a lullaby that killed a god, and a chess set carved from regrets. In tall glass cylinders float storms I bottled at the very first dawn, lightning coiled like serpents around glass spines.Power hums here, but politely. It knows whose house this is.I step out of myself and into a chair. I enjoy entrance