Lahat ng Kabanata ng Alpha’s Dark Redemption : Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

Lucas's POVThe air in our bedroom was thicker than honey, heavy with the saturation of our sweat, the filmy stench of unlaundered sheets, and the unmistakable perfume of sex. For two days—an actual, quantifiable forty-eight hours—I hadn’t let Selina out of my sight, let alone my arms, or anywhere within a three-foot radius that could be crossed by limb, tongue, or cock. Food was an afterthought; sleep, a luxury we occasionally flirted with in those fevered, dazed moments when the world stopped spinning from orgasm.I lay on my back, limp but not spent, muscles aching with that blissed-out soreness only she could gift me. Selina sprawled across my chest, a knot of sharp elbows and wild, sweat-glued hair, her chin propped on my sternum as she watched me with those challenge-glint eyes that never missed a tremor of weakness.“Are you hungry?” I croaked, though what I meant was, 'Can we go another round, or did I finally kill you?'She made a sound—somewhere between a snort and a purr. “

Vera's POVI’d been without Grant for two weeks, and every cell in my body was acutely aware of the absence. I could still smell him in the sheets, his musk in the pillows, a sharp memory that stung every time I rolled over at night. The ache of his missing presence was chronic and physical, like hunger but deeper, a gnaw in my muscles and a restlessness in my skin. The pack had kept him away—territory disputes, new pups being born, the shitshow with that rogue down in Flagstaff—and I was supposed to be understanding about it. I was supposed to be the dutiful mate. And I was, mostly. But sometimes, in the hours just before dawn, I could taste the craving in my throat like blood.Tonight was one of those nights. My phone buzzed with another update from Selina about Damon’s night terrors, and I texted back like I was paying attention. But my eyes were on the clock, the front door, and the shadows bleeding under the hallway lamp. I’d spent the last hour half-naked on the couch, flipping t

Lucas's POVI could always tell when she was anxious. Selina wore worry like someone else's perfume—never hers, never natural, but impossible to ignore. Tonight, she'd been working her thumb into the pad of her palm since we'd left the council chambers, the skin already pinked from repetition.I watched her, perched on the edge of the credenza, feet braced wide apart like I was ready to bolt through the window. She’d thrown herself onto the couch in the hall, feet tucked up under her, a bundle of raw nerves wound tight and glistening.I never knew what to say in these moments. Comfort wasn't my specialty. Control was. Dominance. Violence, if we’re being honest. I stared at her, memorizing the cut of her jaw in the half-light and the way her nails dug crescents into her thigh through the silk of her slip."You’re overthinking," I said.She startled, looked up, and then made that face—eyebrows pulling together, lips set, like she was bracing herself for an impact that never came."I’m n

Malachai’s POVThey always applaud the performance when I leave a place in ruins. They never clap when I return to tidy up the mess. That’s the underrated joy of being me: the encore comes back in quiet differences, a rearranged constellation here, a rumor nudged into hysteria there. Chaos is a spectacle; consequence is the art.Except this time the applause tasted like silence.I rematerialized in the Room of Unmade Things with a little more smoke than fashion dictates. The chairs protested my landing; they’re dramatic that way, and the storms in their cylinders shuddered, like caged beasts startled by thunder. I set my coat on an invisible hook, poured a glass of something that tasted of ancient winters, and listened to the echo of the courtyard: a child who had turned the world inside out for an hour and then, curiously, undone it like a story one tells to scare other children.I tasted ash. Not the kind that falls from a pyre you lit yourself—that’s always satisfying—but ash that

Vera’s POVWhen I first heard what happened, I didn’t believe it. Not until I saw the courtyard myself—the earth scorched in a perfect circle, the trees bent in reverence, the air still humming like it remembered his roar.The pack whispered about it for hours. Some called him a prodigy. Most called him a curse. I called him my godson.That night, I couldn’t sleep. The image of Damon—the little boy who used to climb into my lap for bedtime stories—kept replaying in my mind. But this time, his eyes weren’t soft blue. They were molten gold. Too bright. Too old.So I did what I always do when the world starts to lose its mind: I acted.The house was quiet when I walked in. Even the walls seemed afraid to breathe. Selina met me halfway down the hall, eyes red, voice low. “He’s awake,” she whispered, like the word itself might shatter something sacred.“I need to see him.”She hesitated. “Vera—”“I need to see him, Selina,” I repeated. There was no argument in my tone, and she knew it.She