All Chapters of Alpha’s Dark Redemption : Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

Lucas’s POVSomething was wrong with the air. It wasn't heavy. Not dangerous. Just… expectant.I’ve lived long enough to know what that means. The world only holds its breath like that when something ancient is about to cross over.When gods meddle in mortal soil.And this morning, as I stood outside the packhouse with the dawn cutting through the mist, I could feel it—like the heartbeat of the earth had gone out of rhythm.The forest was too quiet. No birds, no wind, not even the hum of wards that usually shimmered faintly around the property. Just silence, heavy and aware.Selina came to stand beside me, wrapped in one of my shirts, hair still damp from her shower. She looked beautiful and wild, the kind of woman that makes the world remember who owns it. But her eyes were wary.“You feel it too?” she asked.“Yeah,” I said, my voice low. “It started before dawn. The pack can’t sense it yet, but the air’s thick with something… divine.”She frowned. “Malachai?”I shook my head. “No. T

Malachai’s POVThe sky bled silver; that was the first sign the gods were plotting again.Not white, not gold, silver. It meant deceit cloaked in light. I had seen it before, long ago, before the first rebellion, before they called me traitor and cast me out.Now the color had returned.And so had their hunger.From my throne, I could see the tremors in the Veil. The energy that separated realms pulsed like a wound, fragile and weakening. Damon’s strength was growing too fast, his balance bending creation itself. The gods wouldn’t let that continue.I should have felt proud, the boy mastering what they swore was impossible. Instead, I felt… dread.Because for all his control, he was still a child.And gods don’t forgive children who defy them.The Shadowfire around me flickered, restless. It sensed the coming storm before I spoke it aloud. “They’re moving,” I murmured. “Already weaving their deceit.”“You knew this would come,” a voice whispered behind me.Astraea.Her presence chille

Jonathan’s POV I always believed that, after more than a century of walking through shadows, hunting through cities, bleeding through wars, and outliving those foolish enough to think they could outmaneuver a Carr, there was very little left in this world capable of frightening me, nothing but the slow grind of time itself and the painful awareness that immortality has a thousand ways of hurting a man without ever killing him.But that belief began to crumble the moment I stepped toward Lucas Blackwood’s territory again, because there was something, an electric, humming pressure that did not feel like wolf territory or the natural pulse of pack wards but like the breath of something older and more sovereign than any supernatural creature had the right to be.It was as though the forest itself was exhaling in caution, the trees leaning slightly away from the heart of the packlands, the shadows holding themselves taut and watchful, as if every root and leaf recognized the presence of s

Damon’s POV Vera always says that I sit too still for a child, that I observe the world with the tilted, questioning gaze of someone who has lived far too long and learned far too much, and that sometimes, when I look at something too closely, she feels as though I can peel back the skin of a moment and stare directly at whatever truth is hiding underneath.She says this with a worried smile, the kind adults use when they’re trying to pretend something doesn’t frighten them, but what she doesn’t understand, what none of them understand, not even my parents, is that the world has stopped feeling like a place I’m simply living in and has started feeling like a place reacting to me, bending, listening, waiting, as though everything from the rustling of the leaves to the shifting of shadows is trying to anticipate what I will decide to become.That feeling is louder now.Much louder.After Jonathan ran from the forest, running not like a predator but like prey, the humming inside my mind

Malachai’s POVThere are few sensations in existence as exquisite as the moment a prophecy takes its first breath of truth, when potential becomes action, when destiny draws its first drop of blood, and tonight, as the realms shivered with the echo of a death that was never meant to be gentle, I felt that exquisite shift ripple through every plane of existence like a low, resonant hum.Eldric Thorne was dead.A man who believed himself untouchable, ancient, unmovable, the crown of the wolves, and the voice of their law was snuffed out like a candle caught in a hurricane.And the hurricane…was six.The moment his soul collapsed under Damon’s hand, I felt it; not as a whisper, not as an omen, but as a violent pulse across the tapestry of existence, as though the universe itself shuddered, terrified and thrilled in equal measure.I stood in the heart of my realm, a place that shifts according to my mood, sometimes a void, sometimes a storm, sometimes an old throne room carved from the bo