All Chapters of Mated To My Stepbrother : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Ashton's POV The scent of crushed roses and lilies hung thick in the air, a cloying sweetness that felt like poison in Ashton’s lungs. It clung to the heavy velvet drapes, the polished oak pews, the very skin of the assembled pack elite crowding the Pack Hall’s grand ceremonial chamber. Sunlight streamed through the high, stained-glass windows depicting ancient wolf hunts, casting fragmented colours across the floor like scattered jewels. It should have felt majestic. Sacred. To Ashton, it felt like a tomb being sealed.He stood rigidly beside the ornate stone altar, the Alpha Heir’s ceremonial tunic – trimmed, as he’d insisted, with traditional wolf pelt – feeling less like honour and more like a shroud. The heavy silver torque around his neck, symbol of his impending bond to Loveth and her family’s influence, was a cold, constricting weight. Every breath was an effort against the suffocating pressure of expectation, the low thrum of the pack bond vibrating with a collective, unques

Ashton's POV The name hung in the air, a detonation in the suffocating silence of the Moon-Star ceremonial hall. "I found Novah." Jason’s words, ragged and desperate, weren’t just sound; they were seismic plates shifting beneath Ashton’s feet, shattering the fragile ice he’d encased his soul in. *Novah.* Not a ghost, not a memory carved in agony, but *found*. Alive.Time didn’t slow. It *stopped*. The opulent hall, the sea of expectant faces in their finest silks and leathers, the heavy scent of moon-blessed incense and pack hierarchy – it all dissolved into meaningless static. The only reality was the raw, frantic hope blazing in Jason’s eyes, the dirt streaked on his face like war paint, the tremor in his frame that spoke of miles run through hostile territory. The carefully constructed facade of the Alpha Heir, the dutiful son, the resigned groom, vaporized. What remained was pure, primal instinct, a wolf scenting its mate against impossible odds.Ashton moved. Not a decision, but

Ashton's POV He gently captured her hand, the one that had traced his scar. It was cold, the skin rough, nails broken and filthy. He enveloped it in both of his larger, warmer ones, trying to impart some heat, some sense of safety. "It's okay," he murmured, the Alpha command he wielded so easily elsewhere utterly absent. This was pure, desperate tenderness. "You're safe now, Novah. You're home." The word 'home' felt hollow, a lie. This mansion, this pack, hadn't been her home in spirit for a long time before she vanished. But he needed to say it. Needed to believe he could *make* it true again.She looked down at their joined hands, her expression one of profound confusion. She didn't pull away this time, but neither did she cling. She simply observed, as if trying to decipher an alien ritual. "Safe?" she echoed, testing the word. "Home?" She looked around the opulent lounge again, her gaze lingering on the unfamiliar portraits, the heavy velvet, the cold marble fireplace. Her brow f

Ashton's POV Ashton obliged, the solid *thunk* of the latch echoing in the sudden silence. He walked to the massive mahogany desk, not sitting, resting his knuckles on its polished surface. He could feel the weight of his father’s judgment pressing down, the decades of expectation, the carefully constructed alliances now teetering on the brink."You look like hell," Thorne stated flatly, finally turning. His face was a mask of cold fury, eyes like chips of flint. The Alpha aura radiating from him was oppressive, designed to intimidate, to force submission.Ashton didn’t flinch. He met his father’s gaze head-on. "Feels like it." His own voice was rough, stripped bare. He wasn’t going to play games. Not about this.Thorne took a step closer, the air crackling with tension. "That display downstairs…" He paused, as if the memory was physically distasteful. "You humiliated Loveth Silvermane in front of half the pack, her father’s most trusted lieutenants, and elders from three allied terr

Novah’s POV Another knock. Different. Softer, hesitant. Novah braced herself, shrinking back against the velvet cushions. The door opened slowly, revealing not Elara, but a younger woman. She had kind, worried eyes the colour of moss and hair the shade of wheat left too long in the sun, escaping a messy braid. She carried a small woven basket and wore simple, practical clothes that seemed out of place in the opulent room."Hello?" the woman ventured softly, stepping inside and closing the door with exaggerated care. "My name’s Mara. I’m… well, I help with healing sometimes. Elara said you might…" She trailed off, her gaze sweeping over Novah’s rigid posture, the untouched broth, the tear tracks drying on her cheeks. Mara’s expression softened with genuine concern. "Oh, dear heart. You look like you’ve been dragged through the briars backwards." She approached slowly, like one might approach a wounded animal, and set her basket down beside Elara’s offerings. "Mind if I sit?" She gestu