All Chapters of Mated To My Stepbrother : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Novah’s POV The silence after the door clicked shut behind Ashton wasn’t silence at all. It was the choked aftermath of a detonation. The frantic energy of the pack – the shouts, the running boots, the guttural snarls vibrating through the very stone of the mansion – pressed against the muffled barrier of the heavy oak door, a constant, low-grade assault. It seeped under the threshold, a tangible pressure against Novah’s skin, thick with aggression, fear, and the metallic tang of blood she hadn’t seen but knew was there. Like smelling ozone before lightning strikes.And he stood there, filling the space not just physically, but with the sheer, overwhelming *weight* of him. Ashton. The name felt like a stone dropped into the murky well of her missing past. He wasn’t the polished figure from before. Dirt, or more likely dried blood, smeared one rolled-up sleeve near the elbow. His dark hair was dishevelled, sweat-dampened strands clinging to his forehead. Exhaustion carved deep lines a

Ashton's POVThe heavy oak door of the Council chamber slammed shut behind Ashton, the finality of the sound swallowed instantly by the low, constant thrum vibrating through the stone floors of Moonstone Keep. It wasn’t just sound; it was the *pulse* of the pack. Anxious. Angry. Restless. Hundreds of hearts beating too fast, breaths held too tight, muscles coiled for a violence that hung thick in the air like the coppery scent of pre-dawn frost. Ten hours in that chamber, facing down Thorne’s dwindling faction and the terrified, angry eyes of elders who saw only ruin in his defiance. Ten hours of teeth bared beneath polite words, of threats veiled as counsel. Silvermane wasn’t just probing anymore. They were massing. And whispers spoke of others – opportunistic jackals smelling blood in the water.Rylan materialized from the shadows of the corridor, his scarred face impassive, but the tension in his broad shoulders mirrored the Keep’s vibration. "Alpha."Ashton ran a hand over his fac

Ashton's POV A flicker in Borin’s icy eyes. A tightening of the scarred knuckles gripping the arms of his stone chair. Stoneclaw had clashed bitterly with Silvermane a generation ago over rich hunting grounds now firmly in Silvermane’s grasp. The wound still festered."Silvermane is strong," Borin stated, though it sounded like a reluctant admission."Strong, yes," Ashton conceded. "But arrogant. Distracted by their vendetta against Moonstone. Distracted by *her*." He didn’t name Novah, but the implication hung heavy. "They believe the south is fractured. They believe the old alliances are dust." He took a step forward, his gaze locking with Borin’s. "Show them they are wrong. Show them that when one pack is threatened by the jackal, the wolves of the mountains remember their teeth."Silence descended, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Ashton could feel the shift in the pack’s energy, the low growl softening into a tense, listening hum. Borin’s gaze bored into him, weighing, calcul

(Ashton's POV)The silence after the Council chamber door slammed was less a sound and more a physical pressure settling on Ashton’s shoulders. It was the abrupt cessation of shouted accusations, Thorne’s venomous logic, the fearful whispers of elders who saw only ruin in his defiance. But beneath his boots, the ancient stone floors of Moonstone Keep thrummed. Not silent. Never silent. It was the pulse of the pack itself – a low, discordant vibration of hundreds of hearts beating too fast, breaths held too tight, muscles coiled for a violence that hung thick in the air, a coppery tang beneath the scent of cold stone and woodsmoke. Ten hours. Ten hours of teeth bared beneath polite words, threats veiled as counsel. Silvermane wasn’t just probing anymore. Scouts confirmed it: massing forces. And whispers, like rats in the walls, spoke of others – opportunistic jackals smelling blood in the water.Rylan materialized from the shadowed archway down the corridor, a solid, scarred bulwark ag

Ashton's POV They stayed like that, wrapped in the fragile sanctuary of the firelit room. The Alpha and the lost girl, foreheads touching, breathing the same air, sharing warmth against the encroaching chill. The war drum beat of the pack pulsed beneath them, a constant reminder of the world outside, but here, for these stolen moments, time stretched thin and precious. The weight of command, the specter of Thorne, the gathering might of Silvermane – it all ceased to exist. There was only the shared warmth, the unspoken vow hanging heavy in the air, the terrifying, exhilarating potential of *them*, rekindled not in sunshine, but in the very heart of the gathering storm. Her fingers tightened minutely on his wrist.Finally, reluctantly, the demands of the outside world intruded. He pulled back, the separation feeling like tearing skin. Her eyes were still wide, pupils dilated, but the raw, animal terror was tempered now. Confusion, yes. Overwhelming emotion. Bewilderment at the intensi