All Chapters of Claimed By The Alpha: Cursed Desires: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Genevieve’s POVI didn’t know how long I knelt there. Time had no meaning in that room not when every breath André took sounded like a war cry, each ragged inhale a desperate claim on life, and every second Tex didn’t wake up felt like a slow, inevitable death. The air itself felt heavy, like grief had seeped into the walls and was pressing down on my shoulders, making it hard to breathe.The healer moved like a shadow, her steps silent yet purposeful as she hovered over André. Her hands were steady, practiced, but there was an urgency in the way her fingers worked, like she was holding back a storm only she could see. She’d drawn more blood, added another IV, whispered something in a language that prickled my skin, a tongue I didn’t recognize sharp syllables that felt older than the stones beneath us. Her shelves, once crowded with strange remedies and relics, were half-empty already. Bottles and roots lay scattered around her workspace, vials of silver-tinted liquid glinting under t

The Next DayGenevieve’s POVI didn’t sleep.I couldn’t.Not when André was still lying there, silent and unmoving, fighting whatever venomous toxin had stormed through his body like wildfire. Not when every beep from the monitors felt like a ticking clock, echoing in the sterile stillness like a countdown to something I wasn’t ready to face. I couldn't tear myself away from the healer’s room, not even for a moment. The thought of being anywhere else of leaving him even for a second felt unbearable.André hadn’t woken up. Not once. Not even a flicker of his eyes or the twitch of a finger. But the healer said his vitals had stabilized. Barely, but enough to mean something. Enough to say that his body hadn’t surrendered. That his wolf his other half was still in the fight, still clawing its way back to life.I stayed by his side, curled in the uncomfortable metal chair, my fingers woven into his. My voice was hoarse from whispering memories into the dim, hushed room. Stories from when w

Genevieve’s POVI didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until the ache in my chest turned to something sharp something that made my vision blur and my knees threaten to buckle. The air rushed back into my lungs all at once, harsh and cold, like I'd surfaced from drowning.“André…” I whispered his name again, for what felt like the hundredth tim —but it could’ve been a thousand. My throat was raw, as if each plea had been torn from me with splinters. My fingers wouldn’t stop trembling where they clutched the edge of the cot he lay on, knuckles white, nails dug into the fabric like they alone could anchor him here. His body had been still for too long. Too cold. His skin had taken on the pale, stony pallor of death a terrible stillness, like the world had already decided to forget him.He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t moved. His hand once so warm, so strong lay limp in mine. I’d held it for hours, whispering memories, promises, apologies. Anything. Everything. Begging the universe to g

André’s POV The first thing I became aware of was breath.Not a thought. Not a memory. Just breath.A slow, stuttering inhale that scraped against my ribs like sandpaper. It didn’t even feel like mine more like I was borrowing it from someone else. The sound of it thundered in my ears, far too loud, echoing in a space I couldn’t define. I felt my chest rise… halt… then fall again. Muscles tugged with stiffness, cords of tension pulling through my back, my neck, my jaw. Everything ached not sharply, but deeply, like something had settled into my bones and decided it belonged there.Then came the light.Pale. Dim. Diffused as if seen through fog or water.It wasn’t enough to burn, but it was enough to disorient. Soft at the edges, yet still too much for eyes that hadn’t opened in what felt like lifetimes. My lids were heavy. Gluey. Reluctant, as though prying them apart might unravel me entirely.Still, they opened. Eventually.Shapes bled into existence undefined blobs at first. Then

Genevieve’s POV When his fingers moved, it was the smallest thing but to me, it felt like the earth shifted beneath my feet. At first, I thought I imagined it. That maybe my mind, desperate for a sign, had conjured the slight twitch in his hand. But then I felt it again slow and uncertain, like he was reaching through a fog so thick it swallowed everything he once knew. His fingers curled weakly around mine, not tightly, not with confidence, but gently. As if something deep inside him something primal and unspoken was telling him to hold on.My heart stuttered, aching with too many emotions at once. I couldn’t tell if it was relief or grief that poured through me as I stared at him. His eyes were still blank, unfocused. There was no recognition in them, no soft curve of a smile or teasing spark that used to light his face when he looked at me. But there was no fear either. Just a kind of quiet confusion, the kind that cracked through my chest because it didn’t belong on his face. Not