Semua Bab Falling For The Wrong Alpha : Bab 81 - Bab 90

Rhunar paced the living room like a caged animal, his phone pressed so tightly to his ear it might as well have been welded there. Each turn of his stride was sharp, his boots striking the polished wood floor with a steady thud-thud-thud. The glossy surface reflected the faint glow from the chandelier above, but his eyes weren’t taking in anything around him. He was locked in, jaw clenched, waiting for a voice on the other end of the line. The call rang and rang, an endless loop of silence broken only by the faint mechanical beep that announced another missed connection. “Pick up,” Rhunar muttered under his breath, voice low and edged with frustration. “Come on, pick up.” Fenrik sat a few feet away, leaning lazily against the armrest of the couch. Arms crossed over his chest, his posture looked casual, but there was nothing relaxed about his gaze—it tracked every movement of his younger brother like a hawk watching prey. “He won’t answer,” Fenrik said finally, his voice a flat, un

Fenrik sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of his room, a half-unpacked bag lying open in front of him. The straps were loosened, its contents spilling out like the guts of something he wasn’t ready to face. Clothes were scattered around him—shirts wrinkled from travel, dark pants folded half-heartedly, boots tossed carelessly near the bed. A few papers, worn from being carried too long, still sat folded at the bottom. He pulled one out, glanced at the faded writing, then set it aside with a sigh. Finally, after hours of putting it off, he was forcing himself to arrange his things. It wasn’t because he cared about tidiness; it was the only way to silence the noise in his head. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though packing and unpacking could distract him from the weight pressing down on him. The night outside was quiet—unnaturally so. Blackland was never truly still. Even at its calmest, there were whispers, creaks of shifting wood, distant footsteps, or the howl of a wolf

Agatha’s voice trembled, though she tried to sound firm. “What? Me… a lycan? Really, Fenrik? I am a werewolf from Packland. My birth parents are both from Packland, so that is impossible.” Her words came out sharp, but her hands betrayed her, fisting against her thighs, nails digging into her skin. The thought alone made her chest tighten. Lycan. The word sounded too big, too dangerous, too far from what she had always believed about herself. Fenrik leaned his broad frame against the rough bark of the nearest tree, arms folding across his chest. His sharp eyes studied her carefully, almost as if he were dissecting every twitch of her face. “Well, I was just guessing, omega. But think about it. That night of the attack—you were shot with a silver bullet. And yet, you woke up… and you healed.” Agatha’s breath caught. The memory flashed before her eyes like a blade slicing open an old wound—the white-hot agony of the silver burning through her flesh, the scream she couldn’t hold back

“So… you know then.” Agatha’s voice was low, but it carried a weight she couldn’t hide. “Yes,” Rhunar answered, steady as ever. Agatha sighed, closing her book slowly, her thumb marking the page. Her shoulders sank as if she had just set down a burden too heavy to keep carrying. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. And Fenrik already told someone?” Rhunar’s brows drew together. “Wait. You told Fenrik first?” Agatha blinked. “Hold on—you mean he didn’t tell you?” Rhunar shook his head firmly. “No. He didn’t. He’s the only one who knows?” “Yes,” she admitted, almost whispering. “Then I only know because I felt it,” Rhunar said, his voice rough with something he didn’t want to name. He stepped closer, his hand pressing against his chest. “My wolf felt your wolf. That’s how I found out.” Agatha’s lips parted. “Oh…” Her eyes dropped to her lap, to the open book she wasn’t reading anymore. “The wolf bond.” Silence lingered. She pretended to read again, her eyes dragging acro

Marcus lifted his hand, a sharp flick of his fingers, and the two guards at the boutique door shifted their stance. Their guns lowered, but their eyes stayed cold, unreadable masks.One of them spoke, voice flat, almost rehearsed. “The Alpha wants only you.” His gaze landed squarely on Fenrik.Fenrik’s brow furrowed. “Only me?” His voice carried suspicion, a low growl beneath his words.The guard didn’t blink. “Orders.”Fenrik’s jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek, but he gave a small nod. He turned his head toward Ryan, voice firm, laced with authority that allowed no argument. “You wait here. Don’t do a thing, understood?”Ryan’s chest was heaving, his gaze fixed on Arraya through the glass window. She stood inside the boutique, small and fragile compared to the two alphas facing off. His whole body screamed to run in, to smash the glass, to drag her out before anything else could happen. But Fenrik’s order held him back like chains.“Yes, boss,” Ryan muttered, his throat ti