All Chapters of The Alpha’s Forgotten Bride: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

(Rowan's POV)Elira lay there as if she owned the air we stood in, her hands crossed in front of her as if she'd come to deliver some pronouncement from on high.The light streaming through the windows fell on the silver threads in her dark hair, putting lines on her face older than her years or maybe it was seriousness of what she was to bestow upon me."Well?" I pressed, fighting hard not to see my own patience fray. I'd had more than enough of this sort of veiled threat and broad warning in a single day.Her smile was slow, measured, the sort of smile that caused my skin to crawl. It was the sort of face one would not reserve for delivering ill news-it was the face of a woman savoring a moment well practiced."You don't actually remember her, do you?" she said, tilting her head as if observing a highly inquisitive specimen.I narrowed my eyes. "We have gone over this. Get on with it."Her smile broadened, and I saw with growing unease that she was enjoying this. Whatever piece of n

(Calla’s POV)It was too quiet.Not the kind of quiet that came with peace, but the sort that set your teeth on edge. The kind that made you wonder what was being whispered behind closed doors while you stood out here, in the open, unarmed.I sat across from Asher in the small sitting room off the main hall, pretending to read the same page in the worn book on my lap for the fifth time. He didn’t press me about my distraction—Asher had always been good at reading the air in his own way. The fire between us snapped and hissed, its warmth failing to thaw the chill coiling inside me.Because I knew where Elira was.And who she was with.Rowan’s study door had shut a half hour ago. She’d gone in with that silken smile, that voice like honey hiding poison, and Rowan—gods help him—hadn’t told her to leave.I told myself I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but I knew Elira’s games too well. I’d watched her do it to others: drip her words like a slow-acting toxin until they believed the lie she

(Rowan's POV)The study grew cold after the door slammed shut behind Elira.Her perfume lingered in the air, sugar-sweet, suffocating, woodsmoke-thick in my lungs. I rocked back in my chair and let silence accumulate around me, thick and unperformable. The fireplace spat, spewing sparks flying out across huddled bookshelves like curled claws, leaving the room creaky and jumpy despite familiarity.Her words clung to me like vultures, waiting for ideas I'd tried to conceal."She is not safe, Rowan. You can't perceive because she's devious.""She's not what she appears.""Sorcery is more in regard to witchcraft."How she'd recount it, so uniform and reminiscent of an apology, as in the case of family loss, was not to be missed. She'd cited incidences, choices Calla had made, dialogue between us.The type of choices that had appeared one way on the surface but, with Elira turning them over in her palm like rocks, eroded suspicion.Each of the tales had contained only a spark of truth to

(Calla's POV)The house was shrouded in that odd type of stillness which hangs suspended on the edge of waking, as if waiting for something, breathing held. It was not the quiet slumber of a resting house but some other quiet, full of possibility and things recalled. Midnight had descended on the world and had left us by ourselves in a bubble of time with only ourselves to keep company. And in the other house, Asher slept, his small chest expanding and contracting with the intake and release of breath in quiet rhythm, his dream world likely full of the untroubled naivete that children alone are capable of. His small hand rested in his cheek as he always slept so calmly, trusting and untroubled.And Rowan. Rowan and I, at last together alone with the secret that had plagued me for months.I crossed the doorway of the living room and already felt the weight of his presence,that warm darkness he hugged around himself like a second skin. Dark hair was mussed as if he'd had his fingers kn

(Calla’s POV)I didn’t want to stop. My lips clung to Rowan’s as if the kiss was the only thread holding me together. The heat of him seeped into me, the taste of him pulled at everything I had tried so hard to bury. Gods, I missed this. I missed him.There was a time when this wasn’t forbidden, when every touch was ours to claim. Back when he still knew me—back when I was not a stranger with secrets, but his mate, his bride, his everything. Those days had been the truest of my life. The nights when he held me like I was his heart outside his chest, the mornings when his eyes softened the moment they found me still tangled in our sheets. That was when I had known what it meant to be loved and chosen without hesitation.But now? This was different. This kiss wasn’t born from recognition or memory—it was something raw, something primal, the pull of a bond his mind had forgotten but his body couldn’t ignore. He didn’t remember the vows we had whispered. He didn’t remember how he had once