All Chapters of Lycan's Mate : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

*Greenwood — The Alpha's Quarters, Midnight*For the first time in what felt like forever, the night was still.Inside the Alpha’s guest quarters, firelight flickered low across stone walls, painting Ryder’s bare shoulders in gold. His wolf, Aiden, prowled restless beneath his skin, urging him closer to the bond that burned between him and Crystal.She sat by the window, bathed in silver moonlight, her hair spilling loose over her shoulders. Her skin glowed faintly. Her hands rested on the sill, fingers trembling though she fought to keep them steady.Ryder’s chest tightened at the sight. He had seen her fight like a storm, standing against enemies who could crush lesser wolves. He had seen her bleed and still stand. But now, in the quiet place, he saw what others never could… her vulnerability, her fear of being too much and never enough at once.“Crystal,” he said softly, his voice deeper than he intended.Her gaze lifted from the moon to him, and for a moment, neither spoke.Fin

*Starblood Pack — Dungeon, Midnight* The dungeons beneath Starblood were nothing grand. Lesley sat shackled against the wall, her wrists bound by silver chains that bit into her skin, the raw marks a constant reminder of her fall. Once, she had walked through packs with her chin high, chosen one, Mate to the supreme Alpha. Now, she was reduced to shadows, waiting for scraps, her name whispered like a curse. Her eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight, feral with bitterness. “Crystal,” she hissed under her breath, as though spitting venom. Her lips twisted. “The wolfless girl who became everything. The flame Ryder’s mate. His queen. And I…” Her throat caught on a dry laugh, broken and sharp. “I, who should have been queen, am chained like a dog.” Her head thudded back against the stone wall. She remembered her father’s voice while laying on his death bed, weak and cold; You are the future of our family. She remembered Ryder’s golden gaze at gatherings, never once looking her way

*Greenwood — Training Grounds, Afternoon* Warriors sparred in pairs, their movements swift and brutal, the rhythm of their strikes echoed. Luca moved among them, sword in hand, but his focus was fractured. His wolf paced beneath his skin, restless, claws scraping, teeth bared. Mark her. The command rippled through him, primal and undeniable. His jaw clenched. Every time Thalia moved within his sight, the pressure spiked, hot and feral, until it was all he could do not to cross the distance and sink his teeth into her skin, claiming what was his. Across the ring, Thalia spun her spear, the weapon gleaming as she knocked her opponent flat on his back. The warriors watching let out a cheer, some laughing, others groaning in sympathy for the unlucky wolf. Thalia only smirked, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she extended a hand to help her sparring partner rise. Pride burned through Luca at the sight of her… strong, unyielding, every inch the warrior fate had destined

*Starblood pack — Dungeon, Midnight*The dungeon had never been this silent. Even when wolves slept in their cells, chains groaned with restless movements, and water dripped in a rhythm that could drive a weaker mind to madness.Lesley had grown used to it. She had learned to pace her fury to the rhythm of dripping water. She sat on the edge of her cot, chains biting into her wrists, her dark hair matted against her cheek. Her sharp eyes were fixed on the shadows at the far end of the corridor.Footsteps.Not the heavy boots of guards. No. This was different.She held her breath, her wolf stirring in warning, but Lesley ignored it. Hope and suspicion burned in equal measure in her chest. Wolves did not come here at night without reason. And reason, in the dungeon, often meant opportunity.A cloaked figure appeared, carrying nothing but a small bundle wrapped in rough cloth. The torchlight barely showed the stranger’s face, but Lesley caught the flash of a mark on the wrist… silver

*Silver Fang Stronghold — War Room, Night* The war room was built of black stone, lit only by braziers. A long oak table, scarred and darkened by centuries, stretched across the chamber. Maps of the wolf lands covered it, their edges curled and stiff with age, claw marks slashed through borders where wars had once raged. Greenwood’s crest was circled in blood-red ink, Ryder’s Starblood territory carved with deep gouges from the Alpha’s own claws. The Alpha of Silver Fang stood over it, broad-shouldered, his dark hair tied back, golden eyes glinting. His presence filled the chamber like a predator fills a den. “Too long,” he muttered, dragging one claw across the parchment map until it tore. His gaze fixed on Greenwood’s borders, his upper lip curling. “The High Alpha thinks silence is submission. That our stillness means defeat.” His Beta stood a step behind, lean where the Alpha was built of iron, his movements sharper, quicker, like a wolf made to move unseen through shadow