Semua Bab Marked By Fate: Bab 111 - Bab 115

The others fell into step behind us, their excited whispers and giggles trailing like a soft melody. My dress swished around my legs, the ivory silk catching the light as we descended, and I felt like I was floating—half from the moment, half from the weight of what was about to happen. I was about to become the Luna of the Black Oak Pack, officially bound to Darius in front of everyone we loved.We stepped out into the evening air, the sky painted in deep indigo with the full moon rising, casting a silvery glow over the pack lands. The grand hall’s outdoor venue was breathtaking, transformed into something straight out of a dream. Lanterns hung from the trees, their soft light dancing across tables draped in white linen, adorned with roses and ivy. Pack members stood in a semicircle, their faces bright with anticipation, their eyes following me as we approached. The air hummed with energy, the kind only a pack under a full moon could summon.And then I saw him. Darius stood at the

I could feel him tensing, his moans growing louder, my name spilling from his lips like a prayer. I pushed him further, faster, until his release hit, his cum spilling as he gripped the bed, his body shuddering. I licked him clean, savoring the way he trembled beneath me, his chest heaving. But then, a sharp, searing pain sliced through my abdomen, and I jerked upright, a gasp escaping my lips. Darius’s eyes snapped open, his pleasure replaced by instant concern. He was on his feet in a flash, his hands steadying me. “What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp with worry. I clutched my stomach, the pain intensifying, stealing my breath. “Darius,” I managed, my voice trembling. “The baby… I think it’s coming.” “Shit,” he cursed, his eyes wide as he sprang into action, running around the room in a frantic search for clothes. I tried to stand, but another wave of pain hit, and I collapsed back onto the bed, a string of curses spilling from my lips. “Dammit,” I hissed, gripping the sheets.

The late afternoon sun bathed the garden in a warm golden glow, casting long shadows across the vibrant flowerbeds and neatly trimmed grass. I sat on the balcony of the pack house, a steaming mug of tea cradled in my hands, my eyes fixed on the scene below. Darius was out there with our ten-month-old son, Rowan, his tiny figure a bundle of energy as he toddled around, mimicking his father’s movements. Darius, ever the patient Alpha, was teaching him the basics of fighting in his human form—simple stances, little punches that were more flailing than fierce. It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen, Rowan’s chubby fists swinging wildly while Darius pretended to dodge, his deep laughter echoing through the garden. “Look at you, little warrior,” Darius said, his voice carrying up to me as he crouched to Rowan’s level, his massive frame comically hunched to match his son’s height. “Gotta keep your guard up, buddy. Like this.” He raised his fists, exaggerating the motion, and Rowan gi