All Chapters of Fated to His Masked Alpha : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

The great council chamber had always been a place of law and judgment, not spectacle. But as Lyra stepped through the high archway with her parents at her side, she felt the difference immediately. The air was too thick, buzzing with tension. Torches burned brighter than they should have, shadows clinging to the stone walls like whispers.Every elder was present, seated in a semicircle of carved oak chairs, their gazes sharp as blades. The suitors were gathered as well, arrayed like soldiers on review. Some smiled with practiced ease; others smirked with arrogance. And there, near the back, Eric of the Phantom Pack stood with arms crossed, his gaze steady, the only one who did not shift restlessly under the weight of the moment.Lyra hated all of it.She hated how the chamber smelled of desperation, of wolves pretending their gifts could purchase her soul. She hated the way the elders’ eyes lingered on her as though she were a puzzle to be solved. And most of all, she hated the announ

The chamber still smelled of burned flesh.Though the fires had long been doused, the scent clung to the stone walls, stubborn as the echoes of what had been said. Lyra walked the corridor outside the council room with her head high, but her heart pounded. The suitors had been dismissed, the elders cloistered in hushed arguments, but she felt the weight of every eye — pack wolves, servants, guards. All of them whispering.The Moon touched him.Eric of the Phantom Pack.A wolf with no banners, no power. Chosen by the chain.Some voices were awed. Others bitter. More than one carried a dangerous note: envy.Inside the council chamber, the tension was sharper than knives. Everyone was restless and it felt like a bomb waiting to go off. “They’ll rally behind her,” snarled Elder Hakon, slamming his fist against the oak table. His voice cracked the quiet. “Every pup will think they can challenge tradition. Do you understand what she’s undone with her words?”“Do not speak of her as though

The courtyard still smelled of blood.Lyra stood in the center of the ruin, silver chains coiled around broken stone, black scorch marks bleeding across the ground. Her fire still smoldered faintly, glowing from the cracks between her fingers, but her body trembled. It wasn’t weakness. It was rage.The council chamber filled fast. Elders, lieutenants, warriors—all summoned by Troy and Daisy the moment the alarms fell silent. The walls buzzed with whispers: wolves had died, Alaric had breached their borders, the heirs had been marked.But it wasn’t those things that made the whispers sharpest. It was the sight burned into every witness’ memory—Phantom Pack’s Alpha standing at Lyra’s side, shielding her, bleeding for her, his jaws at Alaric’s throat.Arden sat at the head of the chamber, his fire dim but his presence commanding. Troy stood beside him, calm as stone, though his eyes were sharp with unspoken fury. Daisy, regal and unyielding, guided Lyra to the circle’s center, her hand s

The echoes of the trial had not yet faded.Eric’s blood still stained the sacred circle. Wolves spoke in hushed voices through the corridors of Blackpine’s stronghold, divided between reverence and resentment. Some called him a phantom risen from shadow to steal loyalty that wasn’t his. Others whispered that perhaps the Moon had chosen him — not through heritage, but through sheer defiance.For Lyra, the night burned differently.She hadn’t slept. She could still feel the heat of his blood on her palms, the way his wolf had bowed but never broken, the fire in his amber eyes when he had said the words: I fight for her.Those words haunted her more than any wound. Because she had believed him. Entirely.At dawn, the council convened.Troy and Daisy stood at the head, their authority absolute. Arden leaned against a pillar, flame coiling lazily around his wrist, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. Lyra sat beside him, trying to school her expression into neutrality, though her heart th

The council chamber reeked of smoke and suspicion.Torches flickered along the stone walls, their flames guttering in the draft of wolves crowding shoulder to shoulder. Whispers churned through the room like restless wind, punctuated by the occasional growl.At the center stood Selene.Her hands were bound, silver cuffs biting into her wrists. The chain clinked softly whenever she moved, but her posture remained straight, her storm-gray eyes steady. She looked more like a queen than a prisoner, unflinching beneath the glare of wolves who would happily see her dead.Arden stood to her right, fire barely leashed beneath his skin. The mate-bond throbbed painfully every time the silver cut deeper into her flesh. His wolf howled inside him, demanding he rip the chains off, demanding he protect her. But the council had demanded caution.And Arden was trapped between instinct and throne.Lyra sat near the head of the table, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. She alone understood the f