Todos los capítulos de I Rejected My Mate To Protect The Pack: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

The Final ShotHunter pov The gunshot echoed across the clearing like thunder, sharp and definitive in the crisp autumn air. For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, everyone froze—guests ducking for cover, security personnel spinning to identify new threats, Tara and I standing together in shocked stillness as we processed what had just happened again. Another damn interruption delaying our union. Then Alpha Marcus Blackwood collapsed to his knees beside the altar, his hand pressed against his shoulder where crimson was already spreading across his formal suit. "Dad!" My voice carried across the clearing as I rushed to my father's side, but my eyes were already scanning for the source of the shot that had come from somewhere in the tree line beyond the ceremony space. "Secondary shooter," Marcus gasped, his weathered face pale but his voice steady with the authority of someone accustomed to giving orders under fire. "Celeste wasn't working alone." Chaos erupted as pack

Overwhelming LoveHunter pov The wedding guests had begun to disperse after the ceremony concluded, their congratulations still ringing in the air as Tara's and I made our way back to the pack house. The autumn sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson that seemed to mirror the overwhelming emotions coursing through my system. We were married. We were safe from the threats that had plagued us for months. And we were going to have a baby. I felt like my mind was struggling to process the magnitude of everything that had happened in the span of a single day. This morning, I had been focused on wedding logistics and security protocols. Now, as we climbed the stairs to our private quarters, I was grappling with the reality that I was not only a husband but soon to be a father. "Are you okay?" Tara asked softly as we entered our bedroom—our bedroom now, officially. "You've been quiet since Dr. Chen confirmed the pregnancy." I turned to look at her, really look a

The Next GenerationHunter pov Fifteen years had passed since Mickey Blackwood's birth, and the boy who had entered the world amid threats and political turmoil had grown into something extraordinary. At fifteen, he stood nearly as tall as me, with my steel-gray eyes and Tara's determined spirit, but there was something else about him—a presence that made even seasoned pack warriors step aside when he walked past. I watched from the training ground's observation deck as my son sparred with three opponents simultaneously, his movements fluid and precise in a way that defied his age. The other teenagers—all older and more experienced—circled Mickey like prey animals testing a predator, their wolves recognizing something in him that their human minds couldn't quite process. "He's holding back," Tara observed, joining me at the railing with two cups of coffee. "He could have ended that match five minutes ago." "I know," I replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "He's been doing tha

First Change Tara pov The full moon hung heavy and silver over Silverstone territory, casting long shadows through the forest clearing where our Blackwood family had gathered for what we all knew would be a momentous night. Mickey stood in the center of the sacred circle, his fifteen-year-old frame trembling with anticipation and barely contained energy that seemed to make the very air around him shimmer. I watched from the edge of the clearing, my arms wrapped protectively around my younger children—eight-year-old Emma and six-year-old Daniel, both born in the years of relative peace that had followed Mickey's arrival. Emma had my green eyes and her father's determination, while Daniel possessed Mickey's unusual perceptiveness and an empathy that seemed to extend to every living creature he encountered. "Is Mickey going to be okay, Mama?" Emma whispered, her small hand clutching mine with surprising strength. "He looks like he's in pain." I looked at my eldest son, seeing th

Protecting the InnocentMicky pov I had been watching Lily Chen for three weeks, and what I had discovered made my protective instincts burn with barely contained fury. My mate—barely five feet tall and delicate as spun glass—bore the careful marks of someone who had learned to hide pain with practiced expertise. The bruises were always in places that wouldn't show: wrists covered by long sleeves, a careful way of sitting that suggested tender ribs, and the telltale flinch whenever someone moved too quickly in her peripheral vision. But most telling was the way she ate lunch—quickly, efficiently, as if she wasn't sure when her next meal might come. Mom found me in the pack house kitchen at dawn, staring out the window with the kind of controlled rage that made the air around me shimmer with barely leashed power. "You haven't slept," she observed, setting a cup of coffee beside me. "I can't sleep," I replied, my voice carrying the dangerous quiet that reminded mom so much of my d