All Chapters of FORCED TO HAVE THE ALPHA’S BABY: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

CelineThe mornings in the rogue camp always start the same. Cold air, heavy smell of smoke, and that dull ache in my stomach that refuses to leave. I tell myself it’s hunger or exhaustion, but lately, it feels different—like something twisting from the inside, refusing to let me breathe easy.When I wake up today, the world looks hazier. The tents blur at the edges, and the sound of wolves sparring outside makes my head throb. I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass.Lena’s still asleep beside me, her thin arm curled protectively over her blanket. Marla’s already gone; I can hear her voice somewhere outside, loud as always, probably arguing with one of the sentries again. I don’t blame her. The rogues treat us better now, but it still feels like walking on cracked glass—one wrong move and everything shatters.I push the blanket off and press my palm against my lower stomach. The soreness is there again, dull and steady. My heartbeat jumps.N

CelineThe night smells like smoke and wet earth. Somewhere beyond the tree line, the low crackle of burning wood mixes with the ragged sound of men shouting. It starts as a faint echo and then grows until it crawls under my skin. By the time Nissa bursts through the tent flap, breathless and pale, I already know what she’s going to say.“They’re here.”Her voice trembles, but her eyes burn with that strange, stubborn fire I’ve come to depend on. I stand slowly, my stomach tightening—not from fear, not even from the secret I’ve been hiding beneath my ribs, but from the familiar weight of what’s about to happen.“How many?” I ask.“Too many,” she says. “But our scouts spotted Alaric’s banner—his men were searching the outer sector. It looks like they’re after you.”The words twist through the air like smoke, but I force myself to stay calm. “Gather the others,” I tell her quietly. “We don’t fight them head-on. Not tonight.”Nissa hesitates. “Celine—”“I said not tonight.” I grip the ed

CelineThe wind bites at my face as I stand on the ridge, looking down at the rows of tents scattered across the valley. Smoke rises in thin trails from the campfires, carrying the smell of roasted meat and wet soil. Below, the packs we’ve gathered—wolves from every border, from every broken clan—move like restless shadows. Some train, some argue, some just sit by the flames staring into nothing. They all came because of me. Because they believe I can lead them.It’s strange, really. A few weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I believed that myself.But now, watching them, hearing the echo of laughter mix with the low growls of sparring, I feel something different take root inside me. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s madness. Either way, I can’t let it slip.“Your people are starting to look like an army,” Mira says from beside me, pulling her fur cloak tighter. Her tone is half teasing, half proud.I smirk faintly. “Don’t call them my people. That sounds like I know what I’m doing.”She chuckles unde

CelineThe camp is restless before dawn. You can taste the tension in the air, like the bite of metal when lightning is close. No one says anything, but I feel it. The stares, the pause in movement whenever I pass. It’s not just suspicion anymore—it’s the kind of silence that grows teeth.I’ve had enough.When the sun drags its pale light over the ridge, I step out into the clearing. The cold wind whips my cloak open, the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth heavy around us. A few rogues are sparring near the training pit, their movements sharp and uneven. Others gather near the fires, pretending to be busy themselves but clearly watching.“Everyone,” I call out, my voice cutting through the morning air. “Gather here. Now.”A few look at each other, uncertain, but they obey. Boots crunch over gravel and half-frozen dirt. Within minutes, the entire camp crowds around me—faces shadowed, guarded. Mira stands off to the side, her arms crossed, watching me with that look that says you better

AlaricThe smell of iron hangs thick in the air long after the clashing stops. The battlefield lies quiet except for the groans of the dying and the occasional whimper of a wounded wolf trying to crawl toward the treeline. Rain still falls, lighter now, more of a steady drizzle washing over the mud, mixing with the blood until everything looks the same shade of dark red and brown. My hands are still shaking as I grip my sword, though I already sheathed it once. I keep holding it like I might forget what just happened if I let go.Celine’s scent is gone from the clearing. Faint traces linger on the wind—wet earth, pine, and that stubborn sweetness I can’t describe. But she’s gone. She left. And I didn’t stop her.I stand there for a while, staring at the ridge she disappeared over. My mind keeps replaying the last few seconds, the way her eyes locked on mine, the curve of her belly barely visible through the rain-soaked armor. My heir. My blood. I should be proud. But all I feel is sha