บททั้งหมดของ The werewolf king is my mate. : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

EVERYTHING RETURNS TO NORMAL.The morning sun crept lazily through the curtains, casting long, golden slants across my bedroom floor. I sat on the edge of my bed, toes brushing the carpet, trying to absorb the quiet. Everything was strangely normal.I let my gaze wander over the room I had been in for only a week, but it felt like a lifetime. My clothes were folded neatly in the drawer. There were no signs of chaos, of disruption, of the rogue storm I remembered. My mind kept reaching for last week, for the events I couldn’t quite believe had happened, but they seemed distant like I was recalling a story about someone else.I tried to remember Damien. Where he had been, what he had said, the way his presence had filled the room. But now, there was only emptiness. Not a single trace of him. I blinked, hoping that my mind was playing tricks, that I would catch sight of him around the corner, leaning casually against a wall, smirking. But the house was quiet. Empty. As if he had n

The moment Daniel frowned at me like I’d just asked him to solve a calculus equation, my stomach dropped.“What rogue battles?” he asked slowly, head tilting in confusion.The same rogue battles. The ones that happened last week. The ones where people screamed and ran and shifted and the air tasted like iron and death. Those rogue battles.I opened my mouth, but suddenly felt stupid. “The ones that happened last week. When we were attacked? When everyone was screaming and running and the warriors and D—?”Daniel stared. Blinked once. Then, he gave me a smile so polite it made me clamp my mouth shut instantly.“Emily,” he said gently, “there were no rogue attacks last week.”My heartbeat stuttered. “What? Yes, there were.”“No,” he repeated, sounding amused, “there weren’t.”I took a step back. “You’re joking.”He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”Actually, yes. His face looked like the default expression of someone telling a knock-knock joke badly.“I — I was there,” I

CONSISTENT LIES.By the time I got back to my grandparents’ mansion, my brain felt like mashed potatoes someone had forgotten on a stove and let burn at the edges.The whole walk home, I couldn’t get his face out of my head.I’m your brother.Brother.BROTHER. You’re supposed to be dead!The word ricocheted inside my skull like it had no intention of calming down ever again.I slammed the front door shut behind me harder than necessary. The echo rattled through the hallway.My wolf, who’d been prickling against my consciousness ever since the guy said that stupid, stupid sentence, paced restlessly inside me.He can’t be my brother, I thought desperately.I kicked my boots off (they flew in two different directions because apparently coordination was not my gift today) and stalked through the hallway with all the grace of a sleep-deprived gremlin.I needed answers.NOW.And I wasn’t going to get them from the pack elders. Or the smiling demons pretending the rogue attacks were a fever

MY BROTHERIf someone had told me a week ago that I had a hidden brother who’d been secretly trained by my grandparents like some sort of deluxe, limited-edition family heirloom, I’d have been convinced it was another level of bullying.Possibly cried.Definitely asked what brand of insanity they were drinking.And yet.Here I was, sitting at the long dining table in my grandparents’ mansion, sipping tea across from Elio while Grandma fussed over pastries like this was the most normal sibling breakfast in the world.“Eat,” she insisted, sliding a plate toward him. “You’re too thin.”“I’m not thin,” Elio protested.“You are thin compared to when you were fifteen,” she replied sternly.I glanced between them. “You compare everyone to when they were fifteen?”“Yes,” Grandma said. “That’s when everyone ate properly.”Elio leaned toward me and whispered, “She tried to feed me six breakfasts once.”I almost snorted tea out of my nose.This, whatever this was, felt dangerously close to perfe

I COULDN’T SHIFTI was sixteen when everything shifted.Not all at once. Not dramatically. It was quieter than that, which somehow made it worse.Before sixteen, I was invisible in my parents’ pack. Too quiet. Too strange. Not weak enough to bully openly, not strong enough to respect. I existed in that uncomfortable middle space where people forgot to invite you, forgot to remember your name, forgot you had feelings at all.And then I didn’t shift.That was when invisibility turned into attention.I remember the morning clearly. The chill in the air. The way my mother braided my hair tighter than usual, her fingers trembling even though she tried to smile.“Today will be fine,” she said, not meeting my eyes.I believed her. Because I loved her. Because I was sixteen and still stupid enough to think parents always knew things I didn’t.At the training grounds, everyone stood in loose clusters. Sixteen-year-olds were meant to shift for the first time during communal training. No