All Chapters of Marked by the Alpha: Blood Oath: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

RonanThe council chamber reeks of tension. Stone walls hold the heat of too many bodies pressed too close, voices raised in teeth-bared argument. Torches gutter, throwing sharp light across faces I know too well.My inner circle, my hunters, my challengers. Tonight they look more like a pack of vultures than the backbone of Blackthorn.The ledger sits open in front of me, ink scrawled by hands I trust less every passing day. Supplies missing. Rations gone. Crossbows that should’ve been at the border outpost, vanished. Patrol logs altered to make it look like nothing’s wrong. Every instinct in me screams a name. Loran. But instinct isn’t proof. And proof is the only thing that can keep this council from turning on itself like rabid dogs.I stand at the head of the table, my hands braced on rough oak, and wait. The noise dies the moment my weight shifts forward. My silence has always been sharper than shouting.“We’ve lost more than food,” I say. My voice scrapes against stone. “We’ve

Eli“You’re two minutes late,” Hazel accuses when I reach her. “Thank you for trusting me,” I say, meaning it sincerely for once. She’s the only who ever gives me the benefit of the doubt. If she thought I couldn’t handle myself, she’d have told Jace, and the entire cavalry would have come hunting for me.“What happened?” I give her the highlights before asking, “What did Jace say?” “He’s sent scouts to form a perimeter around the area. He’s hoping to catch any stray Redmaw spies if they try and leave our territory. You have to tell Ronan what happened.”I try and fail to suppress a sigh. He’ll know I was up to something, but I don’t think I can handle him dismissing this as another false alarm.He’ll blather on about how I didn’t see who the person in the cloak was and I can’t positively identify him as a Redmaw wolf. It could be a trap Loran’s set and if he publicly accuses him of treason and Loran proves he was with a pack member I’ll lose all credibility and he’d lose the tru

RonanHe says thin ice and I want to drag him under me and kiss him until the only thing that exists is heat.Instead I say nothing, because the truth would cut us both. The truth is that I trust him more than I trust my own instincts and that terrifies me. The truth is that I’m holding a pack together with my teeth while Redmaw tests our fences and my wolves test my patience and one Omega tests the part of me I don’t let see daylight.I pick him up and set him on the table because his legs aren’t steady and mine are a step from shaking too. He glares like he wants to bite me. I want him to. I want him mean and alive and here.“Don’t walk away,” he says, reading me too well. The barely noticeable edge of panic in his voice squeezes my heart.“I’m not.” I clean him with a cloth from the drawer I keep for this, and the gentleness in my hands makes my throat tight. It’s a stupid little ritual. It’s also a promise I can give without words. I take, I tend. I mark, I mend.He watches me li

RonanThe weight of stone and long-dead fires lingers in the meeting hall, the atmosphere thick enough to strangle a breath. My pack fills the large room. Alphas, Betas, wolves who seem to think their rank gives them the right to question me. They murmur like a hive, restless, buzzing with suspicion and the scent of unease.I take my place at the head. Eli sits near the back, Hazel and Jace flanking him like shields. The tether still hangs loose from his wrist, but he’s tugged the knot so it looks like he could slip free at any moment. Typical. Even here, even now, he wants me to see the line between leash and choice.I let the silence stretch until every throat clears, until even the youngest feels the weight of it pressing on their lungs. Then I say, “We found proof that Redmaw is inside our borders.”That kills the whispers.Hazel rises, chin high, dark braid swinging down her back. She pins the map she drew to the wall. The quarry is marked, the hatch scratched in bold strokes. H

MaraThe council chamber empties slowly, wolves lingering in knots of conversation like carrion birds unwilling to leave a battlefield. I stay behind only long enough to note who whispers to who, who avoids whose gaze.Loran, for instance.He keeps his head bowed, a picture of injured loyalty, but I’ve watched him too long not to see the cracks. His movements are too careful, his face too composed. A man performing innocence is never innocent.When he slips out the side door, I follow.The air cuts sharp against my skin, heavy with the resin bite of pine. Moonlight filters through the canopy, pale strips on the ground like warning lines. Loran’s gait quickens the farther he gets from the hall, cloak swinging with a little too much purpose.I don’t call out. If he is guilty, then startling him only gives him time to hide it.The bastard veers off the path toward the forest. I grit my teeth. Wolves vanish into trees every day, it means nothing. But my gut, the same gut that kept me aliv