All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Marked Mate: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The night had been still, the glassy reflection of the city shimmering beneath Wolfe Tower’s floodlit terraces, when the alarms went off. A ripple of unease ran through the estate—low, mournful howls that carried across the sprawling grounds, picked up by sentries on the perimeter and echoed by wolves stationed in the marble corridors. It was not a test. The air itself seemed to tighten, charged with dread, as the pack sensed before they even heard the words: something terrible had happened. Zaria had been in the training hall, still staring at her reflection in the mirrored glass long after Lucien left, when the resonance hit her chest like a blow. She stiffened, shards on the table trembling with an energy not her own. The estate’s heartbeat had changed. She felt it thrumming in the walls, the floors, the air, a pulse of grief, fury, and terror. She rushed into the corridor, robes swaying around her ankles, bare feet silent against the carpeted halls, and nearly collided with Silas

The Conclave adjourned deep into the night, but the chamber’s fractures still bled in Zaria’s mind long after the Alphas scattered back into their limousines, entourages, and private jets. The city outside Wolfe Tower shimmered with neon, glass, and steel, but to her it felt brittle, as if the world’s veneer was one sharp knock from shattering. Lucien walked her up to the penthouse level with the kind of silence that carried a thousand unspoken words. His hand was a ghost at her lower back, steady, protective, but restrained. He had fought a political war for hours; his shoulders carried the weight of too much loyalty and too many wolves whose faith was trembling. When the elevator doors whispered open into the vast suite, she wanted to cling to him, to beg him not to leave. But Lucien only brushed his lips once against her temple—brief, reverent, aching with the discipline of a man who loved her too fiercely to cage her—and murmured, “Rest. I’ll be in the war room. Call me for anyt

The night after the Shadow Alpha’s intrusion, Wolfe Tower no longer felt like a monument of luxury and dominance—it was a fortress.From the highest penthouse to the subterranean garages, every space shifted into readiness. The billionaire gloss remained—the skyline glittered through walls of glass, the marble floors shone, chandeliers cast liquid gold light across polished tables—but beneath it, war throbbed.The transformation was deliberate, relentless. Armories appeared where wine cellars had once been. Ritual blades gleamed on velvet stands, their edges kissed with silver and obsidian, etched in sigils older than empires. The glass walls of the rooftop garden became training fields, the roses replaced by racks of weapons and sigil stones that pulsed faintly in the moonlight.Zaria walked those halls, her senses raw from the Shadow’s visitation, and saw it all. Wolves sparring in formation across a ballroom that once hosted galas. Silk curtains drawn back to reveal floor-to-ceilin

The night before war wore a crown of light. Wolfe Tower, usually a citadel of glass and iron severity, glowed like a beacon against the skyline. Its windows shone with gold fire, its upper floors blazing as if the city itself were aflame. The river below caught the reflection, bending it into something liquid and dangerous. The world outside trembled with dread, but within the tower’s grand dining hall, the pack gathered for the oldest rite their kind had ever known.The Feast of Oaths.Crystal chandeliers spilled a thousand fractured lights across marble floors veined with black and silver. The table stretched the length of the hall—polished mahogany inlaid with steel sigils that caught every gleam of flame. Platters of venison, roasted boar, and blood-red beef steamed beside bowls of winter berries and goblets of wine so dark it might have been blood itself. Wolves in human skin and warriors in tailored black lined the benches and balconies, their laughter jagged, their sorrow hidde

The battlefield had gone still in that strange way storms do before they shatter the world—silence holding, every breath caught, every heart slamming against ribs as Kael and Lucien faced one another across the blood-slicked stone. Wolves pulled back instinctively, circling wide, clearing a space not by command but by the primal law that said no creature alive should stand between two Alphas at war.The blood moon glared above, swollen and hungry. Its crimson light ran down Kael’s scars like molten iron. His aura pressed against the stone, heavy, unrelenting, making it difficult even to breathe. And Lucien, golden and terrible, stood unbent in its wake, though his shoulders rolled back, muscles coiling, as if preparing to meet a force not even he could entirely withstand.When the first strike came, it cracked the world.Lucien lunged, claws unsheathed, a blur of black suit and molten eyes. Kael met him with a snarl that rattled the obelisks. Claw to claw, bone to bone, they collided