All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Marked Mate: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The night was still charged with energy, the aftermath of the first clash lingering like smoke over the estate. Zaria’s pulse still hummed with the resonance of the shards, and Lucien remained at her side, every movement measured, protective, and magnetic. Their hands brushed subtly, the mere touch sending heat through her veins, a reminder of their tether amidst chaos. Outside the wards, the estate grounds were a battlefield of shadow and technology, Kael’s agents probing, striking, retreating—but each attempt fell against the fortress of pack loyalty and Zaria’s growing command of the shards. Yet inside the ritual amphitheater, the Conclave’s attention had shifted. The momentary spectacle had not gone unnoticed. Every ancient pack, every coven, every silent observer hidden behind the holographic screens felt the tremor of power, and unease rippled across the tribunal. The whispers were immediate, insidious: Who among these wolves could falter? Who might betray the Alpha’s mate?

Lucien closed his hand firmly around Zaria’s and guided her out. The shards had not stopped humming since the visions ended; their glow lingered like heat lightning on the horizon, reminders of the bloodline revelations Caelus had forced upon her. She barely registered the grand staircase or the gilded sconces throwing golden fire across the polished marble walls. The Wolfe’s Vane estate was vast—part fortress, part palace, part boardroom empire and still luxurious. Tonight it felt like a living thing, breathing with every flicker of power still crackling through its wards. Lucien said nothing as he led her down the west wing corridor, his presence like a shield, the rich scent of cedarwood and steel clinging to him. His tailored black suit clung effortlessly to his broad shoulders; the loosened tie hinted at both exhaustion and untamed hunger. She could almost believe he’d stepped out of a high-gloss magazine spread—Alpha CEO, untouchable, infuriatingly magnetic. They reached a

The Wolfe estate still smoldered with tension from the Shadow Alpha’s ripple when the first report came in. But before the scout burst in with his blood-streaked shirt and frantic eyes, Zaria already knew. She had felt it. Sitting cross-legged in Lucien’s private chamber—a penthouse suite that looked down on the glittering city skyline like a king upon his throne—she steadied her breathing against the faint hum of the shards Mara had left for her. The floor beneath her was obsidian, veined with gold, a mirror for the night. Above her, the ceiling was glass, giving the impression she meditated beneath the very stars themselves. And then it hit her. A pulse. A pressure. Like the echo of claws against her spine. Images slid behind her eyes—fire crackling through a remote Wolfe compound, blood scent sharp in her throat though she was miles away. Wolves fighting in confusion. A gate falling. Shadows slipping through defenses. Her eyes flew open, glowing faintly with a silver hue

The Conclave chamber had emptied in a storm of whispers, murmurs trailing like smoke as private jets carried Alphas back into the night sky. But the tension did not leave with them. It clung to the estate walls, seeped into the marble floors, coiled in Zaria’s chest like a restless serpent.Lucien’s hand lingered on the small of her back as they departed the chamber together, his grip protective but unspoken. She could feel the pressure of his authority still thrumming through him, the residual force of the speech he had delivered. He had been unshakable in front of the Conclave, but now, as the obsidian doors shut behind them, a flicker of something else crossed his face—concern, sharp and unguarded.“Come,” he murmured, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. “The wards need checking.”She knew it was only half true. Mara had already dispatched sigil-bearing wolves to reinforce the wards. But Lucien wasn’t delegating this. He was pulling her away.They moved silently thro

The Conclave chamber was supposed to be unshakable. The marble floor gleamed like liquid pearl beneath chandeliers the size of carriages, the air perfumed with polished wood, power, and politics. Every detail of the estate screamed permanence—wealth carved into stone, luxury married to legacy. But now, permanence trembled. The shadows hadn’t retreated since the last ripple of energy. They clung to the corners of the high-vaulted chamber like spilled ink, thicker than night should ever be. They pulsed with a rhythm almost like breathing, drawing every eye yet giving no clear shape. Even Lucien, predator-perfect in his control, stood taut as a drawn bow beside Zaria. His suit—black, cut sharp to his broad shoulders—looked as if it belonged to a man carved from marble. Yet his wolf pressed just beneath the surface, gold burning in his eyes, hackles rising at an unseen enemy. The council sat frozen at the crescent table, their robes and diamonds and tailored suits no armor against th