All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Marked Mate: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The penthouse was quiet in a way that made every shadow seem alive. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the expanse, and beyond them, the city glittered like a thousand secrets waiting to be told. From this height, the world seemed small, fragile. Yet inside the suite, Lucien Wolfe’s presence filled every inch of air, heavy and restless, as though the empire of glass and steel below couldn’t contain the storm brewing in his chest. Zaria lingered by the window, her reflection ghosting against the night sky. Her gown—an afterthought borrowed from Mara’s collection—flowed like liquid silver against her skin. The silk caught the moonlight and painted her in hues that made her look less human, more myth, like she had stepped straight from the prophecy that bound her to this world of wolves and war. Her fingers pressed lightly against the glass, as if she could reach through and feel the pulse of the city. But it wasn’t the city that weighed on her. It was the man behind her—the Alph

The Conclave chamber had just begun to exhale its tension when Kael rose. The scrape of his chair against obsidian tiles cut through the murmurs like a blade. He didn’t pace. He didn’t preen. He simply stood tall, shoulders squared, shadows coiling around him as if the darkness itself bent to his command. His voice, when it came, boomed like thunder rolling across mountains.“If the Conclave will not protect our world from contamination, then I will.”The words struck like lightning. Every Alpha in the chamber stilled.Kael’s hand slammed onto the table, rattling crystal goblets and scattering holographic maps in flickering shards of light. His eyes burned like coals. “This girl is tethered to the Shadow. You saw it yourselves. And now the Conclave ties our hands in bureaucracy, leaving our packs vulnerable to corruption.” He leaned forward, voice a snarl that carried to the farthest edges of the vaulted ceiling. “If the council lacks the courage to act, then I shall. I declare blood

The blood-red moon still lingered above the skyline when Zaria finally found her voice. Hours had passed since the Conclave’s dispersal, since Kael’s declaration had shattered the fragile silence of the chamber, and still the air in Lucien’s penthouse suite was thick with it. War. She stood at the glass wall, bare feet sinking into the black silk rug, her reflection fractured in the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city pulsed with its usual rhythm—headlights crawling like veins of light, skyscrapers humming with wealth and sin. But the world outside no longer looked the same. Every neon flicker seemed muted under the bloody glare of the moon. Every shadow whispered of knives. Behind her, Lucien moved with unhurried precision. He had removed his midnight suit jacket, draping it across the back of an ivory leather chair, and now stood at the wet bar, pouring amber whiskey into a crystal glass. His movements were sharp, measured—controlled, though Zaria could sense the storm benea

The penthouse study was drenched in the fading amber glow of the setting sun, the city skyline a jagged silhouette against a bleeding sky. Lucien stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clenched into fists at his sides, tailored jacket hanging perfectly but taut at the shoulders, eyes scanning the distant cityscape as if trying to measure the distance between order and chaos. The shards in Zaria’s hands still hummed faintly, residual energy from her training lingering in the air like electricity after a storm. And he was furious—furious at the recklessness, at the defiance, at the way she dared to step into danger without a thought for herself. “You think this is a game?” His voice was low, edged with something darker than anger, something almost feral, and it echoed off the marble walls. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake?” Zaria met him halfway across the study, heels clicking sharply against polished floors. Her hair was a tangled halo of sweat and shard dust, strands cli

The training hall smelled of polished mahogany and the faint tang of ozone from energy wards scattered in strategic patterns along the floor. The chandeliers above glimmered, reflecting in the obsidian mirrors that lined the walls, doubling the visual chaos of sparking sigils and shifting shadows. Zaria stepped into the space, palms brushing against the cool surface of her training daggers, and felt a thrill of anticipation she couldn’t quite name. This was different from the usual exercises with Mara or Rowan. There was a pulse tonight, a current in the air, subtle but insistent, and it seemed to respond to her own heartbeat. “Focus,” Mara’s voice cut through the hum of shards and distant city lights, crisp and unwavering. “Tonight, you test not only your skill but your perception. Everything around you matters—the slightest shift in weight, the subtlest twitch. Anticipate, don’t react.” Zaria nodded, gripping her blades tighter. Something inside her whispered, a faint tug at the e