บททั้งหมดของ Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

POV: RheaThe cabin was nothing more than four rotting walls and a leaking roof. I’d been pacing so long the warped floorboards had memorized my footsteps. The stale air pressed in, heavy with damp wood and the faint scent of Fenrak’s coat—wolf musk and cold pine.“You’re suffocating in here,” he said from the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. His smile was crooked, lazy, but his eyes carried that restless gleam I was learning to read. “Come on. Let me show you something better.”I didn’t argue. Maybe I was tired of feeling like a caged thing. Or maybe it was the tone in his voice—not demanding, but tempting.We walked west through the pines, the air turning cooler as the light shifted. The forest glowed in slow-motion gold, every needle and fern lit from behind by the bleeding sun. Dust motes drifted in the air like tiny sparks. Fenrak’s gait was unhurried, his shoulders loose in a way I’d never seen.“We could just leave,” he said suddenly, glancing at me over his should

The forest blurred past in streaks of silver and black as the Rolls-Royce Black Phantom sliced through the moonlit road like a predator in full pursuit. Its polished body reflected shards of moonlight, a sleek shadow gliding with lethal grace. Behind and around it, the Draven pack surged forward, massive wolves loping in perfect formation. Their paws pounded against the dirt with a rhythmic thunder, their glowing eyes cutting through the dark like flickering lanterns. The hum of the Phantom’s engine was low and guttural, harmonizing with the primal heartbeat of the hunt.Inside, the air was tight with tension.Kael gripped the wheel with one hand, his knuckles pale, his jaw set in a mask of fury barely leashed. His golden eyes burned brighter than the passing headlights, reflecting the raw Alpha rage simmering just beneath his skin. Beside him, Violet sat rigid and tense, her legs crossed but her palms pressed flat on her knees, fingers spread wide as she whispered incantations under

The forest felt wrong. The kind of wrong Kael couldn’t name, but could smell in the air — a faint metallic tang of danger that lingered long after the bloodshed of the battle. He knelt in the soft earth, his massive frame coiled with tension, one hand braced beside Rhea’s limp body, the other curled into a clawed fist against the moss. The silver glow of moonlight painted her pale face in ghostly hues, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, her breath shallow and uneven. The dried blood matted in her hair caught the faint light in a way that twisted Kael’s stomach. He forced his gaze away before the image could take root. He wouldn’t let his mind wander down that path. Not now. Not while she still breathed. Violet crouched opposite him, her usually steady hands trembling as she wiped Rhea’s forehead with a torn strip of silk. Her clothes smelled of iron and smoke from the fight, but beneath that Kael caught something sharper in her aura — not just fear, not shock. Recognition. Sh

The council chamber smelled of smoke and cedarwood, an ancient scent that clung to the carved beams of the ceiling. Braziers glimmered along the edges of the hall, throwing shadows that seemed alive, flickering like whispers in the corners. The banners of the Ashwood wolves draped from the high walls, black and silver, their sigil—a wolf’s head encircled by a crescent moon—casting an ominous authority over the room.Kael stood at the center of the chamber, his massive frame casting a shadow longer than any torchlight could stretch. His presence alone stilled the air. Power radiated off him in waves, invisible yet crushing, like the press of a storm before lightning strikes. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, not from anger, but from sheer Alpha dominance.Around him, members of the Order of Ash shifted in their seats at the long crescent table. They wore robes of deep crimson and ash-grey, each marked with the sigils of their rank—some of magic, others of counsel. Yet all

Rhea’s POVThe cottage smelled faintly of cedarwood and dried herbs, a scent that clung to every rafter and curtain as though Elara herself still lingered here. I sat on the edge of the bed in my sister’s old room, fingers curling into the soft quilt she once slept beneath. My body still felt heavy, like it remembered every drop of fear from the night Varek’s wolves descended on us. The nightmares hadn’t left either—they clawed into my mind, unrelenting.But I wasn’t weak anymore. I couldn’t be.I glanced at the journal on my nightstand, Elara’s careful script sprawled across the yellowed pages. She had written about these woods, about wolves that were more than wolves, about power that ran thicker than blood. I had dismissed it all once. Not anymore.Somewhere in the house, I heard pages turning—a soft whisper of paper that could only belong to Violet. She had taken the armchair in the cottage’s lounge, nose buried in one of her spellbooks. She was always reading, her brows furrowed,