All Chapters of The last omega: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Irene The water bites at my ankles as I step forward, but I don’t feel the cold anymore. All I feel is them. The bond hums so loud inside me it’s almost sound — a vibration under my ribs, in my throat, behind my eyes. Kay moves first. One blink he’s a wolf, the next he’s on two legs, skin glistening, chest heaving, eyes wide and gold as sunlight. His lips part, but no words come. He just stares — at me, at my shaking hands, at the mud on my face, as if he’s afraid that speaking will break the spell and I’ll vanish. I almost laugh. “Say something,” I whisper, voice trembling. He doesn’t. He runs. The splash of his steps drowns the sound of the river. He covers the distance in seconds, and then he’s there — slamming into me with enough force to steal the air from my lungs. His arms crush around my body, his warmth spilling through my frozen bones. I don’t even care that we both stumble, that the river sprays over us. I just hold him back, fingers clutching at his shoulders like he

Irene The sun leans low through the open windows, painting gold on the walls. The air hums with summer — cicadas outside, the faint clatter of dishes cooling in the kitchen. It’s too warm for silence, yet no one speaks. I keep my hands around my cup though it’s long gone cold. Four pairs of eyes wait — not demanding, just patient, like they already know the truth will cost me something to say. “You deserve to know what happened,” I begin quietly. Cassian’s gaze lifts first, steady and unreadable. Elias’s hands are still on the table, Rowan’s elbows rest on his knees, and Kay’s jaw flexes as if every muscle in him is listening. I swallow hard. “Jack didn’t keep me for power. He wanted me to give him an heir.” The words fall heavy, too soft to sound real. Rowan blinks. “What?” “He wanted a child,” I whisper. “One born of his blood, not chosen by the Goddess. He said if he could create his own heir , he wouldn’t need the blessing of the Tree or the Moon’s mark. He wanted to build

Irene The smell of dinner hits me before we even step into the hall—baked bread, herbs, something sweet underneath. The house feels warmer than I remember, brighter somehow. When I first came here, it was just the four of them—Cassian, Rowan, Elias, and Kevin. The house was quiet, too large for only their voices. Tonight, though, I notice more movement. Soft footsteps, laughter from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes that doesn’t stop when we enter. Two young omegas are setting the table, passing plates between them with easy chatter. Another stirs a pot near the stove, humming under his breath. They stop when they see me, eyes wide, but then they smile shyly and bow their heads. I blink, surprised. “There are more of you now?” Cassian notices my expression and smiles faintly. “They’ve always been here,” he explains. “Mostly helping Kevin with the house. We just kept them away in the beginning—thought it might be too much for you, after everything.” My heart squeezes. “You were

Irene The air changes before we even reach the edge of the forest. It feels alive here—thicker, deeper, threaded with something older than words. Every breath tastes of moss and sun-warmed bark. The path winds between tall pines, their needles whispering above us, and though the others speak softly behind me, the forest seems to listen more closely than they do. We had breakfast together—warm bread, honey, laughter that tried to pretend this was just another day. But the closer we come to the heart of the woods, the quieter it gets. Even Rowan stops talking. Kevin walks beside me, close but not crowding. Cassian leads, steady as always, his eyes scanning the shadows as if they could bite. Elias trails slightly behind, fingers brushing the leaves as if reading them. Rowan hums under his breath—low, rhythmic, grounding. And me… I feel the pull. It starts as a pulse beneath my skin, faint but insistent, like the heartbeat of the world calling to its own. My steps quicken wi

Irene “To change their minds,” she says. “Not just theirs. Enough of them. To change the weather—the general direction of thought. To show with your life, and your love, and your yes and your no, that balance is not a threat; it is the only way anything stays standing. We need enough people to remember what was forgotten until remembering becomes the fashion again.” She smiles, quick. “You would be amazed how fast a fashion spreads once it stops being expensive.” “It sounds… huge,” I say. The word is small and true. “It is.” She doesn’t flinch. “And not. You will not preach on a hill with thunder. You will cook dinner when you are tired and insist everyone does their share. You will choose tenderness when revenge would be more glamorous. You will let men you love carry weight without taking your hands off the wheel. You will dismiss the lie that softness equals surrender.” Her hand finds mine. The calluses at the base of her fingers feel like ridged bark. “You will remind kings