All Chapters of The last omega: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Irene The heavy gates close behind us with a sound that feels final. The courtyard’s light fades as two guards approach — tall, broad-shouldered wolves in silver armor that gleams like moonlight on steel. They bow deeply before Cassian. “Alphas. Luna,” one says, his voice low but respectful. “The Council awaits. Please, follow us.” I exchange a glance with Rowan, who gives me a crooked grin as if to say, We’ve got this. But even his confidence can’t ease the tightness in my chest. The guards turn, and we follow them through a pair of towering doors etched with ancient runes. The air inside is cooler, scented faintly with cedar, parchment, and something older — a stillness that feels sacred and watchful. The corridor beyond seems to stretch forever. Stone arches rise above our heads, carved with symbols that glimmer faintly in the torchlight — the moon phases, the shape of the Mother Tree, the wolves of creation. The floor beneath our boots is polished marble, white streaked with

Irene The chamber is silent. Twelve Elders, twelve lifetimes of power and judgment, all staring at me — waiting for me to declare what I am. A curse. A blessing. A miracle. A mistake. The words hang in the air like a blade suspended over my head. My throat is dry, but something inside me — a stillness that isn’t fear — rises to meet the moment. I lift my chin and let my voice carry. “I am nothing but a woman,” I say softly, but my words echo across the marble hall. “Bound by fate to four beautiful men who carry both light and shadow in them.” Murmurs ripple through the semicircle, but I don’t stop. “I cannot tell you if I am a blessing or a curse,” I continue, steady now. “That will depend on how you choose to act. I can become a blessing, or I can become a curse. Maybe that’s what balance truly means.” The eldest Elder leans back, his expression unreadable. Around him, the others exchange uncertain looks. Some frown, others nod faintly — as though they feel the weight be

Irene The silence after my words stretches long and heavy. You could hear dust fall in this chamber. Twelve Elders — the oldest wolves in existence — stare at me as if they’ve forgotten how to breathe. Finally, the eldest finds his voice, low and dangerous. “You summon us, child, and speak of peace and war as if they are yours to command?” I meet his gaze without flinching. “Not mine,” I say softly. “Hers.” Murmurs break like waves. Some scoff, others lean forward, the air crackling with disbelief. “She came to you?” one demands. “In dreams?” another sneers. “Convenient.” “Perhaps her mind is unsteady,” says a third, his tone dripping with fear disguised as logic. I raise my chin. “You dare to doubt the only one She chose to speak through?” The eldest Elder’s voice booms, silencing the others. “Explain yourself, girl.” So I do. “The Goddess visited me last night,” I say, my voice calm but carrying to every corner of the hall. “And She is angry. Angry and disapp

Irene By evening, the world smells like rebirth. The rain has stopped, leaving the air soft and heavy with the scent of pine and wet earth. The pack house glows like a beacon in the dusk, its stone walls reflecting the faint shimmer of torches that line the courtyard. I stand by the window of my room, brushing out my hair as the last threads of sunlight vanish behind the hills. My reflection stares back at me—pale skin, tired eyes, and a strange calmness that feels almost foreign. I should be resting after the long road, but something in the air tells me the day isn’t over yet. A gentle knock interrupts my thoughts. The door creaks open and Elias peeks in, a sly smile curving his lips. “Come with me,” he says. I narrow my eyes. “You’re hiding something.” He only chuckles. “Maybe. Trust me?” I sigh, pretending to think it over, then nod. “Always.” He offers his arm and leads me down the stairs. The soft hum of voices reaches my ears before I see anything. When we step outside

Irene The engines roar to life just after midday. Ten SUVs line up outside the pack house, their black frames gleaming under the gray sky. Each one is packed to the roof — food, blankets, medicine, clean water, and medical kits stacked beside crates of supplies from the healers’ wing. Warriors stand at attention, soaked in drizzle but unmoving, waiting for Cassian’s signal. The storm hasn’t reached us yet, but the clouds stretch thick and low, crawling toward us like smoke. It feels less like weather and more like a warning. Cassian climbs into the driver’s seat of our jeep. Rowan takes the passenger side while Elias and Kevin sit in the back with me. The air inside smells faintly of leather, herbs, and tension. As the convoy starts moving, gravel crunches beneath our tires, the line of vehicles snaking down the forest road like a steel serpent. I glance back through the window — the pack house stands against the dark horizon, torches still lit as if in prayer. The hum of the en