All Chapters of The Cursed Alpha’s Wolfless Omega: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

TiberiusPower reveals itself in silence first.The forests stilled when I crossed Kael’s border. No wind, no birdcall, not even the distant whisper of prey. Nature holds its breath before a storm — before fate.And fate has begun moving here.I felt it before I saw her.A pulse in the air, silver-bright and ancient — as if the Moon had brushed the very soil and left it humming. Wolves like mine know that sensation. We are carved from lunar bloodlines, shaped by prophecy and ruin.Magic old enough to remember gods.And the pack feels it too. They pretend otherwise, but their hackles were raised when I entered the hall. They smelled the shift, the awakening, the bond. They just didn’t know how to name it.Yet.Kael stood like the mountain he is — immovable, lethal, beautiful in the way only cursed kings are. His power always tasted like winter steel and war smoke… but now there is something else bleeding through him.Something alive.Something dangerous.And then I saw her.Elara.Smal

KaelTiberius shouldn’t have still been here.He should have left with the arrogance he walked in with — a northern wolf who thought himself made of prophecy and frost. But instead, after the formal audience, my guards found him waiting in the lower courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, face carved in unreadable stillness.As if he knew I would come.As if he’d been waiting.I approach him in silence. The night air is sharp, iron-cold, kissed by the moon. Warriors stand at the shadow-edges, pretending not to watch.But they feel it.Tension like steel wire.Fate like a drawn bow.Tiberius turns when I stop three steps away. “You didn’t send her.”“She needed rest.”And I needed to think without breathing her in. Without being undone by her every heartbeat.Tiberius studies me with that infuriating northern calm. “You brought her to the meeting. That alone speaks louder than any proclamation.”“She stays where I can protect her.”“And where the world may see her,” he murmurs. “The

ElaraThe world feels different when you know where you come from.And when that truth comes wrapped in death, betrayal, and magic older than time — it doesn’t feel like belonging.It feels like breaking.I wake before the sun climbs over the hills. The air is heavy with the scent of dew and pine. Kael’s side of the bed is cold. He must have left hours ago, though the echo of his presence still clings to the room — the faint musk of his scent, the lingering warmth where his hand must’ve rested against the headboard.Sleep was impossible.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father dying on his knees, shielding a cradle.My cradle.Me.I thought being an orphan meant I’d been forgotten.Now I know I was taken.I push the blankets aside and walk barefoot through the quiet halls. The guards at the end of the corridor bow their heads as I pass — hesitant, uncertain. I feel their eyes on me, but none speak. The silence between us is thick with unasked questions and quiet fear.The balcony

KaelThe dawn breaks wrong.The light looks like morning, but the air smells like graves.I’ve run these borders since before my curse had a name, since before every tree here learned to lean away from my presence. But today, the forest leans from something else.The ground hums. Low. Uneven. Off.Lucian is crouched ahead, fingers pressed into a patch of frost that shouldn’t exist. The earth around it steams, dark and slick with something that looks like ash but moves like smoke.“This wasn’t here yesterday,” he mutters.“It wasn’t here three hours ago,” Ronin says from behind me, his tone grim. “And it’s spreading.”I kneel beside them. The frost hisses softly where my palm hovers above it — not from heat, but recognition. My wolf stirs like he’s trying to crawl out through my skin.Mine.No. Not ours. Not her.This is something older.The stench of blood magic is unmistakable — copper, rot, and old ink. But there’s something else underneath. Something cold and female, like breath on

KaelThe horn still echoes when I reach the border.The forest ahead is breathing wrong.Fog creeps low over the ground, thick and black, curling between roots like smoke that forgot how to rise. The scent of it turns my stomach — blood and iron and something older. The wolves behind me shift restlessly, claws scraping the earth.Lucian rides up beside me, his wolf half pressing through his skin, gold eyes flashing. “They’re close,” he says. “Too close.”I can feel it — a vibration in the ground, not hoofbeats, not paws, but magic. The forest remembers what’s coming.“Positions,” I growl.My warriors fan out in practiced precision — silent, deadly, loyal. For all their strength, I can feel the tremor in their bond. The witch’s presence licks across the air like frost on skin.Then the fog parts.And Garrick appears.He rides at the head of a column of wolves, armor dull and unpolished, eyes glinting with a madness that wasn’t there before. His aura is wrong. It bleeds shadow where it