All Chapters of Alora's Windsong: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Sarah heard the front screen door open before she even reached the living room. Jasmine and Bella had already let themselves in, laughing loudly, tossing their hair like they owned the place.“Ugh, did you see what Paula was wearing at training? Like she rolled straight out of a charity bin.” “I swear half this pack still thinks flannel is a personality.”They cackled as they strutted in, talking over each other, feeding off the noise of their own cruelty.The old Sarah would have jumped right in. She would’ve sharpened the blade.Now? The words hit her ears like vomit.Jasmine spotted her first. “There she is!” she squealed. “Finally. We were starting to think you were hiding from us.”Bella nudged her. “You missed the best show at the training grounds. The little Luna-wannabe tripped over her own feet. The whole Gamma line saw it. Pathetic.”They waited for Sarah to laugh.She didn’t.Something flickered behind her eyes — not anger, not hesitation — recognition. The memory of an

Word spread faster than wildfire.By sundown, the news had traveled through both packs — not as gossip, but as a decree carved into the spine of our territory itself:Neither Alpha would tolerate this kind of poison ever again.Not in their ranks.Not in their borders.Not near their people.By evening, the message reached Sarah.She was sitting beside her grandfather’s bed, refilling his tea and checking his breathing when the link brushed through her mind from three different directions at once — whispered confirmations passing through wolves and Lycans like a shared exhale.Banned.Rogues.Gone.She didn’t smile.She didn’t gloat.Her shoulders simply lowered — tension melting out of her body like a weight she had carried her entire life, finally loosening its chokehold.For the first time, she breathed in a way that didn’t hurt.Her grandfather watched her quietly from the pillows, eyes soft, lips turning just barely upward.“You stood your ground,” he rasped, voice fragile but pr

Lucas held Sarah’s hand in his as they walked down the steps to his truck. He had driven her there and waited, giving her space. She still looked pale, shaken by Storm’s sweetness and the way his innocent heart had read hers clean.“You did well in there,” Lucas said quietly. “You didn’t run.”“I almost did,” she admitted. “But Storm… he made me feel safe. Like he already knew me before I spoke.”They reached his truck. He opened the door for her, but she hesitated.“Lucas, I can’t go home yet,” she said. “We need to see Kira and Thorn.”He frowned. “Now?”She nodded. “The witch’s shadow isn’t gone. Storm said something today, and I felt it in my bones.”He studied her for a moment, then exhaled. “All right. Let’s go.”They turned onto the old mountain road that wound toward the Dark Fae manor. The air shimmered with enchantment long before they reached the gate. Kira herself met them at the threshold, silver hair braided down her back, Thorn beside her like a living shadow. They knew

Earlier, Day of the Rescue….“Mom, we’ve got to move you before Dad brings Lyra home,” Blaise said it the moment we stepped into the back hall of Ryker’s mansion. Boxes were already stacked by the service door, labels scribbled in Blaise’s fast hand. He’d done this part for me—made the leaving simple. I reached out and held his face a moment anyway, memorizing the man I’d raised from a boy with skinned knees into an Alpha who carried the weight of two mountains. “You’ve done enough,” I told him softly. He smiled faintly. “I know. But I wanted it ready for you.” “I want this easy.” I squeezed his hand. “Easy isn’t how our family does things.” “Tonight it is,” he said, and kissed my forehead. We loaded the Hummer with what was left of my life at Ryker’s—books I loved, my medicine chest, the cedar chest of blankets I knit during long winters, the spice crate, the old photo of Blaze at twelve standing next to the first dirt bike he rebuilt. Beth met us at the side door with a garment b

Dawn eased through the pines in thin gold bands, lying quiet over the cabin. Jenna woke to the hush of a tended room: coals breathing in the hearth, kettle beginning its soft talk, floorboards warm beneath the rugs. The ache in her leg sat heavy, but the panic from last night had drained away. As morning broke through the cabin. Oliver was already in motion — stoking the fire in her room, then fixing her morning meal. After breakfast, he would give her her bath.Beside her bed, a small tray waited—tea, Scrambled eggs, biscuits with butter and jam, sliced apples, and a sprig of rosemary for steadiness. Oliver waited at the balcony doors, his shoulder to the frame, studying the treeline like it might try a second time to take what the mountain had spared. He turned when she stirred.“Tea first,” he said softly. His voice held the calm of someone who understood mornings on a battlefield and made them gentle anyway.She took the cup and let the heat sit in her palms. “You move like you’