Semua Bab Alora's Windsong: Bab 121 - Bab 130

By mid-afternoon, the manicured lawn behind the pack house had turned into a small fairground. Lanterns hung from lines like captured stars. Ropes of wildflowers laced the railings. The air carried spun sugar, cedar smoke, and the bright squeals of pups racing between game and food stalls. A brass carousel chimed a lilting tune as painted horses rose and dipped in a tide of laughter. Ryker’s banner rippled above the main stage. Beside it, a new standard waited, white field, silver crescent, a braid of storm-blue at the edge: Lyra’s crest.Lyra walked with her arm in Ryker’s, her white hair braided with the blue tips she’d asked me to do for her; we matched. Her winter blue formal gown was studded with hundreds of tiny moonstone crystals that caught the light when she moved. It was full-length and elegant, a queen who had walked through fire and chose softness anyway. The murmur that rolled through the pack wasn’t noise. It was belonging, family, cheers called out of a thousand throats

Blaise brought home half the fair with him. The kitchen smelled like smoked sausage, kettle corn, sugar glaze, and the last of the sweet tea from the drink tent. He and Beth moved like a practiced duo: foil unwrapped, plates warmed, sauces set out in small bowls. I settled on the couch with Storm in my lap and a blanket over both of us while he finished his bedtime milk. The house carried that after-party hush where laughter still clings to the walls, and the floor holds the echo of dancing.Blaise slid a heavy plate onto the coffee table—pulled pork, potato salad, and coleslaw. Beth followed with a second plate and kissed Storm’s crown before she sat on my other side. “Eat,” she said, pushing a fork into my hand. “You ran yourself thin out there.”“You seemed off,” Blaise said gently. “You okay?”“I am breathing,” I said. “It is just the way my memory lights up when Sarah walks into my space. My head keeps playing old scenes over the new ones.”Beth took a bite of her sandwich and ga

Time had moved forward, steady and sure. Storm was turning two today.The Packhouse came alive with staff and family making sure everything was in place. Happy Birthday banners ran the length of the rafters in the gym, silver and deep blue. Long tables stretched along the side walls. The back tables were stacked with trays and warm plates of food and desserts. Sam helped tend to the grill, hot dogs, and burgers. The gym floor shone under fresh wax, and the big doors leading to the football field stood propped open so pups could run and older Lycans could spill out to the field between planned events for the whole day. Outside were rides and games. A local band practiced in the far corner, before the big crowd arrived.Storm rode in on Blaise’s shoulders, hands out, clapping at everything that glittered. He wore his small white ‘Birthday Boy’ shirt with the stitched wolf on the pocket and his moonstone amulet at his throat. When he saw the first cluster of toddlers near the play mats,

Storm watched the last of her glow fade. His eyes moved from the empty space to Ryker, to Lyra, to Kira and Thorn, to Blaise, then back to me. He squared his small shoulders with a seriousness that belonged to no toddler and every king.“Storm home,” he said. “Play later. Cake now.”The roar from the crowd's answer, pulled from the pack's solidarity and shook the banners.Blaise laughed against my temple. “That’s my boy,” he said. “Priorities.”Ryker stood. He didn’t brush his knees. He left them dusty and lifted Storm high until the room could see what we held. “My heir,” he said simply.The answer came as a vow. It wasn’t in words. It was a sound that had weight—a pledge inside a Pack's cheer.Storm leaned forward and squeezed Ryker’s face with both hands, entirely himself again, then twisted toward me. “Mama, cake,” he repeated with great dignity.“Cake,” I agreed, and the word felt like a sacrament.We set him at the central table. Lyra lit two small candles with a look that would

Oliver was still with Thorn and the night captains when Kira stepped out of the air like a goddess of the wind. Power glittered across her irises the way frost takes the corners of a window.“You need to return home,” she said, voice bright with a joy that carried no fear. “Your mate needs you.”Oliver didn’t ask how or why. His body moved before his mind finished the thought. A breath. A blink. The world folded.Kira followed him with a small twist of her hand.He reappeared in Jenna’s living room to the hush of a tended space: embers banked in the hearth, lamplight softened low, the faint sweetness of brewed herbs. Blaise was kneeling at the sofa, steadying a teacup in Jenna’s hands while I tucked a blanket snug across her lap and set extra pillows at her back.“What’s wrong, my love?” Oliver crossed the room in three strides, already reaching—then he caught a new scent in the air. He didn’t need the words of truth to speak to him; the smell of his pup filled his being. This truth m