All Chapters of THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

SANDRA’S POV I paced the length of my bedroom carpet, barefoot, silk robe slipping off one shoulder. The fire in the grate had burned down to sullen red coals. Every few steps I glanced at the heavy oak door, willing it to open with Darius on the other side, blood on his knuckles and a grim little smile that said Elder Thorne was finally quiet.Thorne. That old bastard. Always standing in council with his flint eyes and his moral lectures, always the first to question my every move. If Darius had done what I asked, if he had slipped something tasteless into the elder’s evening tea, or maybe a quiet knife in the ribs during a late walk, then the next council session would feel lighter. Then there would be no more accusations, no more whispers about Sharon’s “accident.” Just obedience. And afterward I would crack open the best vintage, invite the loyal ones, let them see how generous their alpha could be when threats disappeared.I stopped at the window, pressed my palm to the cool gl

SANDRA’S POV Darius slipped into my chambers just past midnight. The door barely clicked shut before I crossed the room and pressed myself against him. His coat still carried the night’s chill and a faint metallic tang I chose not to name.“Well?” I asked, voice low, my fingers already working the buttons of his shirt. “How did it go? Did you succeed?” He caught my wrists, as he held them still between us. His eyes looked darker than usual, his pupils wide in the lamplight.“Thorne won’t speak against you ever again,” he muttered, biting my lower lips. The words landed soft, and almost gentle. I searched his face for details, no matter how tiny like blood flecks, a fresh bruise, anything that would paint the picture clearer. But he gave me nothing, just that steady, and unreadable stare.“How?” I pressed. “How did you kill him?” He shook his head once. “Does it matter? You want him dead and I’ve made it happen. How it happened is not the bone of contention here.” I studied him a

SHARON’S POV Sunrise painted the infirmary walls pale gold. I sat beside Elder Thorne’s cot, wringing a cool cloth over a basin of water that already carried the faint iron smell of blood. His chest rose and fell in shallow hitches. The bandage across his ribs darkened again; I peeled it back carefully, cleaned the knife wound with fresh antiseptic, and pressed a new dressing down. He didn’t stir.I had hated this man once. Not the hot, burning hate I carried for Sandra, but a quiet, bitter resentment. He had sat in council after council and nodded along while my sister painted me as unstable, ambitious, ungrateful. He had never once spoken up for me, never questioned her stories. Yet here I was, sponging sweat from his forehead, checking his pulse every twenty minutes, forcing sips of broth between his cracked lips when he drifted close enough to consciousness.Mercy wasn’t weakness, it was information, it was leverage. And mercy, right now, was the only thing keeping this old wolf

MORRIS’ POV The study smelled of cedar smoke and the sharp herbal tea Sharon kept brewing for Thorne. I stood at the tall window, watching the last of the daylight bleed out of the sky while Elias Crowe sat rigid in the armchair opposite the desk. He looked thinner than the last time he came begging for his family’s lives. His eyes were sunken, and his hands restless on his knees.He spoke the moment Kelly closed the door behind him.“Sandra sent me in,” Elias said without preamble. “She told me to slip past the outer patrols, get eyes on the main house, the children’s wing, anywhere I might catch a glimpse of your wife or the kids. She wants proof they’re really gone. She said the silence from this side feels wrong and too quiet. She said there have been no grief fires and no retaliation ever since you lost your wife and kids. She’s starting to think Darius lied about the whole thing.”I turned slowly. “And what did you see?”“Nothing.” Elias spread his palms. “Because there’s nothi

SHARON’S POV I woke Darius with a bucket of ice water.He came up choking, lungs seizing, body jerking hard against the ropes that cinched his wrists to the iron chair legs. Water streamed down his face, soaked his shirt, and dripped onto the bare concrete. The single bulb overhead swung lazily, throwing his shadow long and jagged across the wall. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, then froze when he finally focused on me. Morris stood three paces away, arms folded, face carved from stone. Kelly leaned against the far wall, chain coiled loosely in one fist, expression calm in that way that always made people sweat.Darius tested the ropes once. Found them solid. Then he laughed—a short, cracked sound that died fast.“So it’s real,” he rasped. “You’re real.”“Very.” I stepped closer. “And still breathing.”He coughed water from his lungs. “Thought the ghosts finally finished me off.”“They almost did.” I crouched so our eyes met level. “But you’re here. Talking. That mea