Lahat ng Kabanata ng Mated to the Alpha King: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

“He’ll live. Trust me.” The two words from Jax were as cold and sharp as the wind that had suddenly picked up in the stone garden. They did nothing to warm the ice that had formed in Winter’s veins. She was still on the ground, leaning heavily against him, her body wracked with tremors so violent she felt her teeth might shatter. “Come on, Snow. Up,” he said, his voice firm, pulling her arm over his shoulder and hoisting her to her feet. Her legs were barely functional, soft as boiled vegetables. “We’re going back inside.” “The- the blood...” she stammered, her gaze fixed on the dark, glistening pool spreading on the flagstones around the whimpering form of Kaelen. The other two guards were now scrambling to help their broken comrade, their faces pale with terror. “They’ll clean it up,” Jax said flatly, turning her away from the scene and half dragging, half-carrying her toward the door. “This is the citadel. Blood gets cleaned up a lot.” The callousness of his words sent a fres

A tremor ran through her, a violent shudder she couldn’t control. She wrapped her arms around herself, her teeth chattering. His eyes narrowed further, a flicker of deep annoyance in their golden depths. Her weakness, her fear, it was like a grating noise, a flaw in the perfect, cold silence of his world. “Stop shaking ” he commanded, his voice a low growl of impatience. It was an impossible order. Telling her not to shake was like telling the wind not to blow. But the sheer, absolute authority in his voice was a physical force. Her body tried to obey, her muscles locking up, the tremors becoming small, convulsive jerks instead of wide shudders. He seemed to consider her for another long moment. Then, his gaze dropped to the sewing things on the floor by her feet. He bent. It was a fluid, powerful movement, not a single joint creaking. He was all coiled steel and silent grace. He reached down with one large, long fingered hand and picked up the needle. He straightened, holding t

“What does it mean?” she asked, her voice small. “With him? Your guess is as good as mine,” Jax said with a shrug. “It could mean he thinks you’re haunting him. It could mean he thinks you’re pale. It could be his twisted version of a compliment. The man’s mind is a labyrinth wrapped in a riddle and buried under a rockslide. My advice? Don’t try to figure it out. You’ll just get a headache.” He pushed the book across the table toward her. Its leather cover was cracked with age, the pages yellowed. “Figured you might be tired of talking to the walls. It’s a book of old legends. Mostly lies and nonsense, but it’s better than staring at stone all day.” Winter reached out and tentatively touched the cover. A book. She hadn’t held a book since she was a small child, before her father had died and her life had ended. “I.. I can’t” “What, you can’t read?” Jax asked, his tone gentle. She flushed with shame. “My aunt didn’t see the need for it.” “Of course she didn’t,” Jax muttered, a f

He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if words had completely failed him. His gaze dropped to where her small hands were clenched in the fabric of his black tunic, her knuckles white. “You’re... you’re hurt,” she whispered, her voice a ragged, trembling thread of sound. His gaze snapped back to hers, his brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t understand. She lifted a shaky hand, her fingers clumsy and numb, and pointed to his other arm, the one not holding her. “Your arm.” He followed her gaze, looking down at his own forearm as if it belonged to someone else. A long, deep gash, hidden until now by the loose sleeve of his tunic, had been torn open by the violent movement. it was an ugly wound, not a clean cut, but a jagged, three pronged tear, as if he’d been mauled by something with immense claws. Dark, crimson blood was welling up from it, soaking the black fabric and dripping in a slow, steady rhythm onto the dusty stone floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sight of his own blood s

“Exactly!” Rasmus agreed, leaning forward, his eyes alight with fervent energy. “He didn’t defend his honor. He defended a piece of property. He’s acting like a common cur with a new bone, snarling at anyone who comes near. He’s bewitched. Distracted. He skulks in the shadows, he barely speaks, and now he lets this... omen...lead him by the nose! His power is being squandered. The Southern packs mock us, the witches grow bold in hiding, and our king plays house with a curse.” “Careful, Rasmus,” Vorlag warned, though there was no real heat in his voice. “That’s treason you’re whispering.” “Is it treason to want a king who leads?” Rasmus shot back, his voice rising. “Is it treason to want to follow a wolf, not a ghost? He has not led a true hunt in years. He has not held a war council. He rules through his little Beta, Jax, who coddles this creature. The pack is restless. They see what I see. A throne that is all but empty.” He looked around the table at the handful of other warriors