All Chapters of Wanted By The Alpha And His Brothers: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Lana's POV The words did not only hang but it was stuck between all of us in that room, not as an offer, but as a pronouncement. Move in with me. The air grew thick, suffocating. Bastien made a sound like a wounded bear, stepping forward. Ronan went perfectly still, his golden eyes narrowing to slits, every muscle coiled. “Absolutely not,” Bastien growled, the words tearing from him. “She stays with me. That’s the end of it.” Gideon didn’t even look at him. His attention was fixed on me, a spider patiently waiting for the fly to stop struggling. “You see?” he said softly, almost sympathetically. “The instinct to possess. To control. It is not protection, Lana. It is ownership. First by one brother, now by the other. You have traded a fierce jailer for a gentle one, but the walls are still there.” He spread his hands, a gesture of benevolent reason. “My offer is not ownership. It is asylum.” “Asylum from what?” I managed to ask, my throat tight. “From the war they are waging over

Lana’s POV We haven't said much to each other since that night. The silence in the silver convertible was a living thing, thick and suffocating. It had been three days since the gala, since the kiss, since the shattering offer in Gideon’s study. Three days of a cold, polite conversations in the apartment that felt more like a shared hotel suite than a home. Bastien drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He hadn’t mentioned the kiss, the fight, Gideon’s offer. He’d just… retreated. Into a wounded, watchful silence that was somehow worse than his anger. He’d asked no questions about my day, offered no details about his. We were two ghosts haunting the same space, carefully avoiding the places where we might pass through each other. He pulled up to the curb a block from the Velaris building, as had become our unspoken agreement. No more dramatic curb-side confrontations with Maison. “I have meetings with the security firm about the new property this afternoon,” he said, hi

Lana's POV The sound of his voice, so collected and unsurprised, was both a relief and a new kind of terror. I had just thrown a lit match into the powder keg of my life. “I… I need…” My voice cracked, the brave front I’d mustered for Bastien completely gone, leaving only a raw, shaky wreck. “Is your offer for a place to talk… is it still open?” There was the briefest pause, not of hesitation, but of assessment. “Where are you?” he asked, his tone shifting from casual to operational. “Home. My apartment. But I can’t stay here.” “Are you in immediate danger?”The question was clean, direct. “No.Not… not physical danger.” The emotional danger felt just as lethal. “Give me the address. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Can you get out of the building without confrontation?” “I think so. He’s… in the living room.” “Good.Text me the address. Walk out. Go to the corner of your block. I’ll find you.” The line went dead. The efficiency of it cut through my panic. He wasn’t asking wh

Lana's POV Long story short, It was a dumb move. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was a slap after the serene, shattered remains of the restaurant. Time had blurred into a nightmare of flashing lights, urgent voices, and the sterile glare of the ER. Maison, pale and unconscious on a gurney, being wheeled away. Me, covered in flecks of his blood, giving a hollow, evasive statement to bewildered police officers. A disagreement got out of hand. Yes, I knew both men. No, I didn’t want to press charges. The last part was a lie that tasted like ash, but the truth that my werewolf boyfriend broke my human boss’s ribs because he’s jealous wasn’t an option. Now, in the quiet, private room, the only sounds were the steady beep of the heart monitor and the low hum of the city through the window. Maison slept, his face a landscape of bruises, dark purple blooms under his eyes, along his jaw, where Bastien’s grip had been. His nose was taped. His torso was wrapped tight. They’d set the rib

Lana's POV For a heartbeat, the world consisted only of the shock of seeing him there, solid and real in the middle of the sterile apartment, and the primal relief that surged through me before cold dread could snuff it out. He was here. He’d come. The text I’d sent last night, he’s not safe had been a flare shot into the dark, and he’d tracked it right to the source. But his presence was a lit match in a room soaked in gasoline. Bastien could return any minute. “What are you doing here?” I breathed, shutting the door quickly behind me, as if I could contain the explosion. “You sent a message,” he said, his voice that low, gravelly tone that bypassed my ears and vibrated straight into my bones. His gaze was a physical touch, scanning me, diagnosing the damage I tried to hide. “It didn’t require a reply. It required a response.” “I’m fine,” I said, the automatic lie. I crossed my arms, tucking my bruised wrist tighter against my body. “Everything is fine. You shouldn’t be here.”