All Chapters of Claimed by the silverfang alphas : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

THE SHADOW HEIST~MARCUS BLACKTHORN'S POV~Infiltration is basically an art. Most wolves treat it like a reckless demolition derby. They smash, grab, howl, and usually leave a mess that someone like me has to clean up.But tonight required finesse."Remember," I whispered into the comms as we crouched on the ridge overlooking the mine entrance. "We are ghosts. If you engage, you die. If you shift, you die. If you sneeze loudly, you probably die.""We get it, Marcus," Daxon's voice came back, Tense but relaxed, he was hanging out with Tate near the vent, waiting to be pulled out.Below us, the entrance to the mines was guarded by two Void Golems. They stood perfectly still, like statues carved from the night itself, but I could feel the hum of dark magic radiating off them. They weren't looking with eyes; they were sensing movement, heat, life."Mathias," I signaled. "You're up."Mathias moved. He didn't look like a wolf anymore. He moved like smoke. He slipped down the ridge, utilizin

THE RIPPER~MATHIAS'S POV~The rain had stopped, leaving the forest slick and silent. We were moving fast, a blur of movement through the pines, but I could hear him.Heriberto. The Hollow King.He wasn't running. He was moving with the slow, terrifying inevitability of a storm front. I could hear his heartbeat....a slow, thudding beat that sounded like a war drum."He's close," I said, stopping abruptly. My voice sounded different to my own ears. Lower. Smoother. The vampire blood had coated my vocal cords in velvet."How close?" Daxon asked, breathless, gripping his side where the blood rune was still weeping."Close enough to smell our fear," I murmured.I turned to look at them. My brother. My mate. They looked exhausted, mud-streaked, and human. But me? I felt... electric. The hunger was a live wire in my gut, buzzing with imaginable violence."Take Tate to the extraction point," I told Daxon, adjusting my leather jacket cuffs. My shirt was torn, but I straightened the collar wit

THE HARVEST~VIDA'S POV~The Codex didn't just sit on the library table; it throbbed like an infected wound.Every time I reached for the leather binding, the room temperature dropped ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch toward the book, hungry and listening."It's fighting you," Marcus Blackthorn drawled from the armchair in the corner. He was swirling a glass of blood-laced bourbon, looking for all the world like a bored aristocrat watching a gladiator match. "Dark magic has an immune system, Vida. It knows you're a High Witch. It doesn't like you.""I don't need it to like me," I muttered, wiping a fresh trickle of blood from my nose with the back of my hand. "I need it to talk."I slammed my hand down on the page, forcing my own magic into the ink. The symbols writhed, looking less like letters and more like crawling spiders. But for a split second, they froze.'The Vessel burns hot.The fuel turns to ash.New blood must be sown before the moon rea

THE BLOOD CIPHER~MARCUS BLACKTHORN'S POV~The Silverfang Packhouse library used to smell like lemon polish and old paper. Now, it just smells like ozone, copper, and that weird metallic scent of frustration.Rain lashed against the windows, a rhythmic drumming that seemed to count down the seconds of our remaining lives. Inside, the fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, dancing shadows that looked too much like claws.Vida was slumped over the stolen Codex at the heavy oak table. She looked wrecked. Her skin was the color of parchment, dark circles bruised her eyes, and her hands trembled as she hovered them over the open pages."It's not reading," she rasped, her voice thick with exhaustion. "The syntax... it's alive. It shifts every time I try to pin it down. It's like trying to read water while it boils."She grabbed a silver athame, her movements jerky, and sliced a fresh line across her palm. She didn't even wince. She squeezed her fist, letting thick drops of blood s

BLOOD ON THE FLOOR~MATHIAS'S POV~We didn't enter the Packhouse like heroes returning from a quest. We entered like a natural disaster seeking shelter.The heavy oak doors slammed open against the stone walls, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the hall. The storm outside blew in with us, a gust of cold rain that swirled across the floorboards.Daxon walked in first. He was limping, favoring his left side where the blood rune was carved into his chest, but his presence was undeniable. He held his silver-coated machete loosely at his side, the blade dripping black golem ichor onto the expensive rug.Tate was next. She looked small between us, drenched to the bone, her hair plastered to her skull. But she held the Kyanite Heart against her chest like it was a grenade she was waiting to throw.And then... me.I walked in last.My suit...charcoal grey Italian silk, tailored to perfection...was ruined. It was stiff, soaked heavy with a dark, viscous red. It wasn't my blood. It was t