บททั้งหมดของ A Dorm With My Alpha Mate : บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

Flint’s POVThe kitchens were my kingdom. The heat, the steam, the beautiful, simple logic of a recipe—these were things I understood. Chop the onion. Sear the meat. Season to taste. A man could lose himself in the rhythm of it, and for years, I had. They called me Flint, the head cook. Reliable. Jovial. A bit simple, perhaps, content with my soups and my stews. It was a comfortable skin to wear.Tonight, the skin felt thinner. The great bonding ceremony was tomorrow. The air in the academy was so tense, you could crack it like a nut. I moved through my domain, tasting a broth, barking an order to a scullery boy.“More salt in the garrison pot. They’ll need their strength.”“Yes, Chef Flint,” the boy mumbled, scrambling to obey.I wiped my hands on my apron—the coarse fabric stained with a hundred meals. My heart was a steady drum, but my mind was elsewhere, already walking the dark forest path. I had news. The final ingredient for the master’s recipe.When the moon was high, I slippe

Aria’s POVThe bond burned like a sun in my chest—constant, warm, alive. But three days before the ceremony, a new heat ignited. Deeper. Hungrier. It began as a restless thrum in my blood, a prickling fire beneath my skin. At first, I blamed nerves—the coiled dread of the battle ahead. But no. This was primal. Bone-deep.By the second day, it consumed me. My senses sharpened to agony. The sharp, sweet tang of pine sap from the repairs flooded my nostrils, intoxicating. Kai’s voice in the strategy room didn’t just reach me—it vibrated through my core, low and resonant, stroking places it shouldn’t. When he brushed past, his scent—clean soap, worn leather, pure *Kai*—hit me like a drug. My head spun. My thighs clenched.I couldn’t stop staring. The sharp line of his jaw. The flex of muscle across his broad back as he traced lines on the map. My fingers ached to touch, to trace, to dig in. A hollow, throbbing need pulsed low in my belly. Wet. Insistent. Nothing to do with hunger... every

Malrick’s POVThe ravine was a grave, cold and empty, its damp stone walls swallowing every sound. We left nothing behind—no footprint, no breath, no heartbeat loud enough to betray us. We were not an army. We were a blade sliding through the dark, unseen until it kissed bone.I stood at the head of the column, the Unbound arrayed behind me like shadows given teeth. The air was thick with their focus—sharp, lethal, absolute. No fidgeting. No doubt. Only the low, predatory hum of purpose.Kroll loomed to my right, a barely leashed avalanche of muscle and rage. Gren flanked my left, eyes already cutting through the gloom ahead, mapping every root and hollow. I didn’t need to turn to know the rest were ready. I felt it in the silence they wore like armor.“Report,” I said, the word a razor barely parting the air.“Scouts cleared the tree line,” Gren answered, voice low and flat. “No patrols. Every wolf is drawn tight inside their walls, eyes fixed outward. They’re blind to what creeps be

Aria's POVThe world roared in my ears, fire racing through my blood. Kai’s challenge still echoed off the stone walls, vibrating under my boots. Green smoke rose from the north wall, thin and poisonous against the pale dawn. And beneath everything, the heat—my heat—pounded like a second heartbeat, sharpening every scent, every sound, every breath Kai took beside me. It made the air thick, the danger immediate, the bond between us almost painfully bright.I watched our packs move into position. They flowed exactly as we had drilled, but I saw the whites of their eyes. They were waiting for a monster to come crashing through the gates with howls and fury.They didn’t understand. The monster was coming in silence.I felt the shift before I saw it—a sudden hush on the left flank, the air tightening like a drawn bowstring. My gaze snapped toward Finn’s unit.They stepped out of the tree line without a sound: a narrow, lethal wedge of rogues moving like a single blade. No war cries. No was

Malrick's POV The world was a symphony of correct choices. The girl was down—clutching her ruined leg. The Alpha knelt in his own blood—his defiance reduced to ragged breaths. My Unbound pressed their advantage—their violence a beautiful, efficient machine. The elders’ song was a pathetic noise—the last gasp of a dying world. I stood at the center of it: the architect of the new silence.Then the horns blew.Not our signals. Not the crude roars of the packs. These were sharp, clear, commanding blasts that cut through the chaos like frost. They came from the tree line opposite our entry—from the west.Every head—mine included—snapped toward the sound.They emerged not as a horde, but as a formation. Ranks of warriors in polished silver-trimmed armor—the crest of the Silvermane Pack gleaming on their chests. At their head, astride a dark horse, was my father: Alistair.For a single, soaring moment, I thought I had miscalculated him. I thought the old wolf had finally seen the future. H