บททั้งหมดของ THE ALPHA'S ASSASSIN MATE: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

*Chapter 61 – Third person limited (Serna’s eyes)* Ironfang citadel, hour twenty-nine of the endless assault“For Caedrin’s glory, break the gate and slaughter the Sleepers!” The Red Hollow champion’s roar rolled over the courtyard like a war drum as he landed in a crouch, axe dripping rain and blood, eyes burning that sick violet glow.Serna was already moving. She met him halfway, hammer swinging low for his knee. He jumped it, axe coming down in a blur meant to split her skull.“Glory this, you dead-wizard-fucking cunt!” She caught the haft on her hammer’s spike, wood splintering, and rammed her shoulder into his gut. Armor dented, air exploding from his lungs in a wet wheeze.He backhanded her hard enough to spin her world. Taste of iron flooded her mouth.“Gate’s cracking—brace it, brace it now!” Kaelin screamed from the wall, voice raw.The ram hit again—BOOM—timbers exploding inward, the entire gate shuddering like it was giving birth to death.Serna spat blood and

Third person limited – Serna’s perspectiveThe keep was still shaking under the weight of the magic blast when Serna staggered to her feet again. Her ears rang hard enough that the world felt underwater, blurry outlines instead of people. Someone was shouting, but the sound arrived late, muffled, like it had to swim through rubble to reach her.She wiped the blood out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Not all of it was hers. She didn’t want to know whose it had been originally.“Serna!” Kaelin’s voice finally punched through the ringing. “On your left!”Serna lurched just in time to avoid the axe meant to take her head off. She brought her hammer up purely on instinct. Steel hit steel, her shoulder lit up with fresh pain, and she drove forward into the berserker’s jaw with the butt of her weapon. The crunch felt like stepping on ice too thin to hold your weight.The berserker dropped.Serna didn’t. Mostly out of pettiness.Her lungs burned. Every inhale hurt like she’d swallowed

Ironfang citadel, deep vault chamber, hour fifty-threeThe vault always felt wrong. Too quiet. Too cold. Like the air itself was waiting for someone to scream.Serna pushed open the iron door with her shoulder. It groaned loud enough to echo through her spine. The torches inside flickered low, barely giving shape to the stone room. Two stone slabs stood at the center, side by side. Two bodies resting like they were only sleeping off a long night.Lyra.Aziel.Both wrapped in layered furs, both still as statues, both surrounded by runes that pulsed weakly like tired heartbeats.Serna closed the door behind her. Her boots scraped the floor. Sound felt rude here, but she couldn’t help it. Silence felt worse.“Alright,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. “I’m here. Again. Surprise.”She stopped between the slabs, looking first at Lyra. Her face was calmer than Serna had ever seen it in life. Less fury. Less determination. Too still.“You’d hate this,” Serna said, folding her arms. “Lying aro

Lyra’s povi’m standing in this endless grey nothing and the vial is in my hand again, cold as ice against my palm, heavier than it has any right to be, like it’s filled with all the things i’ve never said out loud. my fingers are cramped around it, the little blue dot worn smooth from how many times i’ve rubbed it like some kind of worry stone, hoping maybe if i just keep touching it the decision will make itself and i won’t have to be the one who chooses anymore. i don’t know how long i’ve been here. time feels wrong, like it’s stretching and snapping and looping back on itself until i’m dizzy with it. sometimes i blink and i’m back on that desk with his hands on my hips and ink in my hair and his name tearing out of my throat, and sometimes the grey just swallows everything and leaves me alone with this stupid vial and the echo of my father’s voice telling me to finish what i started.the fog is thicker tonight, warm and close, brushing my bare skin like someone breathing on me, an

Third person limited (Serna’s eyes) Ironfang war room, week fourteen of the siege, the night the snow started falling inside the keepthe war room felt like a tomb that had forgotten how to stay dead Serna stood at the head of the table, one eyed, ribs wrapped so tight every breath scraped like broken glass, left arm in a sling made from a dead mans cloak that still smelled faintly of smoke and someone elses blood. the candles were dying one by one throwing long shaking shadows over faces that had forgotten what hope looked like. the parchment under her palms was scarred with charcoal and red ink that looked too much like the stuff drying on her own skinKaelin dropped the casualty report like it weighed a hundred pounds the parchment hitting the oak with a dull final sound that made everyone flinch. “south walls down to forty souls still able to hold a blade. east walls twenty three. we lost sixty more in the last push.” her voice cracked on the last word raw from screaming orders