Semua Bab Taming the Dangerous Alpha: Bab 91 - Bab 98

The feeling was like being trapped somewhere without an exit.I knew where I was. I knew what had happened. I knew how close I had come to something irreversible.But none of it felt real.It was as if my mind had stepped away from the ledge and refused to look down.I had read about this before—in novels, in case studies, in those quiet warning paragraphs about trauma. Standing at the edge of hell. That was what they called it. A place where awareness exists, but weight does not. Where the body keeps breathing, keeps moving, keeps functioning—while the soul retreats behind a locked door.I understood now.This wasn’t emotional shock.It was physical.

I close my fist around the necklace until the thin chain bites into my palm.Then I loosen my grip.Then I tighten it again.The metal is small and delicate, far too fragile to belong in the hand of an Alpha. A heart-shaped pendant rests against my skin, its edges smooth from years of wear. It is simple—elegant in the quiet way she always preferred.And I stole it.From Sarah’s room.Even thinking the word makes something dark twist inside me.I was not raised to take what is not mine. I was raised to command. To protect. To provide. An Alpha does not sneak into a room like a thief and pocket trinkets like some desperate omega clinging to scraps of scent.

I wake from the nightmare with a violent gasp, my hand flying to my throat as if something is still there—still pressing, still choking.My skin is slick with sweat.Even in sleep, I must have been fighting. My arms ache faintly, as though I had been thrashing against something solid and unyielding. The dream was too vivid—too close to reality. It mirrored what happened last week with cruel precision.For a split second, I don’t know where I am.My eyes dart around the darkness in panic.The narrow alley—The damp brick walls—The smell of alcohol and sweat—The sound of mocking laughter—

“—And so in the end, the White Wolf chose to abolish the kingdom and the monarchy, establishing instead the pack system—the hierarchy we still live under today.”Ethan’s voice was low and steady. In the dark, it carried with unusual clarity, as if the night itself had grown still to listen.“On one condition—every other pack would report to the White Wolf. In that way, they continued to rule all of werewolf society in everything but name.”The Alpha of Alphas.The title surfaced in my mind, heavy with near-mythic weight. It felt ancient, carved from stone and blood and memory.“When the White Alpha founded their own pack,” Ethan continued, “they commanded the Scroll Guardians to travel as far as possible, to