All Chapters of Taming the Dangerous Alpha: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

FitchPain was an inadequate word.It was too small, too tame, too human to describe what tore through me.One second, there was nothing—no warning, no pressure, no omen. The next, it lunged like a wild animal, sinking its fangs into every nerve in my body at once. It came brutally fast and vanished just as quickly, but in those few seconds, it felt as though I had been flayed alive for hours.Yes.That violent.Just moments earlier, I had been sitting at the table with Alex, reviewing reports related to Elijah’s death. Ink-stained pages. Dry facts. Logical conclusions. Then my chest seized without warning, as if something sharp had been driven straight through my heart.The pain spread like thick fog, smotheri

As I learned more about werewolves, I gradually came to understand everything about what they called a “mate.”A mate is a wolf’s soul—the other half ordained by fate. To lose one’s mate is, for a wolf, the same as losing the reason to live.Once a wolf finds their mate, the rest of the world falls away until only that one person remains. They lose interest in everyone else and, inevitably—slowly but with unwavering certainty—fall in love with the one the Moon Goddess has chosen for them.Of course, not everyone is willing to submit. Some wolves believe they can defy the goddess’s will, choosing betrayal and infidelity, pretending that this rule does not exist.I know very well that the mate bond does not affect wolves and humans in the same way. No matter how complicated my feelings for Fitch may be, what he experiences is far more intense than anything I feel. Every time we touch, the sharp sting on my skin is magnified many times over for him.And yet—even so—shouldn’t I at least f

I have reached my breaking point. I am truly, utterly done.It isn’t just me—the man, the vessel—who feels this way. My wolf is right there with me, pacing behind my ribs, his claws scraping against the walls of my consciousness. That raw, directionless frustration is a living thing, a jagged blade turning in our shared gut, threatening to shred us both from the inside out. My life has become a battlefield where the enemies aren't physical rivals, but a swarm of insurmountable problems. They circle me like a pack of starved beasts, snapping and lunging from the shadows of every corner. I stand in the center, paralyzed, not even knowing which throat to go for first.The first issue—the one that acts as a slow-acting poison in my veins—is Sarah. She has been gone for over two weeks now.Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours of agonizing silence.There has been nothing. No mind-link sparks, no lingering scent on the wind, no physical trail through the thickest parts of the fo

My gaze locked onto the phone.It lay on my father’s desk, vibrating relentlessly, its screen glowing in the dim office. Sarah’s name flashed again and again in cold white light, each pulse cutting deeper than the last.The room was unnaturally silent.No ticking clock.No distant footsteps.Nothing but the ringing and the faint hum of the phone skidding against polished wood.I couldn’t look away.Just moments ago, my father had told me to give my mate space.And now the universe—cruel, deliberate—had placed temptation directly between us.My wolf lost control.It slammed against the inside of my skull, clawing, howling, de

My mother’s tears slipped down her cheeks, and before I could stop myself, I laughed.I knew her too well. She would blame every bit of this on the damn pregnancy hormones.“These cursed hormones,” she muttered, wiping at her eyes even as she smiled helplessly. “I cry over everything now.”The softness of that smile hit me harder than I expected. It dragged a thousand memories to the surface—memories of a time when things were simpler, warmer. It was a look only a mother could wear, one shaped by patience, fear, and unconditional love.I studied her carefully.The slight curve of her belly. Five months along. Her posture a little slower, but her complexion brighter, healthier than I remembered.&ldquo