All Chapters of Alpha Step Daddy : Four Mates, One heart: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

DOMINIC The laptop screen flickered, casting a cold, blue glow over the dark mahogany of my desk. On the other side of the high-speed connection sat three men and two women—the Council of Alphas. They were the old guard, the keepers of the High Law, and they looked about as pleased to be talking to me as they would be if I’d dumped a crate of silver-tipped grenades in their laps. "Dominic Steele," the Elder on the far left spoke. His name was Silas the Elder—no relation to my lieutenant, though they shared the same stubborn disposition. "You ask us to recognize a hybrid. Not only that, but you ask for amnesty for a spirit wolf who has been off the grid for a century. Do you have any idea how many treaties you are shredding?" I leaned back, my hands folded over my chest. The leather of my vest creaked in the silence. "The treaties were written for a world that didn't have Silverfangs using chemical weapons and hunting our young. The world has changed, Silas. Raven isn't just a hybrid

COLE In Blackridge, hockey wasn't just a sport; it was a secular religion. Tonight, the arena was loud. It was the regional semi-finals, and as "Cole Blackwood," the star center, I was expected to lead the team to a blowout. But as Cole, the Silverfang defector and Raven’s protector, I was hunting for unusuals in the stands. I skated a lap, my blades biting into the fresh ice with a rhythmic shuck-shuck sound. My eyes scanned the glass, the bleachers, the rafters. "Cole! Heads up!" one of my teammates yelled, flicking a puck my way. I caught it on the fly, an effortless flick of the wrist. But my heart wasn't in the game. It was twenty rows up, centered on the girl in the oversized Blackridge hoodie. Raven. She was sitting with a few of the younger pack members who were "undercover" as students. She looked nervous. Her amber eyes met mine for a split second. Stay alert, I projected, hoping the new mental link Merek spoke of was working. The puck dropped. The game was a blur

RAVEN The noise was never-ending. It wasn't the sound of the compound—the revving of Jax’s bike, the clink of Dominic’s whiskey glass, or the sharp crack of Cole’s hockey stick against the floor. It was the internal noise. The psychic hum of four powerful men, each tethered to my soul by a cord that felt like a live wire. Dominic’s bond was like the beating heart of the mountain. Jax was a raw, feeling of heat and protectiveness. Cole was a frantic, electric static that mirrored my own nervous energy. And Merek... Merek was the type of silence that somehow made the loudest impact of all. I couldn't breathe. Every time one of them felt a spike of adrenaline or a surge of desire, I felt it like. "I’m going for a run," I announced to the empty kitchen, though I knew they could all hear me. I didn't wait for a response. I bolted out the back door, past the gym where Jax was torturing a punch bag, and plunged into the dense treeline. I didn't bother to shift. I just ran as

MEREK The physical world is often a distraction. Humans and wolves alike spend their lives obsessed with the weight of their bones, the heat of their blood, and the hunger in their bellies. They forget that the body is merely a vessel, a clay jar holding a whirlwind. I stood in the corner of the small, cedar-walled cabin on the edge of the compound. It was the home of Sarah, a young Howler widow, and her six-year-old son, Leo. The air in the room was stagnant, heavy with the scent of eucalyptus and the sour, metallic tang of "Shadow-Sickness." Leo lay on the bed, his skin translucent and pale, his small chest hitching with every breath. He wasn’t physically injured; he had been playing near the border when a Silverfang hex-trap had triggered. It hadn’t killed him, but it had latched onto his spirit, slowly draining the light from his eyes. "He’s not getting better, Merek," Sarah whispered, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "Dominic sent the doctor, but he says the lungs are

JAX I stood on the northern ridge, my boots sinking into the churning sludge that used to be a trail. The air was thick with the scent of ozone, wet wood, and the unmistakable, oily stench of Silverfang scouts. They were like cockroaches—no matter how many we crushed, a few always scurried back into the dark to regroup. "They're flanking the old logging bridge," Silas hissed through the comms. He was positioned three hundred yards to my left, his voice cracking with the strain of holding back his wolf. "Let them," I replied, "Elias, are the 'fireworks' ready?" “Ready and waiting, Jax,” the fire-hybrid thought back. His mental presence was a flickering flame, hot and erratic. “Just give the word.” I watched through the night-vision goggles. Six Silverfangs—remnants of the elite guard Cole had once led were moving carefully. They weren't here to just spy; they were carrying canisters. Silver nitrate gas. If they reached the ventilation intake for the compound, we’d be breathi