Reborn as the Alpha’s regret のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

CHAPTER 22- CallaIf the Shadow Pack were as efficient as the legends claimed, I’d currently be standing over Fenris Vexley’s trembling form. Instead, I was standing in a damp stone alcove, staring at a wall of moss and wondering if Alpha Rian’s "elite trackers" had actually graduated from tracking school or if they’d just found their outfits at a surplus store.The news of the second failure hadn’t come as a shout; it had come as a heavy, brooding silence that settled over the cavern like a wet blanket. Lyra’s team had returned, looking less like legendary warriors and more like dogs who had tried to chase a car and realized the car was made of steel and spite."He was already there," Lyra had muttered to Rian, her silver eyes fixed on the floor. "Lucien Thorne was waiting. It was a trap."I leaned against the cold rock, crossing my arms over my chest. The herbal tea the old wolf had given me was still working, but it couldn't touch the cold, prickly irritation of knowing Lucien was

CallaTraining with the Shadow Pack wasn't exactly the empowering montage I’d imagined. There was no upbeat music, no supportive cheers, and significantly more face-planting into cold, damp dirt than I felt was strictly necessary for my character arc."Again," Lyra commanded. Her voice was like a whip—short, sharp, and utterly indifferent to the fact that my lungs currently felt like they were being scraped with sandpaper.I pushed myself up from the cavern floor, wiping a smear of mud from my jaw. "You know, Lyra, most people start with a warm-up. Maybe some light stretching? A brisk walk? We jumped straight into 'sprint through a pitch-black obstacle course while being pelted with rocks.'""The enemy won't give you a warm-up," Lyra said, her silver eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. She stood perfectly still, a phantom in the shadows. "And the rocks are to remind you that if you can't hear them coming, you're already dead. Again."I gritted my teeth and began the run again. The trai

LucienThe family vault was colder than the interrogation room, but the air here didn't smell like sweat and desperation.It smelled like ancient paper, cold stone, and the heavy, metallic scent of my ancestors' pride.I stood before the velvet-lined display case where the five ceremonial keys were supposed to rest. My flank throbbed, a sharp reminder of the Shadow Pack’s blades, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow, echoing silence in my head.Calla was gone.Not just from the territory, but from my mind. The wall she had built was absolute. I reached out, a reflexive mental search I couldn't seem to stop, and hit a flat, cold void. It was like shouting into a well and not even hearing a ripple."Fine," I muttered, my voice tight. "Be a ghost. See if I care."I did care. My wolf was pacing in the back of my skull, hackles raised, whining at the lack of the mate-scent in our shared consciousness. I ignored him.I looked down at the display case. Four keys sat on th

CallaThe ledge was a graveyard of iron-gray fur and splintered crossbows.The silence that followed the violence was worse than the noise—a ringing, heavy void filled only by the sound of ragged breathing and the distant, dying hiss of the gas from the cave entrance behind us.Lucien stood in the center of the outcrop, his massive black wolf form heaving. His fur was matted with blood… some his, mostly theirs and his eyes were glowing like twin embers in the moonlight.I leaned against the cold stone, my dagger still tight in my hand, my heart trying to beat its way out of my ribs. Lyra was at the edge of the ledge, her daggers lowered but her gaze fixed on the trees, watching for more Ironwood reinforcements.He’s here.The bond didn't just whisper; it thrummed. It was a physical vibration in the air between us. The iron wall I had built was gone, shattered by the sheer force of his arrival. I could feel his exhaustion, his stinging flank wound, and beneath it all, a savage, protect

Lucien's POV “Calla,” I called and shook her body. “I'm awake,” she said faintly. “Just… tired.” I nodded and fated walking some miles, the cliffside path came into view, my arms were numb and my eyes swept at the edges. Calla’s glow was already becoming dull but still bright enough for the Ironwood to track. Mine was almost gone already. I hurried in my steps. Leaping. Walking. Running. I didn't stop, not for a second. Sweat was already dripping from my face and my heart was raving faster than normal. Soon, the cabin appeared out of the storm like a memory dragged up against its will. I sighted the stone first, then the timber. Then the slanted line of a roof half swallowed by ice and pine needles, crouched against the cliff as if it had learned, long ago, that survival meant making yourself small. I reached it on instinct more than my sight. Calla's weight had gone slack in my arms. Her breathing was shallow now and each inhale of hers was a fight her body was slowly losi