His Rejected Mate's Secret のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 15

(Delph’s POV)The first horn shakes the rafters.Then another.And another.By the time I reach the courtyard, the air is thick with the scent of iron and rain. Wolves shift in the open space, ranks breaking apart faster than orders can travel. Some raise their heads to me. Others turn toward the elders’ banners snapping above the gate.It’s already begun.“Hold the south wall!” I shout. The sound rips through the confusion. “No one crosses the line without my order!”Corin appears at my side, breathing hard. “They came through the northern arch! Council enforcers and half the guard with them.”Half.That’s enough to drown the rest if they get momentum.“Signal the archers,” I bark. “Do not kill unless they attack first.”He hesitates. “They’re attacking already.”A clash of steel answers him.The courtyard erupts. Wolves collide mid-shift, fur and fists and rage blurring into one sound. The elders’ guards push forward in a wedge, silver spears gleaming. My own fighters close ranks to

Delph's POV Smoke and silence, that’s all the aftermath of power ever leaves behind.The air still trembles with heat. Smoke curls above the courtyard like ghosts unwilling to leave, carrying with it the stench of burnt wood and blood. Wolves move among the wounded, their paws dark with ash. The cries of the injured blend with the crackle of dying flames.I stand on the stone steps, halfway between command and collapse. My body wants to tremble, to grieve, but the Alpha in me refuses. The weight of a pack’s survival sits heavy on my shoulders.Corin’s boots scrape against the ground as he approaches, his once-golden fur matted with soot. “Half our warriors are down,” he reports hoarsely. “The northern barracks are gone. And the Council elders escaped through the tunnels before the blast.”His words echo in the hollow that used to be my chest. The elders, always slipping away when their schemes burn too bright.“Get the healers to the courtyard,” I murmur, though my voice sounds far a

Delph's POVThe smell of smoke never really leaves you, it clings to the soul longer than it does the skin.The courtyard still smolders. Charred beams lie like bones across the stones, embers flickering in the wind. The wounded are gathered near the well, healers working with shaking hands and hollow eyes. Wolves move slower now,broken, uncertain, glancing at me as I pass, as though my presence alone might stitch the ruins back together.I give orders quietly, one after another. “Stabilize the northern line.” “Send food to the families.” “Burn what’s tainted, bury the rest.”My voice sounds like someone else’s. I’ve said these words before, in other wars, but this time every command feels like a lie.Because the nursery is empty.The cradle carved from whitewood, the one I could never bring myself to destroy even after rejecting her lies overturned. The air still carries her scent. Faint herbs. Milk. And underneath it, something sharper, fear, and the wild tang of determination.She