Claimed by the Forbidden Alpha: Wild Bond のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

The setting sun tinted the sky with a velvety crimson, casting long, soft shadows over the castle’s Secret Gardens. The air, once heavy with the scent of Isolde’s oppressive reign, was now impregnated with the fragrance of Purple Lunarias, which bloomed in an eternal celebration of amethyst petals. This place, where fear had once paralyzed Freya’s senses and Cedrik’s vigilance had been a weapon of control, had transformed into a living temple of their devotion. Marble fountains gushed crystalline water, a rhythmic sound that seemed to dictate the heartbeat of a kingdom at peace.Cedrik watched Freya from a respectful distance, admiring how she moved among the bushes. She stopped in front of the same flowerbed that, months earlier, had hinted at her divine nature by blooming under her touch. Now, all the vegetation around her leaned in her direction, as if the soil itself recognized the sovereign of its soul. She wore a white silk dress, light as a breeze, that traced her silhouette no

The asphalt under Dante Blackwood's tires wasn't just a road; it was an extension of his own skin, a black scar cutting through the heart of that forgotten city amid colossal pine forests. The roar of his customized Harley-Davidson vibrated through his chest, a mechanical growl that mirrored the restless beast living beneath his ribs. The cold night wind battered his face, carrying the scent of damp earth, pine needles, and something more—something dark and electric hovering over the small town.Behind him, the group advanced in perfect formation. The Leather Wolves weren't just a motorcycle club; they were a pack in every sense of the word. The glow of the headlights reflected off the chrome metal and black leather jackets, casting long, menacing shadows against the peeling brick walls. The town seemed to hold its breath as they passed. Curtains closed, hurried footsteps echoed on the sidewalks, and the remaining silence was laden with a respect tinged with fear. Dante felt all of it

The morning in Blackwater emerged wrapped in a thick fog that seemed reluctant to leave the tops of the pine trees, giving the town an atmosphere of constant vigilance. Helena Moore walked along the sidewalk of the main street, trying to ignore the feeling that every closed window held a pair of curious eyes. The encounter from the previous night at "The Rusty Bolt" still echoed through her body, an echo of electricity that made the air around her feel heavy and charged.Her destination was the small grocery store with its worn wooden counter, the only place where she could get basic supplies without having to drive for miles. As she entered, the little bell above the door announced her presence, interrupting the low murmur of two women who were examining some canned goods."Good morning," said Helena, offering a smile that was not returned.The women, both wearing heavy wool coats and gazes hardened by the mountain climate, exchanged a quick glance before turning to her. One of them,

The full moon rose in the Blackwater sky like a polished silver coin, immense and oppressive, casting a ghostly clarity that transformed the forest into a labyrinth of ivory and darkness. Inside her small house at the entrance to the river road, Helena Moore felt a restlessness she couldn’t soothe. The air seemed charged with static electricity, making every hair on her body stand on end beneath the thin silk nightgown. It wasn’t just the silence of the night; it was a call, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to pulse in sync with the beats of her own heart.Unable to stay within four walls, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the small wooden porch. The scent of the night was intoxicating—damp earth, pine trees, and that citrusy, wild perfume she now irrevocably associated with Dante Blackwood.He was there.Dante stood at the edge of the forest, where the moonlight washed over the ground. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the tattoos on his chest and arms seemed to come al

The warehouse in the back of Dante's workshop smelled of motor oil, cigarette smoke, and the acrid metallic scent of resting beasts. There were no luxurious chairs or bright lights; only wooden crates, stacked tires, and a solid metal table in the center, where the Leather Wolves' mark—a lupine skull crossed by two motorcycle handlebars—was burned into the surface. A single hanging bulb swayed from the ceiling, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own across the zinc walls.Dante Blackwood stood at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, his leather jacket open to reveal the tension in his muscles. He observed his brothers in arms. Jax, Silas, Kael, and the other core members of the club were present, each carrying the same aura of danger that defined the pack. Yet the atmosphere was not one of camaraderie, but of a silent, imminent confrontation."The Iron Claws were seen near the northern border again," Jax began, his hoarse voice breaking the silence. He tossed