Semua Bab Claimed by the Forbidden Alpha: Wild Bond : Bab 131 - Bab 140

The dust kicked up by Richard’s escape still hung in the air when the tension between Dante and Helena finally snapped. Inside the cabin, the silence wasn’t one of relief, but of an impending shatter. Helena stood by the table, her hands still trembling, while Dante paced back and forth like a caged predator, the heat rolling off his body making the room suffocating.“You shouldn’t have done that,” Helena began, her voice cracking under the weight of the freshly awakened trauma. “You treated him like an animal, Dante. You almost killed him right in front of my door.”Dante stopped abruptly, turning to her with the gold still gleaming dangerously in his irises.“He treated you like an object, Helena! He came here to drag you back to that life of servitude. What did you expect? That I’d invite the man who broke your soul in for coffee?”“I expected you to be better than him!” she shouted, the tears finally spilling over. “Richard used money and control to crush me. You use brute force a

The Blackwater full moon wasn't just a star in the sky; it was a command vibrating in Dante Blackwood's blood. As he sped down the dirt road, the silvery glow flooded the forest, transforming each tree into a silver spear. His senses were on edge. He smelled the resin, felt the movement of every rodent in the undergrowth, and above all, the metallic terror emanating from Helena.The bond between them, though strained by deliberate distancing, now acted like a barbed wire stretched to its limit. Dante fought against the convulsions of his own body. His bones cracked, protesting against the human will that refused to allow the complete transformation. Under the light of the full moon, the beast was ten times stronger, ten times hungrier. Each beat of his heart hammered out a single order: Hunt. Kill. Claim.When he stormed into the clearing where Helena was cornered, the scene was a nightmare of shadows and conspiracy. Malachi, the Night Hunter, held his silver blade raised as the two g

The warehouse of the workshop, which had once been a sanctuary of grease and brotherhood, had transformed into the setting of a silent and lethal tribunal. The air was heavy, laden with the acrid odor of adrenaline and the electric tension of dozens of werewolves on high alert. In the center, under a single industrial lamp that swayed slightly, Dante and Helena stood side by side, surrounded by a circle of leather jackets and gazes ranging from open distrust to a thirst for challenge.Silas, the elder of the pack, stepped forward, his dark wooden cane striking the concrete with a dry sound, like a verdict. His dull but still sharp eyes fixed on Helena with an intensity that seemed to want to strip her Thorne soul bare.“Dante Blackwood,” Silas’s voice echoed, harsh and solemn. “You have convened this Moon Council under the premise that the Order of the Leather Wolves must accept a foreign element into its purest lineage. You speak of prophecies and ‘anchors,’ but what we see is an Alp

The night in Blackwater was no longer a threat, but a sacred mantle that enveloped the Leather Wolves clan. In the heart of the ancestral clearing, where rocks marked with Thorne and Blackwood symbols stood like sentinels of time, a colossal bonfire of pine and sandalwood cast orange flames toward the stars. The air was saturated with the scent of burning resin and the static electricity emanating from dozens of wolves in human form, arranged in a circle of absolute silence and reverence.Dante Blackwood waited in the center of the circle. He was bare from the waist up, his tattoos gleaming under the firelight, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. His eyes were pure gold, the beast present and conscious, awaiting the other half that would finally complete his soul.When Helena emerged from between the trees, the murmur of the forest seemed to cease. She wore a fine white silk tunic that left her shoulders and back exposed, walking barefoot over the moss with a dignity

The sky over Blackwater was no longer black; it was a viscous crimson, a Blood Moon that seemed to bleed over the cold asphalt of the central square. The air was saturated with the metallic scent of blood, ozone, and the caustic smoke from silver gunfire. The final confrontation was no longer a dispute over territory or a motorcycle club feud; it was a millennial purge being decided in the center of a town that watched in horror as the shadows grew teeth.Dante Blackwood stood in the middle of the carnage, a vision of pure ancestral ferocity. Under the influence of the blood-colored moon, his transformation was deeper, his claws longer, his growl a sound that seemed to tear the very fabric of reality. He was not fighting alone. By his side, Helena Thorne was no longer just a spectator or a protected damsel. She was the gravitational center of the battle. The mark on her neck glowed with a pulsing violet light, and every time she touched the ground or channeled her intent, the Leather