บททั้งหมดของ Chosen by the cursed Alpha king : บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

News from Iron Crest Pack did not arrive gently.It came in fragments.In whispers carried by traders. In coded messages intercepted along neutral borders.In reports from traveling wolves who had witnessed smoke rising again from Iron Crest territory.The civil war had not died with their Alpha.It had deepened.Loyal soldiers of the late Alpha refused to bow to the emerging faction. They fortified villages. They guarded old banners. They spoke his name like a vow.And somewhere in that fractured land, his brother now lived under Red Moon’s roof.Cory.The unrest outside our borders stirred unrest within them.The elders were not pleased, so Damon was summoned before noon.The council chamber felt colder than usual when I accompanied him to the door. The elders sat in their semicircle of carved oak seats, expressions carved from stone just as hard.They did not ask for me. They asked for their Alpha.Damon squeezed my hand once before stepping inside alone.The doors closed behind hi

The D-day arrived faster than any of us were prepared for.The sky was still ink-dark when the first horns sounded across Red Moon territory. Torches burned along the courtyard walls, their flames bending in the early morning wind. Armor clinked. Boots struck stone. Low murmurs of warriors greeting one another filled the air.From the grand staircase of the packhouse entrance, I watched them gather.Rows upon rows of Red Moon warriors.Disciplined, armed, and ready. The red insignia stitched across their chests caught the torchlight like embers.At the center of it all stood Cory.No longer the broken man staring at the sky.No longer the displaced brother confined to a guarded room.He wore fitted armor now,dark steel with subtle crimson accents Damon had ordered prepared for him. A sword hung at his hip. Another blade rested across his back.Antonio stood before him, handing him a final weapon , a short iron dagger.“For close quarters,” Antonio said evenly.Cory took it with a nod

I kept track of the days, and noticed that a week passed.Seven long, stretching days. Yet no word, no messenger, no falcon bearing a sealed letter.Red Moon remained standing, functioning, and breathing , but tension crept like fog through its halls. Patrols doubled. The elders whispered more frequently. Even the pups sensed something was off, their games quieter, their laughter less wild.I felt it too. Restlessness.An ache beneath my ribs that had nothing to do with pregnancy.But I refused to let anxiety consume me.Stress would not serve the life inside me.So I kept busy.Reviewed reports, met with captains, sat with omegas, listened to concerns, smiled when necessary, and breathed when alone.Each night, I stepped onto the balcony and searched the horizon.Each night, I whispered a prayer for the moon goddess to bring him back.**********It was near sunset on the seventh day.I was seated at the long dining table, forcing myself to eat despite the knot in my stomach. Bacon. E

The Quiet Goodbye The night air was warm, carrying faint laughter from the courtyard below. Through the open balcony doors, I could hear the men , Damon, Cory, and Antonio , their voices relaxed, threaded with the occasional burst of laughter. The sharp scent of wine drifted upward, mixed with the earthy smell of night grass. Victory still lingered in the air. Celebration still hummed softly beneath the packhouse roof. Inside my chamber, candles flickered gently as Aria helped me loosen the laces of my dress. She had always done this for me. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. But tonight, her hands were slower and quieter. “You’ve barely spoken,” I said lightly, trying to lift the mood. “Did Cory exhaust you already with tales of battle?” A faint smile touched her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He does like to relive every detail,” she admitted softly. I turned slightly to face her as she folded my dress carefully and set it aside. “I’m happy for you

There is a different kind of strength in women who carry life.I saw it clearly that afternoon as I stood in the garden watching them arrive one by one with hands resting on rounded bellies, babies balanced on hips, laughter already floating through the warm air.This tea gathering had become a tradition.The first time I organized it, I had been pregnant with my first child , scared, nervous, unsure, overwhelmed by everything my body was becoming. I had needed guidance. Needed community. Needed to know I was not alone.So I created one.Now, carrying life again, I decided it would no longer be occasional.It would be a norm.Low tables had been arranged beneath the flowering trees. Cushions were placed carefully on the grass. Porcelain teacups gleamed beside plates of fruit, warm bread, and honey cakes. The air smelled of chamomile and mint.Pregnant women, nursing mothers, and young wives who hoped to conceive soon. All gathered together.And this time, Eloise sat among them.I watc