All Chapters of THE PAKHAN'S STOLEN OMEGA: Chapter 61 - Chapter 69

POV: Anya TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AFTER INFILTRATION The Moscow skyline had changed dramatically in twenty-five years. Where once there had been tension between supernatural and human districts, now integration was visible everywhere, mixed neighborhoods, hybrid businesses, children of different species playing together in parks. Anya stood at her office window, watching the city she'd helped transform, and felt the weight of every one of those years. She was forty-eight years old. Luna for a quarter century. Mother to two extraordinary daughters. Grandmother to none yet, though Nadia kept hinting. And tired in a way that went deeper than physical exhaustion. "You're brooding again," Dimitri observed from the doorway. He looked distinguished with silver threading through his dark hair, his ice-blue eyes as sharp as ever. "The Council session wasn't that bad." "It was three hours of arguing about vampire feeding rights in Stockholm. It was exactly that bad." Anya turned from the window.

POV: Anya TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AFTER INFILTRATION The day Anya woke up completely human, she didn't realize it at first. She stretched in bed, feeling the familiar aches of her fifty-one-year-old body, and reached instinctively for the bond. For twenty-eight years, that connection had been as natural as breathing, a constant awareness of her three mates, their emotions and locations always present in the back of her mind. Now there was nothing. Silence where symphony had been. Anya sat up abruptly, panic flooding through her. She focused, trying to feel Alexei beside her, Dimitri in his command center, Nikolai in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Nothing. The bond that had defined her adult life was gone. "Alexei," she whispered, shaking his shoulder. "Alexei, wake up." He woke immediately, Alpha instincts alert. "What's wrong?" "The bond. I can't feel it. I can't feel any of you." His expression shifted from alarm to grief. "I know. I felt it break around four this morning. The

POV: Anya THIRTY-TWO YEARS AFTER INFILTRATION The doctor's office smelled of antiseptic and fear. Anya sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the X-rays illuminated on the wall, trying to make sense of the shadows that apparently meant something terrible. "I'm sorry," Dr. Petrov said gently. He was human, supernatural healers couldn't help with purely human diseases. "The biopsy confirmed it. Breast cancer. Stage two. It's aggressive, but we caught it relatively early." The words felt distant, abstract. Cancer. The disease that had plagued humanity for millennia. The thing supernatural healing should have protected her from, except she wasn't supernatural anymore. She was just human. Just mortal. Just fifty-five years old and facing the mortality she'd been trying not to think about for four years. "Treatment options?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. "Chemotherapy, starting immediately. Six cycles, every three weeks. Then we'll evaluate whether surgery i

POV: Anya SIXTY-FIVE TO NINETY-TWO YEARS OLD The deterioration came gradually, then all at once. At seventy, Anya needed a cane. At seventy-five, she needed help bathing. At eighty, her memory became unreliable—she'd forget conversations from hours ago, repeat stories without realizing, occasionally fail to recognize people she'd known for decades. "It's dementia," Galina confirmed gently during one of their increasingly frequent check-ups. The ancient pack doctor was failing too, two hundred eighty years old, clearly approaching her final decade. "Early stages. It'll progress." "How long?" "Impossible to predict. Could be five years. Could be twenty. But yes, eventually you'll lose yourself to it." Anya absorbed this with surprising calm. She'd survived so much, why not this too? "I want to write everything down. While I still can. So my family has it all." She spent the next year compiling memories, writing letters, recording videos. Some days her mind was sharp, and she wor