All Chapters of The Alpha's Abandoned Mate : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll sleep.”“You’re not wrong,” the High Priestess said, stepping out from the moon garden’s cypress shadows, her voice a silk thread pulled through dark cloth. “That is why I asked you to come when the flowers keep their secrets.”The garden was a bowl of pale fragrance. Night-bloom lilies opened like quiet mouths. The gravel paths shone faintly where dew had silvered each stone. Above, the sky was a torn veil; the moon’s ragged edge leaked ghostlight that lay across leaves and skin in a soft, cold wash.Sienna didn’t sit. The bench was a slab of white stone warmed by daylight, cool now, expectant. She stood with hands loosely at her sides, head high, as if refusing chairs could delay decisions. Her hair caught the light and threw it back in a tired halo. The mark on her wrist, thinned, stubborn, pulsed once and settled, as though it disliked this place and wanted to say so without being rude.“Say it,” she told the Priestess. “I want the terrible without the

“Do not speak unless you mean to keep breathing.”The High Priestess’s warning whispered over cold stone as Sienna stepped into the inner ring. The Temple of Balance did not care to be liked. It had been built where the rock rose in a broad, flat shelf, half in the earth and half out, the place where old builders believed the world’s weight took its rest. The roof was a low dome cut with vents; the air was a knife. Torches burned without flicker along the outer wall. In the center, a shallow basin waited on a pedestal of veined marble, its lip carved with an alphabet that made mortals blink and look away.Sienna stood barefoot on stone that remembered winter. The mark on her wrist stirred like a waking animal and then lay still, as if resigning itself to instruction. She wore white without ornament, the Priestess’s demand, not vanity, and the cloth lay close to her body like a second skin that might be asked to testify. Her hair was unbound. She felt it between her shoulder blades lik

“Wake up, Ryder.”Sienna’s voice wasn’t only hers. It braided with another tone, ancient, silver-cold, until his name sounded like a verdict. He reached for her hand, expecting living heat. It slid through his palm like light through water. Then the temple floor buckled, and the world lifted him clean off his feet.“Ryder,” the High Priestess called, distant, fervent, “hold to the human anchor.”He tried, but the room slipped away, unstitched. Stone dissolved. Torches folded into points, then into constellations, then into eyes. He stood nowhere and everywhere, and the air tasted like iron and snowfall.“Look,” Lunaris said, and the void obeyed her.The first vision came fast. A hunting lodge under a black winter. He shoved the door with his shoulder, boots thudding on warped planks. A girl by the hearth startled, then smiled like sunrise over frost. He knew her without introduction. Another Sienna, another life. He crossed the distance, felt the hunger coil under his ribs like a wint

“Don’t come closer.”Sienna said it fast, the words a sharp little knife she threw at Ryder’s feet because if he stepped into this radius, the thing inside him would find the feast and she would be the table. She stood at the gate throat where the stone funneled men to death. Her skin glowed, faint, steady, like a lantern left on a windowsill to call someone home or warn them away. The new crescent on her wrist burned hot white.“I’m not your enemy,” he said, voice even as a blade balanced on a fingertip. The silver rain from the broken moon slicked his hair; it turned the scar at his throat into a pale ring of fire.“You’re not mine,” she answered, “until you are.”He stopped just out of reach. Around them, the world tore and stitched itself like cloth in a bored seamstress’s hands. Eamon’s line buckled and straightened. Wolves found throats and lost them. Kael threw a ladder and climbed it with one hand, the other on his sword, laughing under his breath.The curse inside Ryder felt

“Look up.”Eamon didn’t have to say it twice. The courtyard halted mid-stride, mid-order, mid-argument, faces tipping as one toward the sky. The moon had cracked before; now it came apart. Not shards. Plates. Vast, slow petals of stone and light peeling back from a burning heart. Silver fire spilled out like the inside of a wound, bright enough to turn every shadow into an honest confession.“Down!” someone shouted pointlessly, because there is nowhere to hide from a falling sky.Sienna stepped into the open and lifted her face so the city could see their queen look unafraid of the thing that had fed their tides and their myths and their madness. The crescent at her wrist blazed. Lunaris rose under her breastbone like a tide summoned by a second moon. The goddess wanted out. Sienna kept her in with a hand on an unseen door.“Stay with me,” she said under her breath. She didn’t clarify which of them she meant.Ryder moved to her side without touching. The hunger inside him woke hard and