Semua Bab The Alpha’s Rejected Mate: Bab 81 - Bab 90

A name disappears.I feel it before I understand it.A pull. A cut. A sudden empty space where something used to exist.“What just happened?” I ask.Kieran stiffens beside me. His jaw tightens. “Something ended.”The Goddess turns sharply. Her eyes widen, then narrow.“They erased a line,” she says.My heart skips. “What do you mean, erased?”She looks at me. “Not killed. Not destroyed. Removed.”The child grips my hand. Hard. Too hard.“It’s gone,” he whispers.I kneel in front of him. “What’s gone?”His lips tremble. “I can’t remember the name.”A chill runs through me.“You don’t forget names,” I say.“I know,” he whispers. “I know every name.”Kieran crouches beside us. “Whose name?”The child squeezes his eyes shut. “A god.”The Goddess exhales sharply. “They chose one of their own.”My throat tightens. “Why?”“To test the cost,” she answers. “And to punish us.”The child gasps suddenly. He doubles over, clutching his chest.“Hey,” I say quickly. “Look at me. Look at me.”His eye

The silence did not fade gently, it shattered.The first scream is not loud.It is not wild.I am afraid.I feel it before I hear it. Fear always moves faster than sound.Someone whispers my name like a curse. Someone else prays. Someone else runs. And then there are too many voices to count, all crashing into one truth I cannot escape anymore.The world has seen us.I swallow and look at the child in my arms. He clings to my shirt, small fingers tight, shaking like he knows what is coming even if he cannot name it. His eyes are wide. Too wide.“They can see,” he whispers.“I know,” I say softly.My voice is steady. My heart is not.Kieran stands across from me. His posture is rigid, but his eyes burn. The bond between him and the child hums like a wounded thing, alive and raw. I can feel it pressing against my ribs, begging to be noticed.“This was always going to happen,” he says.“Not like this.”I do not raise my voice. I do not need to. The truth sits heavy between us.“They were

I remember everything at once.The memory hits like a blade.Not slow.Not gentle.It comes whole.I gasp and stagger, clutching my chest as if my heart is the thing being torn open. Images crash into me. Voices. Promises. Hands clasped in blood and light.I fell to my knees.“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”The child cries out. “Nova!”I hear him, but the past is louder.I saw myself before I was broken. Before power was fear. Before love was called weakness. I see a circle of beings, not gods yet, not monsters either. Just will and hope and need.And I see him.Kieran.Not as he is now. Not wounded. Not carrying a wrong god inside his chest. I see him as he was then. Steady. Fierce. Choosing me when the rules said he should not.“You swore,” I whisper, the words tearing out of my throat. “You swore you would forget so I could survive.”His voice echoes in my head, clear and gentle.I swore to love you even if you forgot.I scream.The power inside me surges, wild and sharp, but this t

I stand when everything else wants me to kneel.Nova is slipping in my arms.I feel it in the bond first. A thinning. A stretch. Like holding water with open hands.“Stay,” I whisper again, even though she can barely hear me now.Her eyes flicker. Still fierce. Still her.“Kieran,” she murmurs. “Listen to me.”“I am,” I say, voice breaking. “I always do.”Her fingers tighten weakly around my wrist. “If I don’t make it”“You will,” I snap. Too fast. Too desperate. “You don’t get to leave me after rewriting reality.”A faint smile curves her lips. “You always sound angry when you’re afraid.”She’s right.I lower my forehead to hers. “Don’t make me prove you wrong.”The child watches us, face pale. Silent. His eyes are too old for his small form. Too full.Something shifts around us.Not power. Attention.I feel it press in. Mortals. Supernaturals. Gods who are no longer certain of themselves. All of them watching.Waiting.Nova exhales slowly. “They need someone.”“I don’t care about th

I woke up knowing something was wrong.I did not open my eyes at first. I did not rush to breathe. I stayed still because I felt it. That heavy pull. That quiet pressure inside my chest. It was not pain. It was not fear. It was worse.It was knowing.I opened my eyes.“I see you’re awake,” a voice said.I did not sit up. I did not ask where I was. I knew better. When a voice sounded like that—calm, old, endless—you did not pretend to be brave.“I know you,” I said instead.Silence followed. Not empty silence. Watching silence.“You have felt me before,” the voice replied. “In prayers that were not answered. In bargains that were half kept.”I swallowed. “You’re the first.”“Yes.”The word carried weight. Not pride. Not cruelty. Just truth.“The first Goddess,” I said.“You may call me that.”I finally sat up. There was nothing around me that my mind could hold onto. No walls. No ground. No sky. Just space that felt full instead of empty.“I didn’t ask to be here,” I said.“You did,” s