บททั้งหมดของ The Alpha’s Dead Wife is Back : บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The sun was rising over the Alps, painting the snow in shades of violent pink and orange, when Ethan returned to Castelvo.He walked through the main gates in human form, shirtless, his trousers torn, his skin covered in the grime of the forest and dried blood. He didn't look like a High Alpha. He looked like a man who had gone to war with a ghost and lost.The guards at the gate stiffened, snapping to attention, but Ethan ignored them. He walked straight to the armory, where Volkov was cleaning his war-hammer."Volkov," Ethan said, his voice raspy.The Lycan looked up. His yellow eyes narrowed as he took in Ethan’s appearance."You found something," Volkov stated. It wasn't a question."Clear the room," Ethan ordered.Volkov nodded at the two junior wolves polishing armor. They scrambled out, sensing the tension radiating from their Alpha.When they were alone, Ethan leaned against a weapon rack, his legs trembling with exhaustion."I saw it," Ethan whispered."Saw what? The vampires

The nursery was silent, save for the hum of the floating stars above Julian’s head. But to Ethan, the silence was screaming.He stared at the phone in Lady Seraphina’s hand. The video on the screen was frozen on a single frame: his five-year-old son, eyes glowing white, clapping his hands to create a black sphere of pure destruction.A Void-Well."Where did you get this?" Ethan asked. His voice was a flatline, devoid of the panic that was currently clawing at his throat."Does it matter?" Seraphina smiled, tucking the phone back into the pocket of her emerald gown. "I have eyes everywhere, Ethan. Even in your private sanctuary.""This is treason," Ethan said, stepping closer to her. "Spying on the High Alpha’s heir is an act of war.""It is insurance," Seraphina corrected smoothly. She didn't back down. "And frankly, Ethan, you should be thanking me. If Lord Blackwood had seen this footage... or Elder Thorne... they wouldn't be standing here negotiating. They would have burned this ca

Consciousness returned to Emily not as a sunrise, but as a slow drowning.She was cold. She was wet. And she was alone.She opened her eyes. She wasn't in the West Wing. She wasn't in Vane’s car. She was lying on a bed of woven reeds in a room made of fog.The walls weren't stone; they were mist, thick and swirling, held together by ancient, moss-covered arches. The air smelled of rain, peat, and magic so old it tasted like dirt on her tongue."You are awake," a voice said.Emily sat up. Her head spun, but the static—the screaming agony that had driven her from the castle—was gone. In its place was a silence so profound it felt heavy.Standing at the foot of the bed was Morrigan.The Blood Witch looked different here. Her red silks were gone, replaced by simple grey wool robes. Her face was clean of war paint, revealing lines of exhaustion."Where am I?" Emily rasped."The Crimson Conclave," Morrigan said. "The Highlands of Scotland. Kael brought you here. He said you needed a place w

The Great Hall of Castelvo was dressed for a funeral, though the banners proclaimed a celebration.Ethan stood on the dais, the ancient stone cold beneath his feet. He wore his ceremonial armor—black leather and silver plating—but it felt less like protection and more like a cage. Beside him, Lady Seraphina was radiant in white and gold, smiling like a cat who had just swallowed the canary.Below them, the Pack and the Ancients were gathered. The tension in the room was a physical weight.Ethan looked at the sea of faces. He saw Lord Blackwood, nodding approvingly. He saw the Ancient Elders, their eyes gleaming with the triumph of tradition over chaos.And he saw his own people.The Silverclaw wolves stood in a tight knot near the back. Their heads were not bowed. They were staring at him.Volkov’s yellow eyes were narrow slits of confusion. Lucas looked as if he had been slapped. Even the Rogues—Morrigan and her coven—looked uneasy, sensing the wrongness in the air.Ethan cleared his

The Sanctuary of Mist was usually silent at night, save for the dripping of condensation from the ancient stones. But tonight, the silence was heavy. Pressurized.In the small initiate’s cell, Emily—now Lyla Raines—was sleeping.But she wasn't resting.She was thrashing on the narrow cot, her hands gripping the sheets so tightly the fabric tore. Her skin was ice cold, but she was sweating. The air around her rippled, distorting the stone walls like a heat mirage.In her mind, she was back in the Void. She was falling through the green sky. She was watching a faceless monster made of smoke and hunger tear her family apart.It’s coming, the dream whispered. It smells you.The nightmare didn't stay in her head. It bled out.In the main atrium of the Conclave, the torches mounted on the walls flickered. The orange flames died, replaced instantly by a cold, ghostly blue fire.Shadows detached themselves from the corners of the room. They weren't just absences of light; they were physical f