Marked by The Alpha Mated to His Brother のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

Winter's POVDerrick shook his head, though the smile lingering on his face hadn't quite disappeared."I've survived worse than paperwork.""I'm not entirely convinced.""You wound me.""I've seen that stack.""It has certainly tried."Another laugh escaped me, softer this time, and I found myself returning to the reports in my hands. Most were sealed with different insignias—the border patrol, treasury, western settlements, and several from allied territories requesting audiences.Without really thinking about it, I began arranging them into separate piles.Military.Political.Economic.Internal affairs.Derrick looked up after signing the first page."...You've done this before."I glanced at him."My mother always sorted Father's correspondence before meetings. She said if people insisted on overwhelming him, the least she could do was make sure he drowned in an organized fashion."A quiet chuckle escaped him."I think I would have liked your mother.""You would.""And I think she

Winter's POV I smiled sheepishly as I stepped into the room, balancing the tray carefully in my hands. "I've been promoted from Alpha?" Sabrina didn't answer. I look over her shoulder. She had been rearranging the bandages on her shoulder without looking at me, clearly assuming whoever had entered was someone she knew. But now she had gone completely still. Slowly, almost mechanically, she turned toward me. Her expression remained blank. Then I noticed it. Her nose twitched. Once. Then again. A tiny movement. So small I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching her. I would've probably missed it if I'd blinked. The silence stretched between us as I waited for her to laugh. Or at the very least, smile. She didn't. Sabrina does none of those things. Instead, the color seemed to drain from her face. "...Winter?" I frowned. "Last time I checked." Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in concentration. She inhaled again, longer this time, and w

Winter's POV I pause as a sudden realization chills me. "Did he—" She nods, her expression turning somber. "Keon told me about your second attack. He knew I needed to understand the full scope of the danger we're dealing with if I'm going to help get it out." She takes another bite from the dish tray, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "As I was saying. The first thing Derrick asked when we arrived was about you. Not the treaty, not the perimeter security, not the casualty report. You. Wonder why?" I tilt my head in confusion, my brows furrowing. I think about what she'd just said earlier, trying to piece the puzzle together, but the logic feels just out of reach. "I don't get it. Why would a scent marker make him drop his guard?" She sighs. "Sometimes I forget you're not a werewolf. In our world Winter, you don't live in a world governed by instincts you can't see, smell or feel. Wolves rule, live by, and establish dominance by their senses, one of which is the sense of

Winter's POV: Neither of us spoke for several minutes. The fire had burned lower in the hearth, leaving the room bathed in soft amber and silver where the moonlight slipped through the curtains. Somewhere outside, rain tapped gently against the stone balcony, a rhythmic, soothing backdrop to the storm that had just settled between us. Sabrina broke the silence first. "...Can I see it?" I looked up, momentarily taken aback by the request. "The mark," she clarified, speaking carefully this time, as if handling something incredibly fragile. "The soulmate mark." For a heartbeat, I simply stared at her. The secret had been hidden under layers of fabric and concealment charms for so long that revealing it felt like exposing a raw nerve. Then, without a word, I nodded. I stood from the chair, suddenly very aware of my own body again. Derrick's oversized shirt hung loosely around my frame, the soft fabric brushing against my thighs as I turned around, turning my back to her. "It isn'

Keon's POV: The torch fell back into place with a heavy, metallic thud as the massive oak doors slammed shut behind us. This room, its history ran deep into the very bedrock of our territory. It was a space built on ancient foundations, a chamber designed for a past that our ancestors had tried to bury. Four Clans. One table. Some clans had stood the test of time, adapting and surviving the turning of the ages, while others had vanished completely into ash and memory. Yet, through the rise and fall of regimes, one thing had remained completely constant. The table remained. Carved from a single, gargantuan slab of black granite, its polished surface formed an enormous, intricate compass. North. East. West. South. Time and centuries of heavy use had weathered the edges smooth, but not even the turning of the world had managed to shift its direction. Legend claimed that before the Great Wolf-Witch War, the stone compass had turned freely, spinning on a mystical axis to refl