All Chapters of TWO ALPHAS ONE BOND : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

WILLOW It had been two days. Two days since, my sister had transformed into a blinding white wolf in the middle of the grand ballroom, shattering the fragile peace of our world. Two days of enforced curfew, the packhouse was sealed tighter than a vault with guards stationed at every conceivable entrance, as if to prove a point no one quite understood. Representatives from the council drifted through the corridors, their eyes sharp, their smiles practiced, their questions a thinly veiled attempt to dissect and control the inexplicable. ‘What exactly are we dealing with? How do we control it?’ The unspoken answer hung heavy in the air: ‘You don't.’ But no one had bothered to ask me. I sat by the window, my tea long gone cold, and watched the grounds below. Two guards at the east gate, two more by the garden entrance. Their patrols were a metronome of anxiety, a repetitive rhythm born from orders they couldn't quite grasp, compensated for by an almost frantic thoroughness. "It's like

ZEVIAR I felt it before he even spoke. Orion. Thirty-five years he’d been the one to fill every silence, to wear his heart on his sleeve, his emotions a billboard for all to see. Growing up, it had driven me mad. I’d cataloged it as a weakness, a flaw. But standing there, in the heart of the villa, watching him absentmindedly fiddle with a jacket he’d forgotten he was wearing, I finally understood. He wasn’t loud out of carelessness. He was loud because he believed things deserved to be said. And now, his silence was the most unnerving thing I’d witnessed in a long time. More unsettling than a white wolf tearing apart shapeshifters in a clearing. “Something’s wrong,” Zayn murmured, his eyes fixed on Orion. “I know,” I replied, the words feeling hollow. “With him.” “I know.” I set down the bag I was carrying. Lyra, beside me, had gone rigid. The bond between us hummed, a shared awareness of Orion’s turmoil that still registered on her face. She watched him with a quiet intensity

LYRA "Can I ask you something?" Zeviar's eyes stayed glued to the road, like he already knew what was coming. "The phone," I started, leaning forward, the worn leather of the seat feeling cool against my skin. "We left the ballroom with absolutely nothing. No bags, no phones, not a single thing. But you've been using that one since we got to the villa. Where did it come from?" He glanced at me, a quick flash of his eyes. "Every property I own has a standard emergency kit. Devices, clothes, cash, medical supplies. It's protocol." "Standard," I echoed, the word feeling a bit empty. "When you're responsible for as many people as I am," he explained, his gaze back on the winding road, "you learn not to leave things to chance. Preparation isn't paranoia; it's discipline." "How many properties are we talking about?" I pushed. "Enough." "That's not an answer." "It's the one you're getting." I peeked at Orion through the gap between the seats. He was watching our little back-and-fort

ZEVIAR I felt it the instant the bullet hit her. It wasn't through my eyes; I was already moving, already closing in on the guy with the gun, my focus razor-sharp, locked onto the decision I’d made. I felt it through Zayn. He didn't make a sound. That’s what stopped me dead. Zayn, who had been this steady, solid presence inside me for thirty-five years – so composed, so disciplined, the absolute bedrock of who I was – he made no sound. He just… contracted. Like something immense had reached deep inside him and clamped down on the most vital part of him, squeezing hard. I spun around. Lyra was already falling. Orion caught her just before she hit the embankment, barely. One of his knees hit the dirt as his arms found her, that desperate, precise movement of someone who’d been watching from the edge of their vision and reacted the second they saw it happen. He was on the ground with her cradled in his arms, his face contorted in a way I didn't have time to process because the man

WILLOW I had this whole plan for when Lyra got back. Seriously, I'd rehearsed it, the way you do when you've got way too much time on your hands and zero control over anything. The idea was she'd just waltz through those packhouse doors, looking like her usual self, probably rocking one of the twins' hand-me-downs. Then I'd hit her with some snarky comment about how long she'd been gone, she'd roll her eyes, and we'd bicker about something stupid for ten minutes before falling into each other like we always do. That was the plan. The one I'd been replaying in my head for three solid days while the packhouse held its breath, guards swapped out, and those council reps watched everything with their unnervingly careful eyes. What I definitely didn't plan for, was Orion carrying her through those doors, completely unconscious. What I didn't plan for was the sickly color of her face. What I didn't plan for was standing in a medical corridor forty minutes later, my back plastered against th