All Chapters of My Sweetest Revenge: Sleeping with the Alpha King: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The blinding beams of the NYPD searchlights cut through the drifting ash of the ruined penthouse, pinning us against the shattered glass. Dozens of red sniper lasers danced across Killian’s broad, bare chest, illuminating the fading gold of his ancient Alpha runes."I repeat! Hands in the air! You are surrounded!" the SWAT commander’s voice blared over the helicopter’s megaphone, tight with the unique panic of a mortal who had just witnessed the impossible.Killian didn't raise his hands. He didn't even flinch. He simply stood in front of me, an immovable mountain of muscle and ancient power, and let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated over the deafening roar of the chopper blades."Surrounded," Killian mocked softly, glancing back at me with a smirk. "Humans are remarkably optimistic creatures, aren't they?"Before the SWAT commander could issue the order to fire, a massive shadow blotted out the remaining moonlight.Rising silently from the darkness behind the three police helicop

Two hours later, after a leisurely breakfast that involved far too many pancakes for Lucian and a disturbing amount of raw, rare steak for Killian, we finally descended to the 50th-floor corporate boardroom.Killian had changed into a fresh, charcoal-grey bespoke suit. The tailoring was flawless, doing nothing to hide the dangerous, heavily muscled physique of the Alpha King underneath. I wore a sleek, tailored ivory blazer and a matching skirt that screamed corporate royalty, with the invisible, cosmic weight of the First Crown resting effortlessly upon my soul.When the heavy mahogany doors swung open, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a broadsword.The Mayor of New York was sweating profusely, dabbing his forehead with a silk handkerchief. Beside him sat the Governor, looking pale and sleep-deprived. But the man leading the charge was a four-star General from the Pentagon, his chest heavy with medals, flanked by eight elite, heavily armed Secret Service operative

Since our previous Gulfstream was currently functioning as a rather expensive ice sculpture in Central Park, Marcus had effortlessly procured a new flagship jet from the Blackwood European fleet.The flight across the Atlantic was smooth, landing at a heavily privatized airstrip on the outskirts of Rome just as midnight draped the Eternal City in darkness.As the airstairs lowered, the humid Mediterranean night air flooded the cabin. But there was another scent riding the wind—something metallic, ancient, and unnervingly sweet."They certainly know how to put on a show," Killian murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his bespoke midnight-blue suit. His golden eyes flared as he looked out the window.Waiting on the tarmac was a fleet of six vintage, immaculately restored 1930s Rolls-Royce Phantoms, all painted in a deep, glossy crimson. Flanking the vehicles was the Crimson Court's welcoming committee.They were twelve vampires, standing with statuesque, unnatural stillness. Dressed in timel

The echoing silence in the subterranean cavern was so absolute, it felt as though time itself had stopped."They want Nyx," Valerius’s words hung in the chilling air, a death sentence spoken in a polite, aristocratic whisper.Killian didn't roar. He didn't issue a threat. He simply vanished.He moved with a speed that defied the laws of physics, a speed that even the ancient, hyper-evolved eyes of the vampires couldn't track. In less than a millisecond, a sonic boom shattered the crystal goblets on the mahogany table.Killian reappeared standing over the bone throne. His massive, obsidian claws were wrapped completely around Valerius’s throat, effortlessly lifting the First of the Sanguine off the ground and slamming him against the gilded bone architecture. The sheer force of the impact cracked the throne in half."Say her name again," Killian whispered, his voice a demonic, vibrating frequency that caused the marble floor to tremble. His golden Alpha runes were blinding, burning wit

Forty-eight hours.The countdown to the end of the world began not with a roar, but with the synchronized thrumming of a massive, joint-force armada crossing the Arctic Circle.It was a sight that should not exist in nature. A fleet of state-of-the-art, nuclear-powered icebreakers from the Blackwood Corporation, painted in matte-black tactical paint, plowed through the twenty-foot-thick glacial ice, creating a path of dark water. Behind them sailed the Crimson Court’s ancient, reinforced war galleons, their black sails bearing the silver crest of the bleeding bat, looking like ghost ships emerging from the endless fog.The masquerade was fully dead. The wolves and the leeches were marching to war, and the world was watching in terrified silence.I stood on the bow of the lead icebreaker, the Blackwood Harbinger. The sub-zero wind lashed against my face, smelling of pure ozone and dead sea. I didn't need a heavy coat; the First Crown hummed within my veins, recognizing the extreme cold