Semua Bab Claimed by the Ruthless Alpha Prince: Bab 201 - Bab 210

KIERANI stare at the intelligence reports spread across my desk, trying to focus on the information I received last night about movement among the gypsy witches. With no allegiance to anyone, the witches have occupied a portion of my territory for centuries now. We don’t cross paths, and they usually keep to themselves. I have a weak spot for them, so I let them be. But for them to be this agitated is unprecedented. Something is happening.My eyes wander toward Daciana where she’s sitting with Artisem, the two of them going over the heaps of proposals sent to me this morning.She’s frowning at a piece of parchment, her nose slightly wrinkled, lips pressed into a thin line. She can’t hide her emotions worth a damn, and despite everything—the Council’s machinations, the witches’ movements, the mounting pressure—I find myself watching her instead of reading about potential threats.She’s so much younger this time.The thought surfaces unbidden, and I shove it down before it can take roo

KIERANI FIND myself standing in Lucian’s study a few days later, having been summoned by the man.He’s standing by the window, staring out at the courtyard below, when I enter. He doesn’t turn around, and the tension in his shoulders tells me this isn’t a casual get-together.“I’ve spent the past two days trying to stop the Umbra Council from doing this,” he says without preamble.I don’t need to ask what he means. The pressure to take a mate has been mounting since the Council’s last decree. More and more profiles are being sent to me, and I’ve begun to receive messages from fathers and uncles about arranging meetings.“I have no intentions of taking a mate. You know that they will either attempt to destroy my pack from the inside or act as a spy. My priority is my pack.”“You shifted your priorities when you set foot in the capital, Kieran,” Lucian murmurs. “I am sorry that you are being dragged into this, but there is a limit to how much I can shield you without being accused of f

DACIANAI stare at the history book before me, tracing the faded ink with my fingertip. The dates blur together, but one thing stands out clearly.“So, the Kingdom changed hands?” I glance up at Kieran, seated across from me.He doesn’t answer. His jaw tightens, eyes fixed on something beyond the window.“Yes.” Artisem’s voice cuts through the tension. He leans against the bookshelf, arms crossed. “About seven hundred years ago.”“Isn’t that common?” I flip a page, scanning the names of rulers. “Even alpha leadership changes hands. Packs merge, new bloodlines rise.”“Not in this case.” Artisem’s expression darkens. “It was the Snow Mountain Pack that controlled the throne. Then, Lucian’s ancestors seized power. They were purists.”My head snaps up.“Really? But Lucian isn’t a purist, and neither was his father.”“No.” Artisem shakes his head. “That’s why there’s such a divide in the Umbra Council now.”Kieran finally speaks, his voice low and rough.“Yes. But back then, they were dete

Suddenly, I’m standing in a forest clearing. A ritual space. Prepared for a mating ceremony.But it’s been destroyed. The ground is covered with blood. No. No, this can’t be real.Dead bodies everywhere. Guests in their finest clothes, slumped against trees, sprawled across the forest floor. Flowers that had been woven into garlands and scattered across the ground are stained red. Ceremonial torches still burn, their flames casting grotesque shadows across the carnage.I hear gurgling sounds. Wet, desperate breathing. People are dying.Screaming in the distance. Running footsteps. The sounds of slaughter still happening somewhere beyond the trees.I look down at my hands—still those small, delicate hands—and they’re covered in blood.This is a dream. Wake up. Wake up!But I can’t. I’m trapped here, trapped in this moment of horror.Someone screams my name—not Daciana, but something else. A name that sounds like music, like home. The woman in this body recognizes it instantly, knows it

KieranI wake to warmth and softness, and for one perfect moment, I don’t think. I just feel. Satiated, comfortable, whole in a way I haven’t been in so long.Then, I look down.Daciana is asleep in my arms, her dark hair spilled across my chest, one hand curled against my heart. The moonlight barely touches the room, but it’s enough. Enough to see the curve of her bare shoulder. The marks I left on her throat.What have I done?The memory crashes over me. Her cry in the night was faint, but I heard it through the stone walls separating our chambers. I’m always listening for her, tuned to every breath, every whisper. Before conscious thought could form, I was already moving into the hallway, where I found her door unlocked.She was thrashing in the sheets, caught in a nightmare. But underneath it, threading through her distress like poison in wine, I felt something else: magic. Gypsy witch magic, with its particular, bitter honey taste that clings to the back of my throat.I sit up sl