Lahat ng Kabanata ng The omega's slient vendetta: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

(Julian’s POV) ​The elevator ride to the helipad was a vacuum of silent, vibrating fury. I watched the floor numbers climb, each second feeling like a drop of lead hitting a glass floor. Beside me, Elara was a statue of fractured marble, her eyes fixed on the tablet in her hands. ​The thermal feed from the penthouse was still active. A dark, jagged silhouette was standing over Maya’s bed. It didn't move like a wolf. It didn't have the heavy, rhythmic heat signature of a shifter. It was cold—a flickering, ghostly blue on the screen. ​"They're not touching her," Elara whispered, her voice a thin wire about to snap. "Why aren't they touching her?" ​"Because they’re waiting for us to see," I growled. ​My wolf was clawing at the back of my ribs, desperate to tear through the steel doors of the lift. The "Mate-Kiss" from the stage still tasted like rain and copper on my tongue, but the triumph was gone. It had been replaced by a primal, sickening dread. I had claimed her in front of th

(Julian’s POV) ​The cabin of the Gulfstream was a sanctuary of soft leather and dimmed amber lights, but to me, it felt like a pressurized coffin. ​We were thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, streaking toward a city that held the wreckage of our youth. Across the aisle, Maya was strapped into a seat, her small head lolling against the headrest. She wasn't sleeping—she was just off. No dreams, no shifting weight, no scent. Watching her was like looking at a beautiful clock that had had its gears stripped away. ​And then there was Elara. ​She hadn't spoken since we crossed the coastline. She was hunched over a laptop, the blue light of the screen washing out her features, making her look like a phantom. She had changed into a simple black sweater, the "King-Maker" scent finally, mercifully gone, replaced by the sterile, cold air of the cabin. ​I watched her. I couldn't stop myself. My wolf was pacing the perimeter of my mind, whining low in his throat. He wanted

(Julian’s POV) ​The warehouse was a cavern of shadows, lit only by the rhythmic, clinical pulse of the monitors in the med-suite. Outside, the London rain was a relentless drumming against the corrugated steel roof, a sound that usually grounded me. Tonight, it sounded like a countdown. ​I stood by the window of the upper loft, looking down at the main floor. Elara was still at her station. She had been staring at the same line of encrypted code for an hour, her posture so rigid I wondered if she’d forgotten how to breathe. ​My wolf was restless, a low vibration of anxiety humming in my chest. He didn't understand "Zero-Scent." He didn't understand the "Ghost." All he knew was that his mate was ten yards away, radiating a cold, sharp grief that felt like a physical weight in the room. ​I climbed down the iron stairs, my footsteps echoing. I didn't try to be quiet. I wanted her to hear me coming. I wanted her to have time to put up her walls. ​"The team is fueled up," I said, stop

(Julian’s POV) The air in The Maw was thick with the musk of a dozen rival packs, but Malakai’s scent—bitter almonds and damp earth—was the one that made my wolf want to snap its leash. Every word out of that bastard's mouth was a calculated strike at the cracks in my foundation. A girl who cried in my arms. The phrase echoed in my skull, a rhythmic torture. While I was sitting in a high-rise in Manhattan, convincing myself that rejecting Elara was a "noble sacrifice" for the pack, she had been here. In the London rain. In the arms of a man who looked at her with the comfortable ease of a long-time confidant. I tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her flush against my side. I needed the other Alphas in this room to see her as part of me, but more than that, I needed to feel the heat of her through the silk of her dress to remind myself she was actually there. She was breathtaking tonight, a lethal vision in black silk that clung to every curve of her body. Her skin—that pale, l

(Elara’s POV) ​The heavy steel doors of the warehouse hissed shut, cutting off the sound of Julian’s retreating footsteps and the roar of his SUV’s engine. The silence that followed was thick, flavored with the lingering scent of his desperation—that cedar-and-mountain-air musk that he’d practically stained my skin with. It felt like a film I couldn't wash off. ​I leaned back against the cool metal of the door, closing my eyes. My heart was a frantic bird against my ribs. ​"He's gone, Elara," Malakai said softly. ​I opened my eyes to find him standing in the center of my sanctuary. He didn’t look like the underworld King who had just stood toe-to-toe with the High Alpha of the Blackwood Pack. He looked like the man who had stayed up until 3:00 AM helping me debug a firewall. ​"You didn't have to push him that hard, Kai," I whispered, walking toward the central console. ​Malakai followed me, his movements fluid and silent. "