All Chapters of Fated to my Alpha nemesis : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

One second he is standing at the doorway. The next, he is crouched low in front of me. I don’t see him move. I only feel it—the shift in air, the displacement of heat, the sudden gravity of him this close. His left hand rises slowly. Too slowly. His fingers hover near my throat before they touch, as though he is afraid of what he’ll find. Then they trace the red bruises marring my skin. The contact is featherlight. It still makes me shiver. His eyes darken further as he follows the marks, amber burning molten and wild. The light flickers against his cheekbones, turning him into something carved from fire and shadow. A low growl vibrates from deep in his chest. Not loud. But dangerous. His right hand clenches into a fist at his side. The movement is sharp, restrained, like he is fighting something under his skin. Elongated claws slip free from his fingertips and dig into his palm. I hear the faint, wet sting of skin breaking. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t see

“Now—let’s get into business, shall we.” I don’t respond immediately. Because something in her voice makes it clear she doesn’t expect permission. Rhoda moves first. She doesn’t sit as I initially thought she wanted to. Doesn’t relax. She just starts pacing like the room has already been mapped in her head. “You don’t have much time,” she says. My stomach tightens. “For what?” “The mating ceremony,” she replies. That word again. Ceremony. It sounds too clean for something that feels like a cage being assembled in public. I recall what Emory had told me. About the preparations. About rumours going around that the Alpha has found his mate. Their Luna. I recall how she'd looked at me like I should already have known what she was talking about. “He will announce you,” she continues, “bind you, brand you, and present you as his mate in front of the entire pack.” My throat tightens. “And you’re telling me this because you have a way I can stop it,” I say

“If that’s what you want, Michaela… then we can’t both get what we want.” I blink, surprised. “What do you mean by that?” He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t touch his food either. I notice it halfway through my attempt at acting normal. His knife rests neatly beside his plate. Untouched. His attention is entirely off the meal. It’s on me. Watching. Measuring. The silence stretches too long. Too deliberate. “You’re being agreeable,” he says finally. The words aren’t sharp. They’re worse. Flat. Observant. Like he has noticed something that doesn’t make sense. My fingers still slightly against my fork. “I’m trying something new,” I reply lightly. “Growth.” His gaze doesn’t shift. “If this is growth,” he says slowly, “then something must have stunted it before.” I force a small smile. “Maybe I just got tired of fighting you.” His eyes narrow at that—just barely. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for me to feel it. “You?” he says, almost thoughtful. “Tired of fig

The next day, I go to see Mum and Talia. The moment I step into the room, Mum looks at me. And then she looks away. She doesn’t say a word. Not a greeting. Not a question. Nothing. I have been gone for almost a month and she still has absolutely nothing to say to me. The silence settles heavy between us, thicker than anger. Talia, however, is staring. When I explain the parts of what happened that I wished to share with them and invite them to the ceremony, Talia's eyes drag over my face like she’s trying to peel something hidden out of it. “Wait,” she says slowly. “You’re his mate.” I nod. Her lips press into a thin line, her expression tightening with something close to disgust. “But he hates you.” “I know,” I reply evenly. “And you hate him.” “I do.” The words come easier than they should. Still true. Still safe. Still familiar. She exhales sharply, pacing once like she’s trying to make sense of something that refuses to fit. I’m still a

Molten heat pools in those green orbs. And it only gets worse as our gazes meet. I swallow, catching my lower lip between my teeth. Damon's eyes follow the movement. I try my best not to fidget. He speaks. Green gaze locked with my blue ones. “I claim you, Michaela Caldara, as mine,” he says. The words are low. Controlled. Unyielding. “Before The Moon goddess. Before blood. Before death.” The circle hums. It’s faint. Barely there. But I feel it. Mortius nods once. His gaze lingers on Damon a second longer. Probably noting the intensity in his eyes. After a while Mortius' gaze turns to me. He looks at me as though trying to decide whether I am worth the ritual being performed at all. “And you,” he says. Not my name. Just— You. “Do you stand by The Alpha's claim… or do you deny it?” The room leans in. Every whisper. Every doubt. Every ounce of quiet contempt presses against my skin. I could say no. I could end it here. I could walk out o