All Chapters of Fated to my Alpha nemesis : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

210 Chapters

You are dead now

He doesn’t move immediately. Just watches me for a second too long. Then he pushes off the wall. “Your guard is terrible,” he says flatly. Like he’s not starting a conversation. Just stating a fact. His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Five days,” he continues, quieter now. “And you still can’t tell when you’re not alone.” I fold my arms, ignoring the way my pulse picks up. “Five days,” I echo. “And you weren’t here for any of them.” I pause, shooting daggers at him. “So forgive me if I didn’t train myself to your standards.” I let that sit. Then tilt my head slightly. “Or…” I say, voice edged with something sharper, “is criticism the only part of training you’re good at?” I barely finish the sentence— Before he moves. There is no warning. No shift in posture. One second he’s there— The next— My body reacts too late. His hand snaps out, knocking my arms apart before I can even register the movement. My balance falters, weight shifting wrong— And then hi

Shaking

If Dad could see me right now, he’d probably be disappointed. All those years of training, and here I am—panting like a dying animal after a few rounds of sparring. But the truth is— Dad didn’t train me for this. Whatever this is. He trained me to anticipate rhythm. To understand my opponent’s rhythm, memorize it, then break it. Cole taught me the same. So did Mason. Well… in his own way. But Damon— Damon is trying to override all of that. His movements make no sense. No pattern. No consistency. Or maybe there is one— And it changes every second. Either way, I’m left trying to retrace my steps, forcing my body to adjust while I’m already moving, already reacting. It’s exhausting. Frustrating. And every second of training with Damon forces me to consider something I don’t want to admit— That I might fail this trial. That I might not become Luna. That I might not be able to liberate the humans. That I might fail every single person who thought I could be their s

Tear drop

Damon doesn’t slow. The world blurs past in streaks of stone and shadow, the air sharp against my wet face. My body feels too heavy. Too light. I don’t know where we are until we stop. A door slams open. “Dorion.” Damon’s voice cuts through everything—sharp, leaving no room for refusal. There’s movement. The rustle of fabric. A chair scraping back. “For the Goddess’ sake, you can’t just—” the healer starts, irritation clear, “I was in the middle of—” Then he stops. Silence. I don’t have to see him to feel the shift when he finally looks at me. “Put her down.” The irritation is gone from his voice. Flattened into something quieter. Damon lowers me onto something soft—a bed, I think. My body sinks into it without resistance. I’m still shaking. Still crying. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. “Move,” Dorion says, already there, hands firm but not rough as they turn my face toward the light. His fingers press against my wrist. Then my throat. He doe

The discovery of the poppy flower

I walk down the corridor that leads to the kitchens. I need some water and food in my stomach as soon as possible. Whatever Dorion used to stabilize me has left me feeling extremely dehydrated and famished. I woke up earlier in the Alpha suite—not even sure when I had drifted off—and was met with an empty room. It’s becoming concerning, the number of times I’ve passed out in the last month. I wasn’t a sickly female. I open the door to the kitchen and am assaulted with the scent of whatever Georgia is making. Warm. Rich. Comforting in a way that settles something restless in my chest. It reminds me of those times when Mum would make dinner for us and I’d help her out with the little stuff. The memory sends a pang through my chest. I don’t linger on it. It has been the only way I can cope with everything going on. By dealing only with what is in the moment. “Goddess…” I say, pushing away these thoughts, my mouth already watering at the scent that permeates the kit

Just stupid

“Well…” she says carefully. “He is not in a very good mood.” I turn to Coby and tell him I'd be back as soon as I can to finish up his crown. He nods absently, too invested in weaving the poppies into something that would hold. I don’t ask any more questions. Emory doesn’t offer any more answers. We walk down the corridors in complete silence. The quiet presses in, thick and watchful. My steps seem awfully loud as they contrast the quiet hum of the evening. My steps slow slightly as we approach the study doors. The doors are open. Not just open though. They were left open. Something in my chest tightens. Emory stops a few steps behind me. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. She would not go in. Something tells me it is more out of fear than respect. I push the door open the rest of the way and step inside. The first thing I notice— is the silence. Heavy and pressing. It seems to have followed me through my journey from the gardens and into Dam

Hungry

The words land softer than they should, and that is exactly what makes them cut. My jaw clenches. “So are we trading insults now?” I glare at him. “Because I have a lot of things I’d like to say about your face.” His head tilts slightly. Studying me as if deciding something. “I think,” he says, “that you walked out of a room you were meant to stay in… well aware that leaving could have put you in danger of another trigger.” “If you’re so afraid to trigger it, then you should probably stop talking to me like that.” There it is. Something changes in his expression. It's not anger. Not quite. Just certainty. “I’m absolutely sure you wouldn’t cry because I said a few truths to you, Michaela…” He tilts his head to the side. “Or would you?” I wouldn't. I didn't feel like crying right now. No… I felt more like throwing a punch. At his face. I don't say that though because I don't like the way he’s looking at me right now. He is looking at me like he knows me. There’s just

I wouldn't get Jealous

Damon doesn't move a muscle.His eyes remain on mine.I tilt my head slightly, just enough to see who just entered the room.I don’t recognize her at first.But there’s something about her that tugs at the edges of memory.Long blonde waves spill over her shoulders as she steps in, blue eyes sweeping across the room as though the destruction here is nothing more than decor.Her gaze lands on Damon.Then on me.And stays there.A beat too long.Unabashedly.Her gaze is sharp in a way that feels practiced rather than powerful.A smile curves her lips.Wide.Carefully composed.The kind of smile that looks polite until you notice the teeth behind it.“Did I interrupt something?” she asks lightly. “This is the time of the meeting, isn't it?”Only then does Damon shift his attention.Not quickly.He doesn't seem startled by this woman's presence.At her voice, his attention redirects, like I had never been the center of his focus at all.And something about that makes me despise this woman

Dramatics

So everybody seems to know Soorayah. Everyone except me. “What is she doing here?” Mason asks, doing nothing to hide the bite in his voice. “Good to see you too, Mace,” Soorayah says with mock sweetness. “Don’t call me that,” he snaps. Soorayah walks toward him slowly, like she has all the time in the world. Her smile never slips for even a second. She runs a finger lightly down Mason’s chest. “Still as charming as ever… Mace,” she says again, intentionally emphasizing the nickname. Mason grabs her wrist and shoves her hand away hard enough to make the bracelets around her wrists clink softly. “Don’t touch me,” he grits out. Something flashes briefly across Soorayah’s face. Satisfaction. As though provoking him had been the goal all along. No one moves to stop them. Damon sits behind the cracked desk Mason had positioned earlier, his expression unreadable. Rhoda watches silently from the far side of the room, her arms folded tightly across herself. No one seems willing

The Council's Ambassador

“What do you mean the council sent you?” I ask, doing my best not to let my panic show. Fuck. Were the trials beginning already? Would I not have enough time to train? Damon and I had barely scratched the surface of anything before those tear drop seeds turned me into a crying mess. A cold feeling settles heavily in my stomach. Training. Control. According to Damon, I barely had either. And I was beginning to think he was right. Soorayah turns toward me slowly, looking mildly annoyed that I interrupted her dramatic silence. “I currently occupy the position of council ambassador for the Luna Trials.” “That doesn’t make any sense,” Mason cuts in immediately. “You’re not even from this pack. And you’re definitely not part of the council.” She shrugs lightly. “My father is,” she says. Then her eyes flick briefly toward Damon. “And he recommended me.” A pause. “Since the Alpha refused the council’s request for Michaela to occupy the official lodging required for the duratio

His name

“Who is she?” I ask Damon the moment we are alone.He had just sent Mason to prepare a room for Soorayah and told Rhoda to collect the suppressants from her.I hadn’t been dismissed.And I had no intention of leaving.Not yet.I had questions.And I wanted answers.Damon watches me for a moment.He says nothing.I wait.“You called me Damon,” he says eventually, after a long stare-off where neither of us seems willing to look away first.I blink, caught off guard.I hadn’t expected that.“What?” I ask, not understanding.“You said my name.”I stare at him, trying to figure out why that matters right now.“And this is important because…?”“You never say my name,” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine.Oh.It’s true.I have always called Damon by his surname.I don’t even remember when it started.I think it’s because we have always been enemies.Even when we were children.There was never any exchange of words between us that ended well.It was always Carylon.It has always been dist

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