All Chapters of Forbidden by the Triplet Alphas: Chapter 101 - Chapter 108

The battle raged through the night.Cassian's blade never stopped moving. He cut through wave after wave of the dark wolves, his grey eyes fixed on the horizon, his jaw tight with exhaustion he refused to acknowledge. Black blood coated his arms, his chest, his face, dripping from his chin onto the stone beneath his feet. His armor was cracked in a dozen places, and his left arm hung at an angle that suggested a break, but he did not stop. He could not stop. If he stopped, the line would break, and the pack would fall. The pack would die. And he had sworn an oath.Theron fought beside him, his claws red, his gold eyes blazing with a fury that had been tempered by love. His throat was bleeding again, the bandages soaked through, fresh blood seeping down his neck and staining his chest. His voice was gone—he had lost it somewhere in the chaos of the battle, shouting orders, shouting warnings, shouting her name—but he did not need to speak. His claws spoke for him. His teeth spoke for hi

The days after the battle were a blur of blood and ash.The dead were buried in the old cemetery behind the chapel, their graves marked with stones carved with their names by hands that still trembled from the fight. Some of the stones were rough, the letters uneven, carved by wolves who had never learned to write but who wanted to honor their packmates anyway. The wounded filled the great hall, the library, every room that could hold a cot. The healers worked without rest, their hands stained red, their faces pale with exhaustion, their eyes hollow from lack of sleep. They did not complain. They did not stop. They could not.Cassian's arm was set and bound, the bone cracked but not broken through. The healers said it would heal in time, that he would have full use of it again, but for now it hung in a sling, useless. He refused to stay in bed. He stood at the gates each dawn, the first wolf's blade in his hand—his left hand now, clumsy and slow—his grey eyes scanning the forest for e

The binding took three days. We did not sleep. We did not eat. We stood in the crypt, our hands joined, the bond blazing between us like a fourth heart beating in our chests, like a second sun burning in the dark. The shadows that had lived in the corners of the crypt for years retreated, unable to withstand the light. The shadow in Marcus's body writhed and screamed, throwing itself against the walls of the ritual, trying to break free, trying to find a way out, trying to find a crack in our resolve. But we did not let go. We poured our strength into the binding—our love, our hope, our fear, our grief. Every memory. Every moment. Every sacrifice. Cassian's arm healed as we worked, the bone knitting together, the flesh mending, the pain fading. I felt it through the bond—the sharp crack of the break when the shadow struck him, then the warm pull of the healing as the ritual's power flowed through him, then nothing but the steady strength of his grip. He flexed his fingers, and they

The night after the ceremony, Cassian stood on the balcony alone.The moon was full, the stars bright, the forest dark and still below. The wind was warm, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers and the distant memory of smoke from the pyres that had burned for three days. The bond hummed with his presence, steady and warm, but there was something different about him now. The weight he had carried for so long—the weight of the pack, the weight of his father's legacy, the weight of his mother's death, the weight of being the eldest, the protector, the wall—was gone. Lifted. Released.In its place was something new. Something lighter. Something that looked like peace.I walked to him. My bare feet were silent on the stone. He did not turn. He had known I was coming. He always knew. The bond had told him."You are thinking," I said."I am remembering," he said. His voice was low, soft, meant only for me. "My father. The day he put the crown on my head. I was young. Too young. I did no