Todos los capítulos de The Alpha King’s human breeder : Capítulo 171 - Capítulo 180

Seven's POV She looked at me with uncertainty, considering it. I gestured with my hands, urging her. Then she lifted the bottle and took a careful sip. Her face did several things in quick succession. The first was surprise. The second was something between offense and confusion. The third was the specific expression of someone whose body had received information it was still processing. "That's—" she started. "Awful," I agreed pleasantly. "At first." "It burns," she coughed. "Yes." "Why would anyone—" "Keep going," I urged. She looked at the bottle. Looked at me. Took another sip. This one slightly longer. I watched her face — the burn arriving, the same offense, and then underneath it, slowly, something else. Something that started in her expression and moved outward into the set of her shoulders and the quality of her breathing. Warmth. The non-power kind. "Oh," she said. "Yes," I agreed. "That's—" "I know," I hummed, satisfied. Sh

Five's POV "I like being around you," I confessed. He looked at me. Shit Stop it alcohol. "Even though I shouldn't," I continued, despite my warning to the alcohol. "Because you're the King and I'm a slave and the mornings are still mornings." I pressed my lips together. "I like it anyway. That's your fault." "Is it," he agreed quietly. "And I like—" I stopped. "Go on," he urged. I looked at him. At the face that was too attractive and the scent that was too good and the voice that had called me in a dark room and handed me back something I had never known I had. "I like it when you—" I stopped again. He waited. With that patience of his — already knowing that waiting produced things pushing bever did "When we—" I started. "I know," he said. "I was going to say it," I pouted. "I know," his voice was amused. "I love it," I clarified. "When we — you know. The—" I gestured between us with the hand that wasn't pressed against his desk for stability. "A

Five's POV There was a buzz in the citadel. I watched probably the fifteenth girl walk past with that spring in her step and a low whisper about the fertility festival. I pressed my lips together. Of course. How could I have forgotten one of the most important festivals in the werewolf kingdom? The Festival of Fertility. I picked up the bucket and kept moving. The citadel had been transforming since dawn — not in the dramatic way of a place being rearranged, but in the more unsettling way of a place revealing what it had always been underneath its usual presentation. Flowers I hadn't seen before appeared in the corridors, deep red and gold, their scent heavy enough to make the air feel thicker. The stone floors that were usually bare had been covered in sections with woven material I didn't recognize, the patterns on them old enough that they predated whatever aesthetic the post-war citadel had decided was appropriate. Pre-war patterns. I looked at them longer than I shoul

Five's POV The festival had two phases. The first phase was where the King and his Queen blessed unions but since there was no Queen, and no betrothed, this year's festival was going to be different. My jaw clenched. This year, there was going to be a parade for the King to pick a new betrothed. It was the part the Kingdom anticipated the most. And the part my stupid self hated the fucking most. He was going to pick a queen. A woman he would get to claim publicly, and call the mother of his children. While I remain his slave and breeder. I blinked rapidly. It began an hour into the festival. I knew it was starting before the announcement because the quality of the room changed. There was a shift in the music, a particular ripple through the assembled wolves. I could sense the attention shift from the food and drinks to the main event. I moved to the edge of the room. Kept my tray. Kept my face neutral. The eligible women entered from the east entrance in a pr

Five’s POV His mouth claimed mine before I could form another protest, and the corridor tilted. The kiss was not careful, it was not the measured thing he usually offered when he was still deciding whether he wanted to ruin me slowly or all at once. This was hunger, pure and unfiltered, three days of absence poured into the press of his lips and the way his tongue slid against mine like he had every right to taste me. My tray was somehow gone—set aside or dropped, I didn’t care—and both of my hands found the front of his formal jacket, clinging as if the wall at my back might not be enough to keep me upright. The music from the hall throbbed through the stone. I could hear voices, laughter. The shuffle of dancers. All of it so close that a single raised voice would bring someone running. “Lucien—” I managed against his mouth, the warning thin and useless. “I know,” he breathed, and then his hand was under the skirt of my dress. Cool air kissed the bare skin of my