All Chapters of The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

After I leave Phantom’s, I run home, duffel bag slung over my shoulder. Gaston eyes me, suspicious. “Don’t tell him I left until tomorrow.” He hugs me tight. “You come back whenever you want. You hear me?” Tears spill. “Thank you, Gaston.” Al rushes in, squeezing me hard. “I won’t say goodbye. I’ll be seeing you soon.” Sebastian smiles. “If you ever make it back, my offer to take you out still stands.” The goodbyes weigh heavy as I step out the door, leaving behind some of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. My cab ride to the airport costs eighty dollars. I regret declining Gaston’s offer for a ride, especially when the airline desk agent tells me it’s nine hundred twenty‑four dollars to change my ticket. I pay with the last of my savings, board the plane, biting back sobs as I say my final goodbye to Rome, Georgia. I drag my duffel through the terminal, the strap biting into my shoulder. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a sterile glow

I cross into the living room, the hush broken only by the tick of a clock and the low hum of the air conditioner. Light slices through the blinds, striping the floor in pale gold. Dust motes drift like suspended stars. His gaze locks on mine, sharp, immediate. A smile flickers—quick, dangerous, magnetic. As if he’s been waiting for me to step into this exact frame. "Wasn't kidding, Princess. You're not allowed to leave me again," he says. The words are cool, clipped, but there’s steel beneath them, and something softer buried under the command. I almost laugh, ready to remind him I’ve never obeyed a single order he’s given—but his lips crash into mine before the thought can form. The impact is fierce, unrelenting. Heat surges through me, the taste of him sharp, intoxicating, tinged with peaches. His fingers knot in my hair, pulling me closer, anchoring me against the urgency burning through him. Breath mingles, ragged, filling the silence. Each kiss is deep, deliberate, as if

The drive feels shorter than it should. Phantom’s hand rests near mine on the gearshift, steady, unyielding, as if promising it will be okay. My mother’s voice still echoes in my ear, agitated and disappointed, but his presence beside me tempers the dread. The stuffed coyote sits in the backseat, silent witness to the collision course we’re on. The house looms as we pull into the driveway. Porch light blazing, curtains drawn tight, the air heavy with expectation. Phantom kills the engine, leans back, and studies the front door like it’s a battlefield. His grin flickers, restrained but confident. "Ready?" he asks, voice low, magnetic, carrying that dangerous calm that makes my pulse thrum. I swallow, nerves tangling with the remnants of heat still clinging to my skin. "She might not like you right away." His eyes narrow, shadowed but steady. "She doesn’t have to. You do." 🐾👑🐾👑🐾 The door swings open before we knock. Mom stands framed in the light, arms crossed, ga

By late afternoon, I try calling Phantom. Once. Twice. Three times. Each ring stretches like a blade across silence, cutting deeper when no answer comes. My pulse thrums, uneven, tethered to a voice that refuses to break through. Shadows curl at the edges of my thoughts, whispering possibilities I don’t want to name. Breath catches in my throat, fragile, as if the air itself resists filling my lungs. I tell myself he’s busy, that Rome emergencies can’t wait. But the quiet on the other end feels heavier each moment I don’t hear from him. I toss my phone onto the bed, muttering, “Fine. Ignore me. I’ll just host a supernatural dinner party and not overthink about you.” The sarcasm doesn’t soothe the ache, but it makes me laugh, and laughter is better than panic. The sound echoes in the empty room, brittle but defiant, like I’m daring the silence to break. By evening, I overhear Shaw and Israfil bickering outside the mansion Phantom had the keys sent to me before he left. The note sai

Phantom’s POV The conference room hums with fluorescent light, the buzz overhead mixing with the restless murmur of reporters. The air is thick with perfume, ink, and anticipation. Cameras flash like lightning, each burst ricocheting off the paneled walls, momentarily blinding. The microphones on the long table hiss and crackle, amplifying every cough, every shuffle of paper. I stand at the podium, no longer a prince answering to another’s crown—now king. Every word I speak carries the weight of my people, every silence is dissected. Calm is my armor, restraint my weapon. “King Phantom,” a voice cuts through the noise, sharp, insistent. “Can you confirm who your chosen mate is?” The air tightens. Reporters lean forward, pens poised, cameras ready to capture the moment. My heartbeat is steady, deliberate, a drum I refuse to let them hear. I let the silence stretch, savoring the tension. Then I allow a faint smile to curve my mouth. “The revelation will be made when it’s time.