All Chapters of MARKED BY MY ALPHA'S FATHER: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Instead of pushing him away, Elena forced her trembling hands flat against his chest. She didn't shove. Slowly, deliberately, she let her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him tightly. She tilted her head back, grabbing him tighter, completely exposing her throat to him, offering him the vulnerability he thought he was stealing. Use it, a fierce voice whispered inside her. He wants a conquest? Give him a trap. This is your opportunity. Marcus paused. His eyes narrowed in shock as he looked down at her. He had expected her to scream. He had expected her to claw at his face or beg for mercy. The sudden surrender in her eyes threw him off balance. "Not fighting?" Marcus murmured, his thumb tracing a harsh line across her cheekbone. "Have you realized your place so quickly, omega?" "I know exactly who I am, Marcus," Elena whispered, her voice breathless. She looked directly into his eyes, refusing to let him see her terror. "The question is, do you?" Marcus gro

Elder Craig’s laughter was ugly, echoing sharply off the stone walls of the war room. "An omega leading the elite vanguard into the Devil’s Throat? They would laugh you out of the canyon before they tore your throat out. You are not a warrior, Elena. You are a distraction." "I am the only thing standing between this pack and total annihilation tonight," Elena fired back, slamming the silver dagger straight into the center of the wooden map table. The blade quivered, embedded deeply into the painted terrain of the southern pass. "Look at yourselves! Look at your hands—they are shaking! You aren't acting like Alphas. You are acting like scared children because Marcus isn't here to hold your hands through the psychic link!" A tense silence slammed into the room. The sub-alphas bristled, their chests heaving, their fangs elongating in instinctual offense. But none of them could deny the truth. Without Marcus's thrumming, dominant psychic presence anchoring their minds, a paralyzing dre

The scent of burning pine and iron blood still hung heavy in the canyon, but the silence that followed Jax’s arrival was far more suffocating. Elena’s hand froze on the hilt of her short-sword. Her eyes locked onto Devon's battered, semi-conscious form, dragging behind the enemy Alpha's mount. "Devon..." she whispered, her voice cracking. Hearing her, Devon made an agonizing effort to lift his head. His left eye was swollen shut, and blood caked his cracked lips. "Elena... don't," he choked out, his voice a scraping thread before a harsh tug on the neck rope cut him off, forcing a painful gasp from his throat. "Ah, look at that. The stray still has some bark left in him," Jax mocked, tightening his grip on the thick rope. He looked around the canyon at the Silver Ridge warriors who still stood on the high cliffs and the valley floor. A cruel, triumphant grin split his face. "What a beautiful little strategy you played tonight, Elena. Truly. I didn't think an omega had the stomac

The heavy iron gates of the inner courtyard slammed shut, but the barrier did nothing to ease the pressure building inside the walls of Silver Ridge. Alpha Jax had retreated into the treeline, dragging a bleeding, semi-conscious Devon back into the shadows of the wasteland. His parting words echoed like a death sentence in the ears of every wolf present. Three hours. At midnight, the Blood Moon army would march, and they would burn everything to ash. Yet, instead of preparing for the incoming slaughter, the wolves of Silver Ridge were turning on their own blood. The massive stone courtyard had become a powder keg. Stripped of the cohesive, unifying mental link that Marcus normally projected, the pack had shattered cleanly down the center. On the left side of the courtyard stood the traditionalists, led by Elder Craig and three of the older sub-alphas. They were backed by nearly two hundred seasoned warriors—men who had spent decades enforcing Marcus’s old, unyielding laws of s

The distant, frantic wail of baby Silas cut through the air of the war room a second time, and the world inside Marcus’s head completely detonated. ​The sound of his son's voice was a pristine, uncorrupted frequency that the dark magic parchment curse could not compute. It was the ultimate key to a lock forged in blood and soul. The maternal agony Elena radiated, combined with that tiny, piercing cry from the nursery, finally shattered the dark magic barrier. The parchment's hold ripped apart with a violent, concussive force. ​BOOM. ​A shockwave of localized Alpha pressure exploded outward from Marcus’s body. The kinetic force of his shifting aura slammed into the high stained-glass windows of the war room, shattering the panes into a thousand glittering shards that rained down into the courtyard below. The oak doors groaned against their iron hinges. Elena was thrown back against the map table, her silver chains rattling violently as she braced herself against the wind that whipped