All Chapters of Traded to the Ruthless Alpha: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Reya: I had already decided the scroll in front of me was probably useless, and yet my fingers kept unrolling it as if the paper might change its mind and offer something new. Most of the ink had faded into ghosts. Where letters remained, they spoke of old territorial boundaries, disputes between packs that no longer existed, and trader routes through the northern mountains two centuries gone. Nothing about shadow children. Nothing that would point me toward a hollow or a stone circle or a river that curved like a sleeping serpent. Still, I read. Because it was the one thing that I could do. After the dream, everything felt suspect. Every map, every symbol, every neat coincidence that had nudged us along a particular path now looked like a hand guiding me where someone else wanted me to go. Killian had told me not to let the dream rule me. He was right. I was trying. But the girl’s warning, You are looking where they want you to look, kept threading itself through my thoughts. I

Killian: For a long time we simply stayed like that, Reya curled against me, her cheek warm beneath my chin, the library around us quiet except for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Her shadows had settled too: one stretched across the floor like a lazy cat, another tucked itself beneath the table. They watched us with the same patient curiosity as the books. I ran my fingers through her hair and felt something like peace settle over me. It was a small thing, and I knew how fragile it was. The dream still hung between us, the trader and the book and Cormac’s absence like a low, steady drumbeat under everything else. But for the moment she was here, and she was calm, and that was enough to make me breathe easier. “You’re very quiet,” I said, because silence felt too heavy to keep to myself. “You haven’t said a word in a while.” She tipped her head and gave me that look, half teasing, half fond. “You usually complain when I’m quiet. But I was

Killian: Night had settled over Blackwood and the courtyard torches burned low when I found myself at the window for the third time, watching the gate as if my gaze could will Cormac back through it. The repetition felt foolish the moment I noticed it, but the absence of any message from him made the silence in the halls heavier than it had any right to be. Investigations did not run on tidy schedules, and roads could slow for any number of ordinary reasons, yet none of those practical truths eased the part of me that imagined every possible danger. Reya sat behind me with a book open across her lap, though she had been pretending to read for nearly twenty minutes and had not actually turned the page. Her shadows moved at her feet like patient animals, and the soft rustle of parchment was the only sound besides the distant clink of armor from the lower guard. When she spoke, her voice was calm enough to be almost teasing, but the observation she offered cut through the pretense o

ReyaCormac still hasn’t opened his eyes. Hours have passed since he collapsed in the lower hall, and although the healer has assured us that his breathing remains steady and that whatever has been done to him doesnot appear to be fatal, the reassurance did little to make the sight of him lying there any easier. Killian has barely moved from his side. He sits in the chair beside the infirmary bed with his elbows resting against his knees, watching Cormac with a concentration that makes me wonder whether he believes that sheer will could force someone awake. Every few minutes his gaze drops to Cormac’s chest as if he needs to confirm that it is still rising. Watching Killian like this hurts. He is a man who meets fear with orders, patrols, and threats, but there is nothing he can command Cormac to do now. The helplessness sits heavily on him. Neither of us have stopped thinking about Sophia, the woman Cormac tried to name before he collapsed. His unfinished words haunt me: She is th

KillianSophia knows what each one of us wants. She knows I am searching for the children, that I will protect Reya, and that Cormac will follow her orders. With Reya beneath my arm and Cormac unconscious nearby, I can finally see all of it.The book, the trader, the dream, Cormac’s disappearance, Sophia. We had been treating these things like separate problems. But they aren’t. Someone has used what we wanted against us. “What are you thinking?” she asks softly. “That I should have seen it sooner,” I admit. Her expression hardens for a moment. “No,” she says, and the firmness in her voice stops me. “You are not doing the same thing you told me not to do.” I frown. “What do you mean?” “You are blaming yourself because someone else manipulated us,” she says. Her voice softened a smidge but did not lose its determination. “You told me whatever happened to Cormac belonged to whoever did it. That applies to you too.” I want to argue, but her words are my own, turned back at me. “I a