Todos los capítulos de Ruthless Obsession: Capítulo 131 - Capítulo 140

Everett Hawthorne POVThe marble floors of the Hawthorne Grand Hotel lobby gleam under the massive crystal chandeliers, bustling with high-ranking pack members and wealthy humans."Tell me Rita is not working my mate to the bone on her very first day as head of pack hospitality," I rumble, stepping off the private Alpha lift and walking straight to the manager’s oak desk without bothering with a formal greeting.Maribel Hawthorne raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she sets down a leather-bound registry."Who, High Alpha?" she asks, playing completely innocent."You know damn well who I am talking about, Maribel," I growl softly, my inner wolf pacing with possessive impatience. "Brielle Whitmore."Her smirk widens into a full smile."She is handling the territory elite...""And?" I press, leaning over the counter. "Is she struggling?""She is doing exceptionally well, High Alpha Hawthorne," Maribel says, chuckling at my obvious lack of compos

I freeze in the threshold, my breath catching in my lungs. The living area is dead silent. No sound of crying. No hysterical sobs. No movement at all."Maisie?" I call out, my voice trembling as I step slowly into the dim foyer. "Maisie, where are you? It is Brielle!"Nothing answers me except the low creak of the hanging wall lanterns.My inner wolf suddenly rears back in absolute terror, a dark, suffocating sense of danger flooding my veins. The air in the room does not smell like Maisie's sweet, innocent scent. It smells like thick, copper blood and burnt ash.I take three cautious steps toward the central archway, my hand dropping to the hunting dagger at my hip.There, lying sprawled across the center of the polished fur rug, is Alton Mercer.A choked gasp tears from my throat as I rush to my knees beside him. The elite guard is lying in a pool of his own dark blood, a jagged silver blade buried deep between his chest plates. His eyes are wide, glassy, and fixed on the ceiling, h

"Argh!" I jerked my head back in absolute disgust, spitting onto the stone floor.She tasted of bitter herbs and cheap cherry liquor. It was repulsive. My wolf recoiled inside me, demanding Brielle’s sweet scent of wild honeysuckle and pine. I wanted nothing to do with this treacherous snake.Then, a subtle shift in the air made my heart freeze.The heavy iron door of the residence was standing half-open. Standing on the threshold, frozen in absolute shock, was Brielle Whitmore."Everett?" Brielle whimpered, her voice trembling so hard it barely carried across the room. "Veda?"She stood there holding a leather folder of pack logs, her dark eyes wide and fixed on the two of us—on Veda pinned against the wall beneath me, her dress open to her waist, and my face inches from hers.I instantly released my grip on Veda’s throat. The border female slid down the stone wall to her knees, clutching her neck while a wicked, triumphant grin spread across her mouth."Brielle," I gasped, stepping

Everett Hawthorne POVThe communication stone on my mahogany desk flared three separate times before dying out into a dark, cold grey."She cut the link," I growl, my claws extending enough to gouge deep, bloody grooves into the polished wood of my desk.I slam my calloused fist onto the surface, sending a crack radiating through the timber. She made it brutally clear that she wants nothing to do with me, my bloodline, or my territory ever again. The sweet, addictive scent of pine and wild honeysuckle that usually lingers around my quarters is already fading, replaced by the bitter tang of betrayal.Yet, when I step into the Grand Foyer of the Hawthorne Grand Hotel the following morning, my wolf refuses to accept the cold reality. He paces behind my ribs, snapping his fangs, searching every corner for her presence.I stand near the entrance for hours, ignoring the whispers of low-ranking pack members and high-born elders as they pass. No Brielle Whitmore."Looking for the ghost of you

Brielle Whitmore POVMy wolf is practically purring beneath my ribs, so completely lulled by the familiar scent of damp pine, woodsmoke, and wet earth.Everyone at Whitmore Hill House was ridiculously overjoyed when Hollis and I pulled up in the war-carriage yesterday. That’s the thing about growing up in a pack house full of rowdy, thick-headed males: they flash their fangs fast, they throw punches faster, but they forgive and forget almost instantly. They questioned my sudden, unannounced return from the Crownstone District for all of five minutes, fussing over me like I was a high-born guest for the first night, before dragging me right back into our chaotic daily pack rhythm.Hollis and I handle the cooking, while the Whitmore brothers scrape the pots and violently wrestle over who gets the last hunk of venison.I cast a glance around our small, rustic timber kitchen and let out a soft, aching sigh. It is cozy, ringing with memories of Elise Whitmore and Warren Whitmore, but it is