All Chapters of I Woke Up Engaged To An Alpha: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

SIGRUNThe lantern light flickered violently as a rush of cold air swept up the narrow tunnel, carrying with it the heavy scents of damp earth, centuries-old granite, and ancient dust.My heart thumped as we made our descent. I tightened Elara's woolen blanket around my shoulders."Watch the third step," Elara whispered nervously over her shoulder, holding the brass lantern high to illuminate the slick, moss-slicked stone. "The mortar dissolved decades ago. One bad slide and you’ll tumble all the way to the first landing."I stepped carefully into the yawning shadows behind her. Darkness swallowed us. I heard a flickering sound as Elara turned on a lantern."How long has this passage been here, Elara?" I asked, my voice echoing faintly down the winding stairwell."Approximately since before the First Dynasty," Elara murmured, her eyes fixed on the steps ahead. "My father discovered it when he inherited Thompson’s from his father. He spent half his life mapping these tunnels in secret.

The cold-iron chains bit deep into the Alpha King’s wrists, but he barely felt the steel. It was the poison that made his blood burn. Every breath tasted of liquid ash and bitter nightshade. Deep within his chest, his beast scratched viciously against the dark wall of wolfsbane injected into him twice a day. The beast was paralyzed, caged behind a wall of black toxicity, but the rage—the primal rage—remained scorching hot. Footsteps echoed against the stone floor outside the cell. Varul didn't bother opening his eyes. He knew the cadence of those boots. He knew the subtle, arrogant rustle of fine velvet dragging over stone. "You look remarkably comfortable in chains, my Alpha," the usurper’s voice drifted through the iron bars. The iron door groaned on its hinges as Krev stepped inside, flanked by two guards holding heavy crossbows laced with silver-tipped bolts. The usurper stood just out of striking distance, adjusting the fur mantle draped over his shoulders—a royal mantle

SIGRUN By the time we burst through the hidden stone archway of the old ruins and descended into the catacombs, my lungs were burning and my magic felt dangerously thin. Omri had taken over from me back at the drainage shaft, hauling my husband’s left side so I wouldn't collapse under his weight. Now, Darren and Omri bore the brunt of Varul’s weight between them, their boots dragging against the damp stone floor as they hauled his limp, bloodied frame down the winding stairs. I rushed ahead, holding my hand up to illuminate the dark passage, but as soon as the initial surge of adrenaline began to fade, my body demanded its toll. My chest heaved. Cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and a sharp wave of nausea rolled over my stomach, heavy and metallic. My fingers felt icy, numb, and distant. Orasmus was waiting. The healer took one look at Varul’s graying skin, his dark-stained veins, and the heavy black blood crusted around his lips, and his face drained of all color

SIGRUN For the first time in days, the terrifying weight pressing against my chest loosened its grip. Wrapped in Varul’s arms, I felt the sharp edges of my terror slowly smooth out. I pressed my face directly against the side of his neck and laid a hand over his bandaged chest to assure myself to the strong, heavy, erratic thud I felt was his heart beating. He was breathing. He was holding me. He was alive. I was standing between his parted knees. We were almost on the same eye level because he was seated. I pulled back to look into those eyes I’d missed so much. Up close, I could see the subtle exhaustion lingering in the hollows of his cheeks, the faint, lingering shadow of silver poison beneath his gold-flecked eyes. But the lethal, absolute authority that made him the Alpha King was burning through every pore, hotter and brighter than before. "Varul," I breathed. "You need to lay back down. Orasmus said—" "Fuck Orasmus," Varul muttered with a surprisingly boyish eye

The Sacred Courtyard was less an arena and more a jagged, bleeding wound carved straight into the frozen heart of the mountain.It was vast—a colossal, open-air stone bowl framed by sheer granite cliffs that stretched hundreds of feet into the night sky. Thousands of Northerners packed the massive, tiered stone terraces. Warriors in heavy pelts, territory lords with their house banners, pack elders, and frightened families were wedged shoulder-to-shoulder, their breath rising in thick, white plumes against the biting mountain chill.Iron sconces mounted along the perimeter walls burned with greasy black tallow, casting long, erratic shadows across the crowd. The sheer scale of the gathering was suffocating; the scent of woodsmoke, old sweat, cold metal, and the restless, humming voltage of thousands of low-grade wolf instincts buzzed through the air like a hive of hornets.High above, the full moon was beginning its slow, majestic crest over the jagged peaks of the Northern range, sp