All Chapters of The Alpha's Forbidden Auction Mate : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Mira's POVI sat with Lyra's questions for the rest of that day, turning them over long after she had left the pack house as suddenly as she had arrived, and found myself, somewhere during the quiet hours of that evening, growing considerably more frustrated than the actual conversation itself had made me feel in the moment.Everyone kept testing me.Doctor Hale, weeks ago, running blood samples and watching my reactions with careful, clinical curiosity. The evaluators in that horrific selection room, studying me with the same detached assessment they applied to every other captured girl. The ancient attendants at the Moon Court, staring with shocked recognition before offering only careful, incomplete explanations about resemblance to someone from an older generation. The council itself, revealing pieces of history while withholding others, apparently deciding, collectively, exactly how much truth I could properly handle at any given moment.And now Lyra, asking careful, probing ques

Mira's POVI found the staircase entirely by accident, late one evening, while searching for a particular journal Mr. Ferris had mentioned it might have been misfiled somewhere along the library's back wall.It was not magical. Nothing shimmered or glowed or reacted to my touch the way the archive's carved symbol had reacted weeks earlier. It was simply hidden, a narrow gap behind one of the taller shelves that I only noticed because I had shifted several books aside searching for the misplaced journal, revealing a shadowed opening I had walked past countless times before without ever properly registering its existence.I should have gone to find Rowan.I told myself that even as I stepped through the gap instead, candle in hand, my earlier resolve about pursuing understanding independently overriding whatever caution might have otherwise sent me searching for him first.The staircase spiraled downward, worn stone steps suggesting considerable age despite their sturdy construction, an

Mira's POVWe did not argue that first night, walking together back down toward the observatory, Rowan finally showing me every remaining piece of information he had been quietly gathering on his own. That part went the way I hoped it would, careful and thorough, the two of us working through star charts and hidden notes together until well past midnight.The argument came two days later, and it came from somewhere I had not properly anticipated.I found the letter by accident, tucked into the back of one of the journals Rowan had shown me from the hidden room. Not the anonymous letter from the Moon Court, the one he had folded away before I could see it, though the handwriting matched closely enough that my stomach tightened the moment I recognized it. This was older, sent months before, apparently, judging by the date scrawled at the top, and addressed directly to Rowan.I should not have read it. I understood that even as I unfolded the pages, some instinct warned me that whatever

Mira's POVRowan knocked on my door the next morning, early enough that pale light had barely finished spreading across the floor beneath my window.I opened it to find him standing there without the careful, composed expression he usually wore, dressed simply, no formal bearing, no particular authority in his posture beyond quiet, steady resolve.He did not give me an order. He did not command me to follow him the way I half expected, given how tense things had felt between us the night before."Come with me," he said instead.I hesitated, still carrying some of yesterday's disappointment, uncertain whether I wanted to extend trust again this quickly after everything that had already happened.Then I noticed something in his expression, a particular vulnerability he was not bothering to hide, and something in that honesty made me decide, despite my lingering reservations, to follow him regardless.He led me down through the pack house's quiet corridors, past the archive, toward the h

Mira's POVI spent the following days buried in the hidden room, working through journal after journal with a focus that gradually pulled me away from almost everything else. Meals. Sleep. Conversations that used to fill my mornings at the infirmary. All of it faded into the background as I worked steadily through generations of careful, accumulated record keeping, searching for whatever pattern might finally explain the accelerating danger circling both of us.The entries came from considerably more voices than I initially expected. Some belonged to Alphas, their handwriting formal and precise, clearly written with the understanding that future generations would eventually need to read them. Others belonged to witches, their notes considerably more chaotic, scattered with symbols and half finished theories that took me hours to properly untangle. A few belonged to people whose names appeared nowhere else in any record I had access to, individuals who had apparently disappeared centur