All Chapters of Rejected, Then Wanted by My Triplet Alphas: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Cassian's POVThorne left at one o'clock with a promise to return in three days, at moonrise, for an answer.He bowed to Neva. He bowed to the room. He walked out to his long grey car with the white cloth still tied around his wrist, as calm as a man leaving a shop, and the gate closed behind him. For about ten seconds after the engine faded, nobody in Selene's sitting room made a sound.Then I lost my mind.I want to be precise about that, because it was not the way I usually lose it. For most of my life, when I felt something too large to bear, I turned it into a joke and handed it to a crowd. It was the one trick I knew. A grin, a loud line, a laugh from the back of the room, and the feeling went away, because everyone was looking at the performance instead of the boy behind it.This time there was no joke. There was only a roar."Named," I said. "They named them. In the hour they were born. Two babies, still wet, still s

Neva's POVI did not go to Selene right away.The cellar emptied slowly, in a long, hushed procession of wolves who did not know how to speak in the presence of what they had seen. Rask's healer was helped up the stairs on two warriors' arms, weeping and laughing at once. The delegates of the three northern packs lingered by the door in tight, murmuring knots. Several of them bowed to me as they passed. One old man touched his fingertips to the stone floor where my blood had fallen, and then to his forehead.I stood there and let it wash over me. I had no words for it. Hours ago I had been a servant girl, and then a fugitive, and then a mother, and now I was something else, something that made grown wolves bow in cellars. All I wanted was a quiet room and a locked door.Dorian found me at the foot of the stairs, with the handkerchief still wound around my palm.He did not say anything. He only took my bandaged hand in both of his a

Neva's POVDorian laid the manifest on the war room table without a word, and I read it the way I read everything, from the top of the page to the bottom, hunting for the flaw.There was none. I should have known there would not be. Selene had spent nineteen years learning to build things that could not be argued with. The letterhead was authentic. The date was exact. The stamp in violet ink matched every seal I had ever traced across every northern account. And at the bottom of the page, in cramped letters, the single line that Dorian had been staring at for an hour with his jaw clenched.Two infants.The war room had filled around me while I read. Cassian stood at my shoulder, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my sleeve. Lucian had come in from the nursery, still pale from a sleepless night, and stood at my other side. Marlow sat at the end of the table in her old blue shawl, her hands clasped tight. Rask leaned aga

Lucian's POVI do not remember deciding to run.One moment I stood at the top of the front steps with my mouth open on a shout, frozen in the grip of a horror so complete that I could not feel my own hands. The next, I was halfway down the stairs, taking them three at a time, with my son's name tearing out of my throat.The courtyard had gone silent. That was the strangest thing. A moment ago it had been a roaring pit of teeth and steel and torchlight, and now it was a stage set for something I did not understand. Wolves knelt everywhere. They had dropped to their bellies in the gravel, to their knees, to their elbows, mid snarl and mid lunge, and they stayed there, heads bowed, shivering in the cold. Ironmoor's warriors. Cassian's men. Rogues with cracked silver collars. It did not matter which side they had been on. The force that was holding them did not care.It was not holding me.I felt it, though. A vast, quiet, steady press

Neva's POVFor a long moment, I thought I might simply fall over.I stood alone in the middle of a courtyard full of kneeling wolves, with a long slash down my ribs and a borrowed coat wrapped around my shoulders, and the old man looked at me across thirty feet of moonlit gravel. He did not move. He did not speak. He only waited, one hand on his pale stick, as though he had all the time in the world and did not intend to waste a second of it.I could not feel my legs. I did not know why I was still standing."Please," said a dry, courteous voice. "Do not stand on ceremony on my account. Let them rise."It was a thin voice, cracked with age, but it carried across the courtyard like a bell. And it was addressed to me.I understood then. It was not that I was brave. It was that nothing in that old man's presence pressed on me at all. The weight that had folded every wolf in the yard onto its knees simply did not touch me. I was