All Chapters of Too Late, Prince! I’m No Longer Your Chubby Luna: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

ALEXANDER POVThe shovels bit into the damp, black earth with a heavy, rhythmic crunch that echoed through the misty pines of Oakridge.The sky above the small valley graveyard was bruised and weeping, dropping a relentless, freezing rain over the three of us standing beside the open graves. Alora was collapsed on her knees in the mud, her dark wool coat soaked through, her body wracked with violent, chattering sobs as she stared at the plain pine casket holding Clara.Beside her stood Maya.Maya had driven down from Northridge the moment she realized we were gone, arriving just in time to help us dig. Her usual bright, bubbly demeanor was completely shattered. Her face was pale, streaked with mud and tears, her hands trembling as she held a soggy bouquet of white wildflowers over Clara’s grave."I don't understand..." Maya sobbed, her voice cracking as she looked between me and Alora. "Who would do this?! Clara was so good to everyone... Marcus was so kind... Why would anyone kill th

PATRICK POVThe heavy oak doors of the grand hall banged open with a deafening crash, sending a freezing gust of mountain wind and snow howling across the polished black marble floor.I sat atop the bone throne of the Stormfang Pack, swirling a glass of dark crimson wine between my fingers. I didn't bother turning my head as the heavy, armor-plated footfalls of my elite vanguards echoed off the vaulted stone ceiling. I could already smell it—the thick, nauseating scent of burnt fur, silver suppression runes, and fresh, divine blood.My vanguard commander stepped forward, kneeling heavily on one bruised knee. His iron face-plate was severely dented, covered in wet mud, soot, and drying blood."High Alpha Patrick," he growled, his deep voice echoing in the vast, torch-lit hall. "The girl has been secured. The human valley was cleansed as commanded."Behind him, two hulking pack warriors dragged a writhing, bound figure forward, throwing her unceremoniously onto the cold stone floor at t

PATRICK POVThe grand council chamber of Stormfang Fortress was an ancient, circular vault carved from the black obsidian heart of the mountain.Twelve massive stone pillars arched upward like the ribs of a leviathan, supporting a vaulted ceiling painted with forgotten constellations. In the center of the room, a long iron table sat surrounding a pit of roaring, blue-flamed coals. Around the table sat the high elders and clan lords of the northern territories—men and women who had sworn fealty to my throne seventeen years ago out of fear, greed, or survival.I sat at the head of the iron table, resting my chin on my laced fingers, watching the chaotic fire light up the hard, ruthless faces of my council."The rumors are spreading through the lower territories, High Alpha!" Lord Kaelen—a scarred, grey-furred Alpha of the eastern borderlands—thundered, slamming his broad, clawed fist onto the table. "The border guards are whispering that High Alpha Adrian’s daughter was captured in the

ALORA POVThe darkness inside the subterranean cell was absolute, cold, and heavy as a burial vault.I sat with my back pressed against the weeping granite wall, my knees pulled tightly to my chest, breathing in the stale, iron-heavy draft that drifted up from the lower abyss. Outside my cage, the torch Patrick had left in the sconce was sputtering out, its pale amber flame dying in a thin trail of black smoke.My body throbbed with a deep, agonizing exhaustion. The silver-laced iron chains wrapped around my torso and forearms bit raw into my skin, and the suppression collar at my throat flared with a hot, sickly purple sizzle every time my pulse spiked.A fool, Patrick had called her. A weak, foolish coward.Tears, hot and silent, cut through the dried mud and blood on my cheeks.For eighteen years, I had believed I was just Alora Black—an ordinary girl who lived in a quiet farmhouse in Oakridge, who helped Clara bake bread on Sunday mornings, who worried about high school exams and

PATRICK POVThe obsidian grand hall was bathed in the harsh, flickering glare of fifty iron braziers.Hundreds of pack members, elite vanguards, border commanders, and council members crammed into the vast chamber, their low, excited murmurs bouncing off the dark vaulted ceiling like the humming of a disturbed hornets' nest. The air was suffocatingly thick, smelling of heavy furs, roasted meat, stale wine, and wet mountain snow.I stood at the top of the marble dais, resting one hand on the carved armrest of the bone throne. My broad chest swelled beneath a high-collared mantle of black velvet lined with silver-fox fur. Across my shoulders hung the ancestral chain of Stormfang—a heavy iron collar forged by the first High Alpha three centuries ago.To my right, Elder Corvus stood leaning on his iron-tipped staff, his milky-blind eye glazed over, his wrinkled face set into a tight, unreadable mask.I raised my right hand, heavy iron rings glinting in the firelight."Pack of Stormfang!"