All Chapters of The Alpha Chose My Sister But My Baby Chose His Bood: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

"Mama," Sable said quietly, "that man smells like me." Luna's hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel. The pack gate was still thirty meters away. The young gate wolf hadn't even looked toward their car. "How can you smell him from here?" Luna asked, keeping her voice light. Sable was pressed against the window, rabbit tucked beneath one arm, her head tilted slightly. "I don't know." She sounded almost disappointed by the answer. "I just can. He smells like me. But older." A pause. "And scared." Luna looked toward the gate. The wolf couldn't have been older than twenty-two. Clipboard tucked beneath one arm. Calm posture. Routine expression. Nothing about him suggested fear. Nothing should have. "Okay," Luna said. "Let's go." She eased the car forward. The guard's name tag read DREW. He checked her credentials, compared them with his clipboard — routine, professional, the practiced movements of someone whose morning had been completely ordinary until Sable cl

Caelum heard her before he saw her He was crossing the east corridor toward the estate office — files under his arm, Beta two steps behind, a morning already full before it had properly started — when her voice came through the half-open door of the sitting room.Not words. Just cadence. Low, even, the particular unhurried rhythm of someone who had learned that composure was its own form of power.He stopped walking.His Beta stopped a beat later and said nothing, which was one of the reasons Caelum kept him.The voice continued — something about Thursday, the estate lawyer, a specific clause in a document he couldn't quite catch — and Caelum stood in the corridor outside a half-open door and did something he hadn't done in four years.He listened.Not to the words.To the voice.His wolf moved before he could stop it — not a surge, not aggression, something quieter and therefore worse. A slow lean forward, the way a wolf leans toward a scent it has been tracking for a very long time

No one mentioned the kneeling.The great hall had been scrubbed before sunrise. Every chair stood exactly where it had before thirty wolves dropped to their knees. The ordinary machinery of packhouse life ground forward — breakfast service, corridor conversations, training rotations on the far field — as though nothing had shifted inside Ironmoor Pack last night.As though Vivienne hadn't stood on that platform and watched it happen with her hand pressed so hard against her Claiming mark that Luna had seen the white of her knuckles from three feet away.As though Caelum hadn't stood completely still for forty-seven seconds after the last wolf knelt — Luna had counted, because counting was something to do with the part of her brain that needed to be occupied so the rest of her could hold position.Nobody talked about it.Which meant everybody was saying everything, just not to her.She had been in packs long enough to know how that worked.Sable slept late the morning after the gatheri

Ren arrived at eleven-fifteen.Luna knew because she had been watching the east gate from the window of her mother's estate office — not obviously, not with her chair turned toward it, but with the particular peripheral attention she had developed over four years of being a person who needed to know where the exits were.She saw the car first. Then Ren climbing out of it, one bag over his shoulder. No hesitation. No pause at the gate. Like he already knew where he was going.She watched him look up at the packhouse the way people looked at things that were older and larger than expected — not intimidated, just recalibrating. Then he found the window she was standing at, three floors up, and raised one hand.She raised hers back.She had thirty minutes before he reached her, which was enough time to finish the document she'd been reviewing and not enough time to have the conversation she'd been postponing since she called him two weeks ago and said I need someone I trust without explai

Luna stayed up until two-seventeen.She knew the exact time because she'd checked her phone at two-fifteen and told herself one more page. She'd told herself that at one-forty. And at midnight. And at eleven-thirty when she first opened the journal after Sable fell asleep.The lamp on the nightstand made a small circle of light. Outside the packhouse grounds were quiet — not silent, packs were never fully silent, but a different kind of sound after midnight. Lower. More watchful.She turned the page.Her mother's handwriting had changed through the journal. The early entries were loose and confident — the writing of a woman who believed what she was documenting would stay secret. The later entries were smaller. Compressed. Like someone trying to take up less space.She'd been reading the compressed entries for an hour.Arris says the bloodline assessment can't be standardised. The classification system was built on six known lineages. L falls outside all six. A doesn't want to documen