บททั้งหมดของ The Triplet's Bullied Mate: บทที่ 381 - บทที่ 390

Elowen's POV When I woke, the sun was already spilling through the antique lace curtains in a warm, golden haze, painting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the bedroom floor. The air was cool against my bare skin, carrying the faint scent of pine and the lingering warmth of bodies pressed close. For a moment, I lay perfectly still, my eyes closed, listening to the quiet, rhythmic symphony of their breathing. In, out, a steady cadence that grounded me, affirming their presence. They were still here. All three of them. A deep, irrational fear that they might have been a dream, or that my choice at the river would somehow sever our bond, eased itself, releasing a soft sigh from my lips. Alaric was stretched on his back beside me, an arm thrown loosely over my waist, anchoring me gently to the mattress. His jaw was shadowed with the faint stubble of a night’s growth, and his dark hair was tousled in a way that made him look younger, softer, more vulnerable than I was

Elowen's POV The rest of the day passed in a blur of quiet contentment.After breakfast, the triplets had busied themselves with errands, meetings, and training. I’d stayed back, curled up in the sunlit sitting room with a book I barely managed to read, my thoughts drifting back again and again to the way Ranon’s lips brushed my neck in the kitchen, the way Alaric’s hand lingered at the small of my back, the teasing glint in Theron’s silver eyes when he caught me staring at him across the table.And now it was evening.The sky outside glowed in hues of rose and indigo, fading slowly into the deep blue of night. Tiny stars were just beginning to dot the horizon when I heard the door open and their familiar footsteps echo through the hall.I set down the book and stood, smoothing my sweater nervously even though I didn’t know why.They came into view one by one — Alaric first, his golden-brown hair slightly mussed from the wind and his sharp eyes immediately softening when they landed

Elowen's POV The next few days were a whirlwind, a blur of activity that swept me up in its current. Preparations for the mate ceremony began immediately, orchestrated with an efficiency that spoke of long-standing traditions and a deep-seated desire to make me irrevocably theirs. The triplets handled most of it—speaking with the pack elders, their authority evident in every quiet conversation; securing the sacred grounds near the forest’s heart, a place steeped in ancient magic; sending word to the Moon Priestess, whose wisdom and guidance were revered by all. They consulted me on small details, but largely, they simply acted, confident in my unspoken consent. I barely had time to catch my breath before it was the night of the ceremony. A nervous flutter resided in my stomach, a mix of excitement and awe. The air was cool and alive with magic as I walked toward the clearing, the forest pressing in on all sides, a vast, breathing entity. The trees shimmered under the full moon

Elowen's POV “You belong to us, Elowen,” Alaric murmured, his mouth trailing lower, leaving a path of fire on my inner thigh, his fingers spreading my heat, preparing me. His voice was a low, possessive rumble. “Ours,” Ranon growled, his hands gripping my thighs, pulling me closer to him, his powerful body pressing against mine, a tangible promise of what was to come. “Forever,” Theron finished, his breath hot against my stomach as he kissed me again and again, a slow, sensual climb, working his way upward, leaving a trail of exquisite sensation. When Ranon finally positioned himself, his eyes locking onto mine, his magnificent body hovering above me, he entered me with a low, feral sound in his throat—a primal roar of claiming and triumph. He buried himself deep, filling me completely, his initial thrusts rough and desperate, driven by a raw, untamed hunger that mirrored my own. My body arched, accepting him, craving him. But even in that moment of intense, animalistic claim

Elowen's POV Theron was last to wake, of course. He was always the deepest sleeper, a contrast to his sharp, ever-alert mind when awake. He groaned dramatically as he rolled over, stretching languidly like a great cat, his muscles rippling beneath the sheet. His silver eyes, usually so keen and piercing, cracked open slowly to glance at me, a hint of his usual mischief already sparking in their depths. “Already making me jealous before breakfast, little witch,” he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep, but a playful accusation. I laughed softly, a bright, joyous sound that echoed in the quiet room. At the sound, he propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes fully awake now, brimming with desire. He leaned down, his dark hair falling forward, to kiss me slow and teasing, his lips exploring mine, tasting, savoring, until I was breathless all over again, my body arching instinctively towards him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to compete this early,” he whispered against my lips, hi