All Chapters of The Alpha King's Omega: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

110 Chapters

31. Vicious Attack

The silence was heavier than stone. Freya lay in bed, limbs aching, skin prickling with the heat of battle and confusion. The sheets stuck to her back, damp with sweat. She couldn’t rest. Not with all the things constantly screaming in her head, creating a huge chaos inside her. Not with him in the room. Not with Ragnar sitting in that cursed armchair like a demon on watch. He looked so huge that his intimidating presence made her chamber look smaller and not to mention his strong scent.She heard the low sound of his breathing. Controlled. Measured. But beneath it, something simmered. The sound of violence was restrained. Blood dried in strokes across his bare chest, flaking at his collarbone. His claws were gone now, but they’d carved the memory of death into the floor, the walls, the air.Freya turned her face away from him, but it didn’t help. She could still feel him like a storm crouched in the dark, waiting. And then... all of a sudden. Her mark throbbed.Not the usual dull ach

32. Skyrana

The world smelled like scorched air and blood-soaked silk, and she was drowning in them despite all her efforts to resurface. Her heart was in distress, along with her soul. Her body was so weak that even breathing felt difficult.Freya stirred beneath velvet sheets that felt too heavy and soft for the chaos that still clung to her skin. Her body was fire and ash, her limbs aching, skin fevered, her breath catching like a sword lodged in her throat. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. She tried to fight against the fatigue that was consuming her. But it was so damn strong. It took so much of her strength to wake up.Her lashes fluttered open. The obsidian ceiling above her looked unfamiliar, even though she'd seen it before. The chandelier no longer glowed. Paranoia hit her. She could feel shadows coiled in the corners of the chamber like sleeping beasts, and she hadn't even averted her gaze from the ceiling.She turned her head, her eyes darting around the room as if anyone would appear

33. Curse of the Crown

Freya stiffened. Her heart drummed wildly in her chest. The name shattered something inside her.Skyrana.It echoed through Freya’s bones like an ancient bell tolling through time. Her knees nearly buckled. She staggered back a step, her heart thudding like it was trying to escape her ribcage. The earth beneath her boots no longer felt real.She had never heard the name spoken aloud before with such certainty and familiarity that it called to the hidden soul residing in her.And she knew it. Her wolf growled within, not in protest, but in recognition.Ragnar’s hand brushed the hilt of his blade, tense, standing ahead of her as he slowly faced her silently. Watching. Waiting.The Elder Vizier slowly rose from his bow, his strange eyes shimmering with awe. “Your light has returned,” he murmured. “After centuries of silence, your soul finally crossed the veil again.”“I’m not her,” Freya whispered, her voice trembling like fragile glass. “I don’t even know who she was.”“No,” the Elder

34. Attack in the Forest

The next morning, the temple felt colder, not in temperature, but in soul. She barely got some sleep last night. Gazillions of thoughts raked through her head until she was exhausted, and yet the haunting thoughts weren't in her control anymore.Freya stood at the altar where the vision had shattered her world open. The runes beneath her feet were dim now, the vines asleep. Ragnar hadn’t spoken since the river. Not truly. He moved with practiced silence, watching her without touching, waiting without pressing.The Elder Vizier met them at the temple gates, his robe heavy with dust and time."You awakened more than memory last night," he said, eyes on Freya. "You stirred the roots of prophecy. The old curse breathes again."Freya didn’t speak."You carry Skyrana’s soul, yes," the Elder continued, "but more than that, you carry her legacy. She was the Flame-Born, guardian of the Last Prophecy. It spoke of a child born under a dying moon, an omega meant to unbind the chains of all who ca

35. A Friend

Ash fell like snow.The trees were skeletal now, charred bones of what once stood tall. The clearing smoldered with dying embers, the ground blistered and blackened from the fire Freya had unleashed. She lay slumped against a twisted stump, skin streaked with blood and soot, the taste of copper thick on her tongue.Her mark pulsed faintly, no longer a simple symbol but cracked open, glowing like a fracture in her skin. A seam of light ran down her shoulder, raw and unnatural. It felt like her very soul had been split.Her wolf was silent. Caged.Freya didn't know how long, but it felt like she had passed out. The girl tried to recall what had happened as her eyes darted around the destroyed and burnt forest, as long as she looked. She tried to move, but every limb trembled. The forest hummed around her, not with life, but with something older. Something aware. Watching.Wind slithered through the branches, carrying whispers that didn't belong to the living."She is waking… The fire bl

36. The Silver Cloak

The clearing still smoldered, as if the forest itself hadn’t quite decided whether to breathe again. There was death as far as she could stare. And she was the one who took life out of this forest.Ash clung to the air in pale, ghostly swirls, rising from the charred earth around her like reluctant spirits. Freya pushed herself up with arms that trembled like wind-warped branches, the bark at her back still warm, too warm from the fire she’d unleashed. Her own fire. Untamed. Furious. Alive.It hadn’t felt like casting a spell. It had felt like breaking. Destroying.Pain licked up her limbs, deep and electric, as though lightning had scorched her bones from the inside out. Her hands were blistered. Her chest heaved. Her skin stung where embers had kissed it, and along her cheek, blood had crusted dry and tight, flaking as she turned her head.And still, the mark pulsed, low and insistent like a second heart that didn’t quite beat in time with her own.Golden light shimmered just beneat

37. The Witch and The Warden

Dawn bled slow and silver through the canopy, seeping into the world like the exhale of an ancient god.Mist coiled between the gnarled trees, thick and spectral, like the breath of sleeping giants dreaming in the earth below. Every step Freya took felt heavier, not from fatigue, but from a gravity older than time. The soil was thick with memory. The roots beneath her boots pulsed faintly, as if alive, aware of her presence, brushing against her mind like distant echoes trying to remember her.There were no birdsong greetings, no rustling of creatures in the underbrush. The air whispered instead, soft syllables in a language she didn’t recognize, but one that made her blood stir like it should. It was not sound, but memory. Not words, but remembrance of something that was hers.The witch walked ahead in silence. Her silver cloak drifted just above the moss-covered ground, trailing mist like vapor spun from moonlight. She didn’t seem to step on the forest floor so much as through it.B

38. Training

The eternal flame burned steadily outside, casting long shadows across the walls of her hut.The ointment made of herbs lay on the side for her wounds, which she got in the forest fight. Freya didn't use it. She wanted to heal on her own.Freya lay on the narrow bed, arms crossed beneath her head, the cloak now lay securely on one of the wooden chairs. The ceiling above was made of braided roots and moss-veined stone, but she stared past it, through it, into the far-off world that now felt like a memory blurred by smoke.She missed them.Her people. Her village. The way they used to laugh around bonfires before fate had ripped her from everything she thought was hers. She missed the simplicity of not knowing. Of living. Of being just a girl who wanted to feel the sun and not carry the weight of centuries. There was only one motive she had for her omega people. To protect them and kill the ones who kill them and enslave them, but now she was far too gone in the visions and history of w

39. Mine

The training circle had barely cleared before Ragnar moved.He didn’t walk, he hunted.Each step was an unspoken vow, silent and sharp, the kind of silence that came before a kill. His eyes, those molten grey eyes, never wavered from Freya. She was still wiping blood from her lip, her braid half-undone, tendrils of hair stuck to the sweat along her jaw. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, but she didn’t look weak.She looked wild.Untamed. Defiant. Burned through with exhaustion but still standing.She turned toward him, instinct already coiled to fight, but not fast enough.His hand clamped around her wrist.Firm.Unyielding.His voice was low, rough as gravel dragged through fire. “Come with me.”Freya didn’t wince. Didn’t jerk away. But she felt the burn of his grip, not on her skin, in her soul. Like he was touching more than flesh. The mate bond and its spark was doing its freaking thing.Nyra stepped between them, her silver cloak catching the breeze like a blade.“She needs rest,

40. Blood beneath the Flame

The cold wind bit harder than before, as if the mountain had turned against her.Freya stormed into the darkness like a blade freshly drawn, sharp with fury and trembling restraint. Once silent and sacred, the air now howled around her with jagged breath. It sliced through her cloak, into her skin, past her ribs. It sank into her bones.The sanctuary stood still and ancient, bathed in moonlight and mist, but inside her, everything screamed.She barely reached her hut before the growl ripped out of her throat.It wasn’t delicate.It wasn’t weak.It was guttural. Violent.Born of betrayal.Freya slammed the wooden door with a force that rattled the frame, then sagged against it, fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, broken and uneven.But all she could feel was him.His hands. His mouth. His voice.The way he looked at her, like she was both his doom and his salvation. And that sinister smirk... She wanted to rip it off his face.Her

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