Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Pretty Little Pup : Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Elara’s POV The morning air in the Beta estate was thick with summer roses and sweeter with anticipation. Elara sat on the small veranda outside her chambers, a cup of jasmine tea untouched in her hands. Her cheeks still flushed from memory. Her body felt different. Opened. Branded. Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her—her neck, her hips, her inner thighs. She’d woken aching, the phantom of Caelan’s mouth still worshipping her in places that had never known reverence. But what clung to her most was his voice. “I’ll come tonight.” Not whispered in passing. Not in a rush. It had been low. Promised. Sure. She pressed her lips together, a smile tugging. Gods, what would her father say? No—she knew what he would say. The Beta of Blackmist had never spoken of her future with Caelan. Not once. Because he knew the Alpha’s fate had long been sealed elsewhere—in politics, in alliances. Not with her. Not with the daughter of his second. And yet… last night had felt like more. Li

Caelan’s POV The morning after tasted like ash. Not her. Not jasmine or sweat or sweet wine. Just ash—and regret. I sat alone in my chambers, elbows on my knees, staring at the fire I hadn’t bothered to stoke. The embers had long since died. Like everything else. Like the promise I’d made her with my mouth still on her skin. “I’ll come tonight.” I’d meant it. Gods, I’d meant it. I could still taste her name on my tongue, still feel her hands in my hair, her legs wrapped tight around me like she could hold me there forever. But forever wasn't mine to give. I had barely made it past the threshold of my wing before the world came crashing back in—scrolls stamped with the High Council’s sigils, envoys from Silverclaw at the gate, my father’s voice in my head like a curse: "You're not a man when it comes to love, Caelan. You're an Alpha. Start acting like one." So I sent the guards to stand at my door. And I told them she wasn’t to enter. Not because I didn’t want her to. Becau

Elara's POVThe summons arrived just past dawn.A gold-trimmed envelope, pressed between the fingers of a servant who wouldn’t meet her eyes. She took it in silence, the wax seal still warm. Inside, the words shimmered like a blade in moonlight:By order of His Majesty Caelan, Alpha of Blackmist, the binding ceremony for his Luna, Lady Seraphina of Virevale, shall take place at sunset in the Moonstone Courtyard. All nobles and allied houses are required to attend.She read it once. Then again. And again. Each time, the words lost a little more meaning and grew heavier instead.He was going through with it.Caelan was naming Seraphina his Luna.She had known this would come. She had always known. But knowing it didn’t blunt the jagged edge of it now.Her fingers tightened on the paper until it crumpled.Thorne found her in the garden near midday, crouched at the base of the white blossom tree. Her hands were in the soil, though she wasn't planting anything."You don't have to go," he s

Elara's POVThe sky was still bruised with night when Elara stepped onto the marble steps of the estate, the chill biting through her cloak. Dawn hadn’t fully broken, just a whisper of pale silver on the horizon. She kept her steps light, practiced, quiet.She had packed nothing incriminating. A leather satchel slung over her shoulder held a pair of boots, a second cloak, coin sewn into the lining, and three books—the kind of dense, dry strategy texts no handmaid would think twice about. The note she'd left on her writing desk was vague. “Gone to the gardens for the morning.” That might buy her an hour. Maybe two.Her hands trembled.She kept one pressed against her lower abdomen, as if that might steady the chaos beneath her skin. The healer's voice still rang in her mind, soft as snowfall: You're with child.Not, you're going to be a mother. Not, congratulations. Just fact.She hadn't cried. Hadn’t laughed. Just walked out with a whisper of thanks and a new storm caged in her chest.

Elara’s POVThe first whisper came from a kitchen maid.Elara heard it as she passed the inner corridor, the one behind the great hall where the scent of roasting meat and baked roots lingered."She looks... fuller, don’t you think?"The second girl’s voice was sharper. "Please. She’s not mated. That would be a scandal.""Wolves don’t lie," the first one muttered.Elara kept walking. Her face never twitched, her stride never faltered. But the knot in her stomach twisted tighter.By now, the nausea had become a cruel companion. It came without warning—while she read, while she sat still, while she tried to sleep. The scent of blood or cooked meat made her gag. Even the fresh pine that used to soothe her now made her throat tighten.But she said nothing. Not even to Thorne. Not to her mother. Not after the sharp slap her father gave the wall beside her the day she collapsed. "We will not shame this house further."She hadn’t cried then. Not once. But her hand had slipped over her stomac