บททั้งหมดของ Rogue's Omega: บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

Cain didn't attack. He just walked through us, touching each alpha in turn—Bastian, then Kellan, then Archer—and with each touch, the bond web shuddered.He moved like a ghost. Silent. Slow. His bare feet left wet prints on the stone floor, and his scarred hand reached out with the hesitation of someone who had never been allowed to touch anything.Bastian tensed when Cain's fingers brushed his chest. Through the first bond, I felt his instinct to strike, to protect. But he held still. "What is he doing?""Feeling," I said. "He's feeling the bonds. The way they connect."Cain's silver eyes flickered. "It's warm. I didn't know bonds were warm." He moved to Kellan and touched his shoulder. Through the second bond, I felt Kellan's cold assessment warring with something softer. Curiosity. Compassion."You were created without the capacity for bonds," Kellan said quietly. "But you can still perceive them.""I can perceive them. I can't have them." Cain moved to Archer and touched his hand.

The children ran to meet us, Theron in the lead, the twins tumbling behind. They stopped short when they saw Cain. "Who's that?" Mirren asked. "He smells like you, Papa. But empty."The main gate of Silver Hollow was crowded with wolves who had been waiting for our return. Sable was there, leaning on her cane, her amber-gold eyes bright with relief. Wren stood beside her with Thorne. Tide had come from the Delta with the rescued children, who were recovering in the medic tent. Even Veris had traveled from the Sunken Valley, her white hair gleaming in the spring sunlight.But the children reached us first. Theron was thirteen now, tall and confident, his white wolf flickering under his skin. He stopped in front of me and threw his arms around my waist. "You're back. Papa Bastian, you're walking. Papa Kellan, you're not bleeding. Papa Archer, you look tired.""I'm always tired," Archer said, but he was smiling. "It's a permanent condition."The twins were less restrained. Sable—the youn

Theron came home with a black eye and a proud smile. "You should see the other guy."I set down the report I had been reading and looked at my thirteen-year-old son. He stood in the doorway of our quarters with his dark hair disheveled and his white wolf flickering under his skin and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone that was already turning purple. His gold eyes were bright with satisfaction."The other guy," I repeated. "Who was the other guy?""Some beta from the Ridgeback territory. He was picking on a younger Moon-Wolf in the training yard. Calling him a half-breed. Saying his wolf was weak." Theron's jaw tightened. "I told him to stop. He didn't stop.""So you hit him.""I hit him twice. Then he stopped."Bastian appeared behind Theron, and his gold eyes swept over our son's bruised face with an expression that was equal parts pride and exasperation. "He got the black eye because the beta's friend jumped in. Two against one. He still won.""Of course he won. You've been tra

Fifty packs sent representatives. Some had been enemies for centuries. Now they sat at the same table and argued about trade routes and water rights like normal wolves.The main hall of Silver Hollow had been expanded three times over the past decade, and it still wasn't big enough. Delegates from fifty territories filled the benches, their banners hanging from the rafters. The grey tree of Ironwood. The wave crest of the Saltmarsh Delta. The white wolf of the Sunken Valley. The pale flame of the Frostmarch refugees. And at the center, the banner of Silver Hollow itself. A white wolf with three shadows.I stood at the head of the table with my alphas flanking me, and I looked at the sea of faces. Wolves who had been enemies during the Frostborn's war now sat side by side. Wolves whose ancestors had enforced the kill lists now voted to protect Moon-Wolves. It was messy and bureaucratic and occasionally infuriating. But it was working."The Ridgeback delegation proposes a tariff on medi

The first Moon-Wolf wasn't a wolf at all. Not fully. She was something older. Something that predated the packs, the territories, the entire concept of what a werewolf was supposed to be.Serin led me deeper into the archives, past the shelves of scrolls and the clay tablets and the books that crumbled at a touch. At the very back of the chamber, carved into the living rock of the mountain, was a door. It was ancient and heavy, and it swung open without a sound when Serin pressed her palm to the stone."This is the inner sanctum," Serin said, and her voice was hushed. "Only the alpha of the eastern bloodline is permitted to enter. I'm making an exception because you need to see what's inside."The room beyond was small and round, lit by phosphorescent moss that glowed soft blue. The walls were covered in paintings. Not the crude prophecy art of the Sunken Valley, but something older and more skilled. A story told in images that stretched around the entire circumference of the room.Th