Brock’s Perspective: Golden rays of morning sunlight threaded through the parted curtains, warming my skin entangled with Stephanie's as remnants of our nighttime passion lingered in the silence. With the restless end of the night, our covers had been shed, and despite the encroaching chill from the outside world, our werewolf resilience, elevated by the heat of Stephanie's pregnancy, kept us insulated. She was a radiant oasis, carrying twins, her body a bonfire of warmth that enveloped us both in a protective cocoon.   The ascending dawn drew us from the embrace of slumber, and the allure of a bath teased our senses. I strode across the room to the bathroom, the faucet giving a muted thud as I twisted it, summoning a cascade of lukewarm water into the waiting tub. A refuge from the inevitable sweat, it was.   I returned to Stephanie, cradling her with a gentleness that coaxed a contented sigh from her lips, sending ripples of pleasu

Selena’s Perspective: A heavy sigh escaped my lips, the weight of the ages pressing down on my shoulders. "To think that Magana failed to end her great-grandmother's life," I said, my gaze locked with Alpha Brock and Alpha Stephanie. Their eyes mirrored the gravity of the situation while we stood under the protective dome I had erected for Brock's pack. "Should I be surprised, though? It was always a contest of who wielded more power—Morgana or me." I paused, the ghosts of our battles flickering behind my eyes. "The true terror lies in the potential of Crystal. If she surpasses Morgana and me in power, with Morgana's early influence... well, it spells disaster."   I paced before them, each step punctuating the urgency in my voice. "I must convene the witch's council. And a witch must be stationed in every allied pack as their guiding sorceress." I could feel the resistance before I even faced it. "Understand, getting the council's agreement won't be simp

Stephanie's Perspective:As Brock and I strolled back to the Packhouse, we informed Daphne that, upon her release, the decision about her now ex-mate rested in her hands. Yet the lingering mate bond constrains them until one of them marks another—an issue they must confront if they ever hope to reforge their connection. Weariness weighed upon Brock and me, the day's clamor—centered around Daphne's parents—taking its toll. Doubt clung to me like a stubborn shadow; Selena's trustworthiness remained questionable. Only time could heal the chaos she had wrought upon our kind. She had proclaimed Yadiel's death while possessing his body, under the delusion of being Morgana. Holding Yadiel's form in contempt for its weakness, she sought Crystal's strength. Yet the harsh truth was Selena's alien DNA had been a poison to Yadiel, condemning him through her long-drawn-out occupancy of his body. Despite Brock's fatigue, he swept

Stephanie's Perspective: I stepped beyond the threshold, the corridor sprawling before me like a serpent of stone and torchlight, its flickering shadows concealing secrets and, perhaps, traitors. Mikhail stood sentry-like at the far end—a brooding figure, his aura both menacing and reassuring.   "Ready, Mikhail?" My voice was a beacon in the dimness. We will be leaving as night sets.   He nodded, a gleam in his eye reflecting the torch’s fire. "For you, Alpha Stephanie, always."   The castle’s chill seeped through the walls, whispering omens that tonight would be a night of reckoning. In my core, the twins stirred, as if restless with foreboding. Gripping my resolve like the handle of a sword, the sound of my footsteps echoed out of sync with the quick pounding of my heart.   I made my way to Selena's room in the heart of our packhouse, a space she shared with her mate, Alpha Jackson. Before

Stephanie's Perspective:Gulping down the fear that threatened to choke me, I surged forward into the cabin's orifice with a desperate leap. The door groaned on its hinges as it swung shut behind me, as if the shadowy insides of the shelter were swallowing me whole. There was no time for my eyes to adjust to the pitch-black interior; I could hear the creature's loathsome mumblings just outside, its hunger an intense force trying to penetrate my refuge. Fumbling blindly, I bumped into a table strewn with the remnants of human habitation—dusty bottles, tattered clothes, and the brittle bones of forgotten rodents. I knocked the debris aside, searching frantically for a weapon or tool, anything that could serve as a defense. My paws, though they ached with a human yearning for the dexterity of my hands, moved with swift certainty. In this form, I was not only safer but could battle with a grace and agility that my human form could n