Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bewitching the Alpha: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

My eyes fluttered open, met by the gray, sloped ceiling of a room I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the luxurious guest room in the East Wing. It was functional, stark. A medical bay.I tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea pushed me back into the pillow. My left hand was bandaged heavily, immobilized in a splint."Easy."The voice came from the foot of the bed.Guilermo was sitting there. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His dark hair was a mess, sticking up in tufts as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. He was wearing a fresh black t-shirt, but his jeans were still stained with the mud of the southern perimeter."You’ve been out for twelve hours," he said, his voice gravelly. "Magical exhaustion. Again.""The wards," I rasped. "Are they holding?""Solid as rock," he confirmed. He stood up and poured a glass of water from a plastic pitcher. "You did good, Lilura."He handed me the water. I took it with my good hand, drinking greedily."Where is she?" I asked, l

I sat on the cot, my knees pulled up to my chest, wrapped in the scratchy wool blanket. The fire was dying down, casting long, skeletal shadows against the log walls. Beside me, Guilermo was prowling.He couldn't sit still. The cabin was too small for him. It was too small for a man of his size, let alone a wolf with his energy. He paced the three feet between the cot and the door, checking the bolt, checking the window, checking the ceiling beams."You're making me dizzy," I muttered, resting my chin on my knees."The wind is shifting," he said, ignoring my complaint. He pressed his hand against the rough timber of the wall. "If it hits the north face, that oak tree might slide.""And if it slides?""We get crushed."He turned to look at me. The firelight caught the silver streaks in his hair, making him look like something forged from metal and shadow. He wasn't wearing his shirt. He hadn't put it back on since we dried off, and the sight of his bare chest was becoming a problem.It

I gasped, my eyes flying open, my body seizing as a crack of thunder shook the very foundation of the cabin. The sound wasn't just auditory; it was a physical blow, a vibration that rattled my teeth and sent a spike of pure, unadulterated electricity shooting through my nervous system.My magic, usually a cold weight in my gut, flared hot. It was reacting to the barometric pressure, to the ozone in the air, to the sheer violence of the atmosphere outside.But mostly, it was reacting to him.Guilermo was no longer just sleeping beside me. In the hours since we had drifted off, the narrowness of the cot had forced us into a tangle of limbs that defied physics. I was pressed against the rough log wall, and he was molded against my back, his arm draped heavy and possessive over my waist, his face buried in the curve of my neck.His skin was burning."Guilermo," I whispered, the name coming out as a breathless plea.He didn't wake up.His arm tightened instantly, turning from a heavy weight

I left before the sun came up.It wasn't an escape; it was a retreat. I didn't steal a car or run through the woods. I just walked out the side door of the East Wing, past the sleeping guards who didn't even twitch as I passed likely under strict orders from their Alpha to let the witch go if she wanted to go and walked the three miles back to Oakhaven.My ankle throbbed with every step, a dull, rhythmic reminder of the chaos of the last forty-eight hours. But the physical pain was grounding. It was real. It was better than the phantom sensation of Guilermo’s hands on my hips, or the echo of Ibbie’s screaming voice.The words looped in my head like a broken record, syncing with the crunch of gravel under my boots.By the time I reached the town limits, the sky was a pale, sickly yellow. Oakhaven was waking up. Shopkeepers were sweeping their stoops, the smell of baking bread warring with the damp, metallic scent of the receding storm.I didn't go to my apartment. I didn't want to be al

The roast beef tasted like victory, but it sat heavy in my stomach.Around me, the Great Hall of the Ironwood Pack had settled into a wary, chewing silence. The wolves were eating, but their eyes kept darting toward the head table. Toward me. The witch who had cooked a raw steak with a wave of her hand and forced their Alpha to laugh.Guilermo hadn’t let go of my hand. His fingers were laced with mine under the heavy oak table, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my skin. It was a grounding tether in a room full of predators, but it was also a distraction. Every brush of his skin sent a low-voltage hum through my nerves, keeping my magic simmering just below the surface."Alpha Santander."The voice cut through the clatter of silverware.Councilman Herman stood up from a table near the dais. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, his expression grave."The meal is excellent," he began, the politician’s polish failing to hide the predator underneath. "But we did not come here j