All Chapters of The Lycan King's Outcast Omega: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Alexander I jolt awake, sweat soaking through my silk sheets, heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. The nightmare clings to me, fragments of images still burning behind my eyes—my body tearing in two, one half glowing with healing light, the other consumed by Alpha power, both halves reaching for each other but never connecting."Just a dream," I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.Except it doesn't feel like just a dream. It feels like a warning.The morning light filters through the royal blue curtains of my chambers, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. Twenty-four years old, and I still wake up terrified like a pup. Some heir to the Lycan throne I am.A knock sounds at the door, three quick raps I recognize immediately."Enter," I call, pushing myself up against the ornate headboard.My father's Beta, Garrett, steps in, his face a carefully composed mask that doesn't quite hide his concern. He's been looking at me like that more often late

LyraI press my hands to Mrs. Hadley's forehead, letting my energy seek out the infection that's been ravaging her body for days. The other healers tried traditional remedies—herbal infusions, poultices, even bloodletting—but the fever persisted. Now it falls to me, as always when conventional methods fail."Easy," I murmur as she whimpers. "I'm going to help you."Closing my eyes, I visualize the infection as a dark cloud in her blood. Most healers in our enclave work with their hands alone, but I've always seen illness differently—not just as something to push away, but as something to transform. I don't just channel healing energy; I redirect the sickness itself.My fingers tingle as I guide the infection, changing its nature rather than fighting it directly. Under my palms, Mrs. Hadley's skin cools, her breathing steadies. When I open my eyes, her face has regained its color, the angry flush of fever replaced by the pink of health."It's done," I tell her relieved husband. "She'll

AlexanderThe Choosing Gala preparations transform the palace into a frenzy of activity. Servants hurry through corridors with armfuls of decorations, chefs bark orders in the kitchens, and the royal tailor makes last-minute adjustments to my formal attire—a midnight blue suit with silver embroidery that matches the royal colors.I stand still as he fusses with the collar, my mind elsewhere. Since the formal welcoming ceremony yesterday, I've been unable to shake the strange sensation I felt when meeting Princess Selene. Not a mate bond, but something significant. Something that demands my attention."Your Highness?" The tailor's voice breaks through my thoughts. "If you could turn, please."I oblige mechanically, catching sight of Dominic lounging in the doorway."Don't you look dashing," he drawls. "The eligible bachelorettes will be swooning.""Exactly what I need," I mutter. "Unconscious potential mates."The tailor suppresses a smile as he steps back to assess his work. "I believe

SeleneI stare at my reflection in the ornate mirror, schooling my features into pleasant neutrality while my mind races. The pull of Alexander's hand away from mine at the Gala last night plays on repeat in my thoughts. The look of confusion, perhaps suspicion, in his violet eyes. I was careless. Too eager. I let my guard drop."Focus," I whisper to myself, adjusting the silver circlet nestled in my braided hair. For this morning's garden tour with the queen, I've chosen a pale blue gown that emphasizes my eyes and complements the royal colors without attempting to claim them as my own. Every detail matters. Every choice is calculated.A sharp knock sounds at my chamber door."Enter," I call, already knowing who it will be.Magistra Vega strides in, her severe gray gown and tight silver bun reflecting her uncompromising nature. My instructor since childhood, the woman who molded me into the perfect instrument for my people's ambitions."Well?" she demands without preamble. "Report."I

AlexanderThe reports lie scattered across my desk, each more troubling than the last. For the past hour, I've been reading intelligence summaries from our border patrols—accounts of strangers asking questions about healing bloodlines, mapping remote areas where healing enclaves are rumored to exist, and in one case, pursuing someone through the forest near the eastern boundary."This can't be a coincidence," I tell Dominic, who stands by the window, his expression grim. "Not with the Northern delegation's sudden interest in the prophecy, their questions about Elara's abilities.""You think they're connected?" he asks, though his tone suggests he's already reached the same conclusion.I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "Three reports of strangers in Northern colors sighted near areas where healing communities might be hidden? During the exact week they arrive with prophecy texts mentioning both Elara and me?" I shake my head. "That's not a coincidence. That's coordination."D