Alpha's STOLEN Mate Chapter 105

Elowen

Sunlight streamed lazily across my face, warming my skin in the most delicious way. I stirred, feeling completely satiated—muscles pleasantly sore, body humming with residual pleasure.

*God, I slept so well. When did my bed get so big and warm?*

Then the memories crashed over me like a tidal wave.

*Oh. Oh fuck.*

Last night. The moonflower tree. Kaius's confession. The mind-blowing sex against the bark, then somehow stumbling back here—wherever "here" was—and doing it again. And again. Until I'd passed out in a tangle of limbs and sheets, completely exhausted.

I bolted upright, looking around wildly. This wasn't my room. The massive four-poster bed, the dark furniture, the distinctly masculine scent permeating everything—

*I'm in Kaius's chambers. In his pack. Fuck!*

I should have gone back to my own territory last night. Should have maintained some distance, some dignity. Instead, I'd let him carry me here like some lovesick teenager and—

The door opened.

Kaius entered carrying a tray, his expression so openly happy it made my chest ache. He looked younger somehow, lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Good morning, my mate," he said, his voice warm with affection.

Heat flooded my face. I wasn't used to this—this soft, attentive version of Kaius. It threw me completely off balance.

I scrambled out of bed, grabbing clothes scattered across the floor. "Um, about last night—"

He was already moving toward me, pulling something from the tray before I could finish. A pastry—my absolute favorite kind—appeared in front of my mouth.

"I went to that bakery the moment they opened," he said, gently pressing it against my lips until I had no choice but to take a bite. "Fresh out of the oven."

Then he produced a cup of steaming milk from behind his back, setting it on the bedside table with careful precision.

I chewed mechanically, my brain short-circuiting. *Fuck! It IS honey cinnamon bread! God, this man is serving me breakfast in bed like he's some combination of Frost's devotion and his own intensity? What is happening?*

I moved to the table, sitting down to eat while Kaius stood there watching me with undisguised adoration. His eyes never left my face, tracking every bite, every sip.

It was unnerving.

I ducked my head and ate faster, suddenly self-conscious.

"Eat up," he said with amusement coloring his tone. "We have work to do once you're finished."

I swallowed the last bite of bread and downed the milk in several large gulps. Standing abruptly, I crossed my arms. "I knew this was too good to be true. What do you want?"

Kaius smiled at my suspicion. "It's not bad, I promise. Just something only you can help me with." His expression turned serious. "Rowan's dead, but the other Elders are still here. We need to give them an explanation."

Understanding dawned. "If you tell them what happened—about Morgath, about Rowan's death—they'll think you're making it up. Especially the part about a witch transforming wolves into pets." I tilted my head. "You need me to corroborate your story. To prove that Morgath exists and that Rowan was working with her."

"Exactly." He moved closer, his hands gentle on my shoulders. "I know eliminating all the Elders would make ruling easier. But we already have enough enemies. If we alienate the entire Elder Council, we risk creating another Rowan—someone who'll turn to darkness and conspiracy because we've pushed them into a corner."

I pinched his waist hard, making him wince. "Oh, so you don't want another Rowan? Another convenient fuck buddy?" My voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm sure the Elders have plenty of tricks after living so long—"

"God, Elowen!" Kaius looked genuinely panicked, grabbing my hands. "I'm being serious! I swear—*swear*—that will never happen again!"

Seeing him so flustered was oddly satisfying. I released his waist, my expression softening slightly. "Fine. Morgath is everyone's enemy anyway—not just ours. I'll tell them the truth."

Relief washed over his face. "Thank you."

---

The council chamber was imposing—all dark wood and high ceilings, designed to remind visitors of the Elders' ancient authority. Three of them sat waiting when we entered, their expressions curious and calculating.

I recounted everything—Morgath's laboratory, the caged wolves, her enhancement experiments, Rowan's death at the witch's hands. The Elders listened with varying reactions.

The eldest among them—a wizened man with a long white beard and eyes that had seen centuries—spoke first. "Elowen, as the White Wolf, your word carries the weight of ancient legend. Like us Elders, you are born of the old ways. We choose to believe you." He nodded gravely. "And this Flesh Weaver witch you mentioned... we have indeed heard whispers of her existence."

*Relief flooded through me. They believed it. They believed Kaius had nothing to do with Rowan's death.*

Then the old man started laughing. Actually *laughing*, the sound wheezing and delighted. "But how poetic! That traitor Rowan finally paid for her arrogance! That *bitch* who thought she could rise above her station, who broke our sacred rules—she's dead! Ha!"

A striking woman with flame-red hair and sharp features joined in, her smile vicious. "Rowan absolutely deserved it. Conspiring with a Flesh-Weaver? Betraying Silas? She got off easy with a quick death!" Her eyes gleamed with vindictive pleasure. "My only regret is that I wasn't there to watch her choke on her own blood."

The third Elder was different from his colleagues—younger-looking despite his status, with sandy brown hair that stuck up in all directions like he'd forgotten to comb it. He was pudgy, wore rumpled robes, and had the distracted air of someone perpetually lost in thought. Round spectacles perched on his nose, giving him an owlish appearance.

He mumbled something under his breath, barely audible.

"Speak up, Faelan!" the old man snapped.

Faelan—the bookish Elder—flinched slightly but raised his voice. "I said... I think her death is somewhat tragic." He pushed his spectacles up nervously. "She died trying to save Elowen. Well, perhaps her true intentions weren't so noble, but her actions... her actions did accomplish that. She paid a heavy price already, didn't she?"

Kaius's expression flickered with discomfort and something darker—guilt, maybe, or complicated grief.

I felt my own emotions tangle into knots. The timeline was clear now: I'd been captured. Kaius discovered it and forced Rowan to find Morgath. Rowan confronted the witch and died for her trouble.

*How ironic. She died trying to save her enemy—trying to save me, because losing me meant losing Kaius.*

*Fuck. Rowan, I don't know if you were stupid or too clever for your own good.*

Kaius straightened, pushing through his discomfort to address the Elders with renewed purpose. "You three are wise and experienced. I need your counsel on something else."

The old man—whose nameplate read "Elder Lachlan"—leaned forward. "Speak, Alpha King."

"Morgath. The Flesh-Weaver." Kaius's jaw tightened. "How do we fight her? And more importantly—" His voice dropped, became almost desperate. "Is there any way to save the wolves she's already transformed? To reverse what she's done to them?"

The red-haired Elder—Elder Vivienne—exchanged a look with Lachlan. "Alpha King, with all due respect... you should abandon that idea entirely. Making peace with the witch is your best option." Her voice turned grave. "We Elders understand better than anyone how dangerous Flesh-Weavers are. They've existed since ancient times, and they've destroyed entire civilizations when provoked."

"Exactly," Lachlan agreed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Maintaining neutrality is wise. Don't antagonize her further. Let the transformed wolves go—they're already lost."

Kaius's face went tight with barely controlled rage. I placed a hand on his shoulder, understanding his pain. He was thinking about his father—Marcus, the golden wolf, trapped in Morgath's collection.

*He can't just abandon him. No matter how hopeless it seems.*

Then Faelan mumbled something again, so quietly I almost missed it.

"What was that?" I asked, leaning forward.

Faelan blinked behind his spectacles, surprised to be addressed directly. He cleared his throat nervously. "I said, um, even the strongest witch has weaknesses. It's just a matter of finding them."

Vivienne rolled her eyes. "Faelan, don't fill their heads with false hope—"

"And the transformed wolves," Faelan continued, gaining confidence as he warmed to his subject. "Technically speaking, even Flesh-Weaver modifications aren't permanent. The process can be reversed. In theory." He pulled out a small notebook from his robes, flipping through pages covered in dense scribbling. "I've been studying historical accounts of Flesh-Weaver cases. There are documented instances of successful reversals, though admittedly rare."