Five Alphas Kneel for Me (Isabella) novel Chapter 542

Chapter 542

Back at the Thundercrest Pack mansion, the atmosphere was already buzzing with excitement, all thanks to Logan Thundercrest’s return from the

northern territories.

Mem

Logan stood respectfully before Elder Thundercrest, his handsome face filled with reverence. “Elder,” he said, “I’ve come home to the pack–lands to see

you.”

Elder Thundercrest beamed, his Alpha aura radiating joy. ‘Good, good, good, it’s great you’re back within our borders!”

Seeing his grandson, Elder Thundercrest’s spirits lifted considerably.

He patted Logan’s shoulder, looking him up and down, his usually cloudy eyes twinkling with delight. “Good, good!” he exclaimed. “You look even nore spirited than your sire did when he was a young Alpha!”

watched–or rather, felt through the pack’s lingering resonance–as Wendy and Lola stood off to the side, their submissive smiles faltering, unable to quite hold as they took in the joyful reunion.

ola, in particular, caught my eye. She’d clearly gone to great lengths to groom her fur and apply scent–oils, probably convinced she’d be the main Ittraction. Yet, from what I could see, Logan hadn’t even spared her a proper look the entire time, his inner wolf completely indifferent to her

heromones.

His attention, apart from Uncle Carson, was completely fixed on the Elder.

knew Wendy. She’d be seething inside, her wolf pacing with agitation, yet still managing to plaster on a strained smile. I could almost see her gently udging Lola’s back, urging her to step forward.

watched as Lola, catching her mother’s hint, took a deep breath. In an instant, her face transformed into a sweet, innocent smile, and she approached, olding a freshly brewed cup of infused herbal tea.

Logan–gege,” she cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. You just finished a long border–run; you must be exhausted. Have some tea to soothe your throat.”

Her voice, syrupy sweet and soft, was her signature weapon, honed to perfection for charming Alphas.

Hearing her, Logan finally shifted his gaze from the Elder and looked at her.

His eyes were distant, as if he were looking at an unimportant ornament, completely devoid of any mate–bond recognition or emotion.

Yet, Lola’s heart, I could tell, skipped a beat.

Jp close, I could see he was undeniably a powerful Alpha. His features were striking, his nose a sharp bridge, and his eyes, like frozen stars, held a cold, captivating allure that made her wolf whine in submission.

Her cheeks flushed faintly as she extended the teacup further, lowering her posture into a submissive crouch, making herself seem even more fragile and pitiful.

Logan didn’t take it.

He barely spared a glance for the tea, his eyes already finding Uncle Carson. “Uncle,” he asked, his voice calm and steady, his Alpha command underlying every word, ‘why isn’t Isabella back yet? Where is her clan–sanctum? I’ll go pick her up.”

Ill send a pack–runner for you,‘ Uncle Carson offered, “but aren’t you tired from the journey?”

A faint smile touched Logan’s lips, his wolf nudging him with affection for our bond. “I want to see my sister–wolf sooner.”

Carson wore a knowing expression. The Thundercrest Pack, after all, always spoiled their younger she–wolves.

I knew that back when Nick was still with us, both brothers had doted on her.

Carson chuckled, “Alright, go on.”

“Okay.” Logan nodded, then turned to the Elder and said, “Elder, I’m going to see Isabella first. I’ll come back to spend time with you later.”

“Go on, go on, the Elder said, waving him off cheerfully.

Logan turned away, walking past Lola without a single glance. He completely ignored her, as well as the cup of tea still clutched uselessly in het hand.

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Lola’s hand, still offering the teacup, froze mid–air. The sting of Logan’s dismissal hung heavy, turning her hopeful gesture into something stiff and utterly abandoned.

I noticed the steam from the teacup rise around her, making her eyes look suspiciously watery and her cheeks flush crimson.

The public humiliation hung heavy in the air around her.

It felt even more cutting than his dismissive remark at the landing zone, the one about “Isabella doesn’t look like that.”

Wendy’s face instantly darkened, her scent turning sour with resentment. It was clear she felt Logan had utterly dismissed both her and her daughter’s

rank.

Lola stood frozen, the teacup in her hand heavy as lead. Her lower lip was clamped tight between her teeth, her eyes red–rimmed, her wolf howling in shame inside her mind..

‘Don’t take it to heart, Lola, Wendy murmured. “He’s just always been such an arrogant Alpha.”

Lola’s eyes were still red–rimmed, but I knew that Logan wasn’t just the heir to the Thundercrest Pack’s second branch. He was incredibly capable, having already made a significant name for himself in the United Kingdom packs at such a young age.

It suddenly occurred to me that if she could somehow form a blood bond with him, she wouldn’t need to risk everything trying to usurp Thundercrest Pack hierarchy. Becoming the Luna of the branch in the UK would be a far sweeter deal, wouldn’t it?

But Mom, I like him…” Lola’s voice was thick with hurt, teetering on the edge of tears.

the

Wendy, who’d seemed annoyed with Logan just moments before, paused when she saw Lola’s distress. She squeezed Lola’s hand, her voice dropping to

conspiratorial whisper, their mind–link buzzing.

Silly she–wolf, if he’s ignoring you, why don’t you just follow him?”

Wendy wiped away Lola’s tears. “He’s going to find Isabella, isn’t he? Just follow him. Alphas fall hard for the gentle, attentive type. Find opportunities o show him why you’re a cut above Isabella!”

ola’s eyes lit up.

That’s it!

the could follow him!

he seemed to realize that since I was Logan’s cousin–wolf and she had no blood relation to him, our ‘competition‘ for his Alpha favor wasn’t even on he same playing field.

I know, Mom!‘ Lola’s spirit instantly rekindled, her eyes gleaming with renewed determination.

he set her teacup down and practically flew up the stairs, rummaging through her suitcase for her most expensive furs and silks. After reapplying a lawless layer of scent–masking makeup, she rushed out, chasing after his trail.

Meanwhile, at Ignis Alchemists.

keyond the enormous circular observation window, I noticed a row of leading authorities in domestic soul–thread mending.

Their faces were grim, every single one of them, their eyes glued to the solitary figure inside the ritual–chamber.

Me. Isabella.

wasn’t in standard hospital scrubs. Instead, my black sterile suit–lined with silver thread to suppress the Full Moon’s interference–hugged my figure, naking me feel sharp and efficient.

Ay long hair was pulled back, and an Ancient Sight–gear headset was strapped to my face, ghostly blue data streaming silently across the lenses.

wasn’t standing by the ritual table.

nstead, I was seated in front of a floating console.

A dozen holographic screens hovered before me, each one alive with data: a real–time 31 image of the patient’s spirit–core and brain, their vital signs, and the intricate dance of countless lunar micro–mites.

Dr. Miller, the patient’s heart rate is fluctuating! Pheromone pressure is rising!” My assistant’s voice, tight with tension, crackled through my

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Beyond the observation window, I could almost feel the experts‘ collective tension rise, their wolves mirroring the anxious beat of my own. My wolf was unusually still, her senses heightened, her claws retracted but ready.

This patient’s dark miasma was nestled deep in their spirit–stem, a spot so critical, it was essentially the forbidden zone of life. One tremble of a hand, one minuscule slip in the telepathic command, and it would all be over.

No other soul–mender in the entire world dared touch it.

I was their last, desperate hope.

“What’s there to panic about?”

My voice, cool and steady, cut through the comms. It held an Alpha’s stillness, a calm that demanded absolute trust.

My fingers flew across the virtual display screens, a blur of motion too fast to follow.

“B–7 sedative, 0.5 dose. Mite–cluster three, decrease speed by 12 percent. Adjust the matrix, avoid the A–3 nerve bundle.”

My instructions rang out, clear and precise, with no room for hesitation.

It was as if I wasn’t performing a life–or–death soul–mending, but merely setting up a simple pack–law program.

“Understood!”

The command had barely left my lips when I watched the cluster of lunar micro–mites on the holographic screen instantly shift formation. They moved like a perfectly drilled pack, precisely navigating around a delicate nerve as they continued their work of breaking down the miasma.

Immediately, the patient’s vital signs on the monitor steadied, a clear, satisfying confirmation.

From the observation room, I heard the hushed, awestruck murmur of a silver–haired old Alpha expert. “It’s incredible… simply…” He trailed off, searching for words.

I knew he couldn’t find them.

Her control,” I heard him say, his voice low through the link, “it’s beyond what human hands should be capable of. Look at her focus; from start to finish, her wolf hasn’t wavered once, as if she’s sculpted into place. Her understanding of the spirit–core’s structure is deeper than ours, and we’ve spent our lives wielding the ceremonial blade.”

Another voice chimed in, equally stunned. “Her judgment is what truly chills me. In that situation, we’d have needed precious seconds, at least, to discuss, to decide. She acted in an instant.”

A collective silence fell over the room, heavy and reverent.

I could feel their gazes fixed on me, on my back as I sat at the console, the pure awe a tangible pressure in the air.

I knew what they saw. Not just a doctor.

But something more akin to an absolute, rational controller of the pack’s life–force.\

The seconds ticked by, each one a drumbeat against the silence of the Sanctum.

My expression remained perfectly still, calm and detached, as if I were a finely tuned instrument incapable of emotion.

My fingers flew across the luminous screen, each command unleashing billions of micro–mites deep within the patient’s brain to wage a silent war.

Cutting. Disintegrating. Devouring.

I watched, utterly captivated, as the lunar micro–mites went to work. The miasma cells, those insidious invaders that every top Alpha doctor had given up on a literal death sentence–were being devoured, bit by agonizing bit, until nothing remained.

Finally.

The last red dot, a stubborn symbol of the curse, vanished from the screen, and my fingers instantly froze.