Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 272

Chapter 272: Chapter 272

Aurora’s Perspective

It was a thrill that went bone-deep, like electricity under my skin, making every pore breathe in the night’s tense air. I tossed and turned in bed, the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets tangled into a ruin beneath me. Closing my eyes only brought a barrage of images—the pulsing red ambulance lights, Brett’s stubborn "I’m fine" grin, the frozen coldness in Mother’s eyes when she’d mentioned Uncle Keith’s team moving out.

Outside, the night was still a deep ink-black, only the faintest hint of grey seeping into the eastern horizon. The estate slept in silence, broken only by the low murmur of patrols changing shifts and the wind rustling through the ancient oaks.

Then the sounds changed.

First came sporadic, muffled cheers from the direction of the front courtyard, dulled as if heard through water. Then more voices joined in—guttural whoops, sharp whistles, the solid *thump* of fists pounding on something. Like oil hitting a hot pan, the noise instantly crackled, spread, becoming clear and vibrant.

I shot upright in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. Good news. It had to be good news. Uncle Keith’s team was back!

I scrambled out, grabbing a hoodie and jeans from the chair, shoving my feet into sneakers, and bolting from the room. The hallway motion-sensor lights flickered on as I ran. Lex’s door opened almost simultaneously next door. He was dressed just as hastily, a lock of hair sticking up, but his eyes—the same brown as mine—held no sleepiness, only sharp alertness.

"You hear it too?" I panted.

He nodded, wordless, falling into step beside me as we ran toward the main hall. The noise grew louder with every step.

Passing through the final arched doorway, the scene in the front courtyard hit me. Dawn’s first light was creeping in, the landscape lights still on, illuminating a gathered crowd. Two or three dozen of the pack’s younger members—and some not-so-young but clearly still fired up—were clustered there. Many were streaked with dirt, sweat, and unidentifiable dark smudges. One had a bandage wrapped hastily around a forearm. Every face was etched with raw, unvarnished triumph.

"...yanked the damn gate right off its hinges! You should’ve seen their faces!"

"...pulled at least thirty out! Skin and bones, every one!"

"...hell, good thing they surrendered fast, or we’d have been stringing up guts..."

"...beer! Someone get the beer! We’re drinking till sunrise!"

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, a faint hint of gunpowder, blood, and the raw, collective high of a successful hunt. Familiar faces from the training grounds or patrols now stood with arms slung over each other’s shoulders, pounding backs, boasting loudly. There was no shadow of death—at least not on our side—just pure, violent victory.

Lex and I stood in the shadow of the portico, watching. A faint, almost invisible smirk touched Lex’s lips—his version of keen interest. I felt my own blood warming with the noise, a wild urge to rush in and be part of that victory crashing in my chest. We weren’t kids to be kept in an ivory tower anymore. Brett’s ordeal, our own close calls, had proven that.

Just then, a clear, calm voice cut through the din. "Aurora. Lex."

We turned. Mother, Lily, stood at the entrance to a side corridor. She’d changed into tailored dark trousers and a jacket, her hair pulled back in a severe knot. She showed no trace of fatigue, only cool command. She gestured for us to follow.

The celebration was for the warriors. What came next belonged to those who made the decisions. Lex and I exchanged a glance, reining in our excitement, and followed her deeper into the main house.

Our destination was Father’s study. The heavy dark wood door was both familiar and foreign. Familiar from childhood, when I’d sneak in to hide under the massive oak desk or curl in the window seat facing the gardens, listening to Father and visitors talk in low, serious tones about things I didn’t understand, until Mother or the housekeeper fetched me out.

Foreign because, as I grew older, my self-awareness and resistance to that "weighty atmosphere" had grown. I hadn’t voluntarily stepped inside in years. It represented duty, rules, the pack’s heavy past and even heavier future—everything I’d tried to escape. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Mother knocked twice on the door and pushed it open without waiting.

The study was brightly lit. The heavy drapes were open, letting in the weak dawn light, but the main illumination came from the fire crackling in the hearth and the antique brass lamp on the desk. The air smelled of cigar smoke, old leather, paper, and a tense, heavy silence.

It was crowded. Almost the fullest I’d ever seen it for an informal gathering.

Father—Alpha Ethan Lyton—sat in his signature high-backed armchair, silhouetted against the not-yet-bright morning, his presence imposing and steady.

Beta Xavier sat like a silent mountain slightly in front of the desk, hands folded, his gaze calmly sweeping over newcomers. Uncle Adrian leaned against a bookshelf opposite, playing with a silver lighter, his expression unreadable.

Uncle Jacob sat on a sofa. He’d changed out of his bloodied clothes, but fresh scrapes marked his face and hands. He sat rigidly, like a sheathed sword still humming, his fury banked but ready to ignite.

Uncle Keith sat beside him, looking far more exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, stubble shading his jaw. A half-drunk mug of black coffee steamed on the low table before him, surrounded by a few waterproof document bags and scattered items—badges, keys.

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