The Breaking Point of Mate: Giving Up on My Alpha novel Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Third Person’s POV

After four hours of intense discussion, night had deepened. Elmer and the team decided to take a break, planning to resume in two hours. Melanie organized the day’s findings, closed the computer, and stepped outside for fresh air, intending to gather some mountain spirit fruits to bring back.

The mountain breeze carried a chill, but wrapped in her heavy cloak, Melanie felt nothing. Accompanied by two guards, she ascended the winding path. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor.

Breathing in the crisp night air as she collected the spirit fruits, her mood gradually settled. In short order, she had filled two or three baskets. But she made no hurry to descend. Instead, she settled atop the mountain, gazing at the nightscape. The wind, heavy with the scent of leaves and earth, lifted the weight pressing on her chest.

Suddenly, footsteps broke the silence, accompanied by a familiar child’s voice.

“It’s Melanie!”

Melanie turned. Dwight stood there, as startled to see her as she was him. In the magic mirror he held, Myra smiled and waved.

Instantly, Dwight’s wolf stirred. Melanie’s scent–tinged with a lonely detachment that ran deep in their bond–hit him like a jolt. 1

The faint scent of apples clinging to Melanie’s skin refused to fade around him. As an Alpha, he understood exactly what it meant–the bond between her and Archer was close to unraveling. That was why he could sense the pheromones meant to belong to her mate alone. A quiet, illicit thrill stirred within him. In this moment, he was the only one who could smell it.

Instinct urged him closer–to close the distance, to claim her, to make her his, if not in name then in truth.

Reason snapped him back. He was Archer’s friend. He could not cross that line. Squaring his shoulders, he slowed his pace. His tail relaxed, ears tilted back, body leaning subtly away, masking the yearning inside. [1

Still, his instincts remained alert. His tail twitched ever so slightly, ears shifting forward unconsciously. He sensed she needed protection and understanding–but he could not let Archer see.

Dwight paused, lost for a moment in thought. In his hand, Myra waved again, smiling on the screen of the phone.

Even after several recent meetings, Melanie had not grown or wanted to grow–too familiar with Dwight Her expression was cool at first, but softened at the sound of Myra’s voice.

Dwight noticed the change and restrained himself from approaching. From a few meters away, he asked,

“Myra wants to talk to you. Is now a good time?”

Melanie nodded. He handed her the phone. His woll felt the tension in her fingers, lowering its head, tail slowly retracting tempering its fire.

She spoke with Myra for a while, learning that her grandmother had taken het out to play that day They shared the aunt’s beauty. After ten minutes or so, Melanie returned the phone to Dwight

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice low and steady

“You’re welcome,” she replied, calm and firm

Night had nearly fallen completely, yet the mountain path remained visible under the glow of the nightstone Melanie began her descent, Dwight following silently His wolf still growled within, tail twitching lightly–a tervent, soppressed possessiveness smoldering like fire He had to stay silent, respect the line but his eyes refused to leave her

Back at the hall, they encountered Camille. She froze at their sight descending the mountain, lips pressing tightly together Melanie ignored her, walking straight into the hall.

Chapter 78

+25 Bonus

Camille frowned, turning to Dwight.

“You two…”

“We met on the mountain,” he said flatly.

Camille knew Dwight had gone to show Myra the sacred mountain fruits, so encountering Melanie made sense. Suspicion eased slightly.

“They’re over by the courtyard. The bonfire feast ingredients are ready, and they were about to call for you,” she said.

“Mhm.” Dwight acknowledged, and the two walked side by side.

By the time night fully settled over the valley, the bonfire blazed. Flames consumed resin–soaked logs, crackling as tongues of fire leapt upward, radiating heat outward. The air thickened with the primal scent of charcoal, fat, marrow, and blood–a wildness unique to the pack.

This was no ordinary gathering.

It was a feeding.

A massive iron pot hung above the flames. Bones, game birds, and herbs simmered slowly, broth bubbling as dark steam spiraled upward. Several werewolves shifted instinctively, Adam’s apples rolling, fangs glinting faintly behind lips.

A long table stretched out before them, laden with the night’s hunt–venison chops, bison, river fish, neatly prepared offal, and both raw and partially cooked meat rubbed with salt and herbs.

This feast was not for outsiders.

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