Page 111 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I felt power surge from deep within—not rushing, flood-like power, but slow, steady power, like underground water seeping through rock crevices. It filled the dried riverbeds bit by bit, moistened the cracked earth bit by bit.

I closed my eyes, letting that power flow through me. I felt my bones trembling slightly, muscles regaining tension, blood accelerating.

I drew a deep breath—this time, my lungs didn't burn.

Then I opened my eyes.

Mia had stopped singing. She looked at me with surprise and worry mixed in her expression. She still clutched those stones, knuckles white from gripping.

"You—" she started, voice uncertain. "Your color's better."

I didn't answer. Because my attention was completely focused on something else.

My wolf. It had stood up in my chest. It shook out its fur, lifted its head, pricked its ears, then—

It opened its mouth.

A low sound surging from deep in its throat, like the earth's rumble before an earthquake, like distant thunder before a storm. That sound vibrated through me, making every bone resonate, every inch of skin tingle.

I'd never heard this sound. But I recognized it.

It was the prelude to a howl.

Five years.

I shifted into a wolf.

The process went smoother than expected—bones breaking and reforming didn't sound so harsh, muscles stretching didn't hurt so much. Within seconds, I became a silver-gray wolf standing at the bottom of that damp cave, four paws on moss, tail swaying slowly behind me.

Mia stared at me, eyes wide.

I looked at her, then raised my head.

The cave ceiling was high, so high moonlight barely reached the bottom. But that light—that beam of pale, cold moonlight leaking from the opening—it was there, like a signal that had been waiting five years for me.

I drew a deep breath.

Then I opened my mouth and released my first howl in five years.

When that sound poured from my throat, I barely recognized it as my own. It wasn't perfect, textbook wolf howl—it was hoarse, trembling, like rusted gears turning again, like a dry riverbed welcoming water again. But it was real. It was my own voice. Not a substitute, not a fake, not someone else's voice for me.

It was me.

My howl echoed through the cave, bouncing off rock walls, layer upon layer of echoes, like someone lighting a string of firecrackers in the darkness, exploding one after another. That sound pierced rock, pierced earth, pierced forest, spreading toward the night sky.

Then, I heard responses.

Not one. Not two. But a whole chorus.

Wolf howls from the distance, rising and falling. Like someone lit a match in darkness, then that flame spread rapidly, igniting the entire forest. Those voices wove together—high, low, long, short—converging into a flood, crossing the night sky, crossing the forest, crossing the cave entrance, pouring into my ears.

My pack. They were answering me.

Five years. Five years without hearing their alpha's howl, five years waiting in darkness, five years not knowing if their leader still lived—

They heard.

They were coming.