The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 146: Chapter 146: The Banquet

The forest grew quiet as Selene walked, her steps light over the damp earth. Behind her, the little black wolf padded close, never straying too far. His paws made no sound, but his presence pressed, warming her cold heart.

Selene did not tell him to follow, yet he did. Every time she glanced to the side, he was there, his dark fur brushing against her.

She stopped once, kneeling on the moss. Her hand reached down almost on its own, sinking into his soft fur. The wolf leaned into her touch, his body warm, pressing close to her. Selene’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes stayed tired, filled with pain as once again the past resurfaced in front of her eyes.

Even though she had punished one of the men who was responsible for her mother’s death, she felt no joy—only endless sorrow and emptiness in her heart.

Because she knew no matter how much she cried or made these men suffer, the one thing she yearned for would never come back to her—her mother. She was already gone, and Selene was left alone in the world, with no one to call family or rely on.

Her eyes misted, but she held her tears back and refused to let them fall.

Even the wolf noticed the fluctuations in her emotions, because in the next second he started licking her hand.

"You’re too stubborn," she whispered, her fingers stroking over his head. "I told you not to follow me."

The wolf only pushed closer, rubbing his head against her arm as if to say he didn’t care.

Selene sighed quietly, which felt almost like a laugh. For a moment, her hard heart softened. She patted him again, slower this time, as though each touch was a comfort she didn’t know she needed.

The wolf’s eyes curved with happiness when she wasn’t looking. There was something odd in his expression. If Selene had seen it, she would have found that his expression really did not look like a normal animal with low intelligence.

He watched her face when she turned away, his gaze heavy with quiet sorrow, as though he knew the weight she carried.

But when Selene finally looked back at him, those eyes blinked, and the depth vanished. What remained was only a playful glint, a stupid little wolf’s light. He tilted his head, his tongue lolling out, pretending to be nothing more than what he seemed.

shook her head, a faint smile tugging her lips. "You silly thing," she murmured,

skirt brushing against the leaves, and began to walk again. The little wolf bounded after her, tail flicking, as if

deeper into the forest,

toward the pack’s land. Selene’s steps slowed as the familiar weight of duty pressed

she was herself. She had removed the enchantment—maybe that’s why the little wolf was able to track her and even

behind her, his paws silent, his head low but

with her to the pack. "You can’t come

eyes pitifully. His tail brushed

to stroke his fur, her fingers curling gently into the warmth of his coat. "Listen," she said softly. "I have to go back. I can’t take you with me. Do you

closer, rubbing against her arm, refusing to leave her again. His body trembled, as though the thought of being left behind was unbearable. His eyes, full of stubborn

to his head in a tender kiss. "Don’t be like this," she whispered. "You’ve followed

paws pressing into the ground like roots. For him, this was not just a whim. After countless nights of searching, after endless failure, he had

her voice breaking into a soft plea. "Please. I need to go." Her fingers brushed his ears, her lips pressed once more

painfully, he sat back. His eyes—so pitiful, so

Her hand cupped his face as she kissed him once more, a gentle promise she

to walk. Her heart pulled tight with each step, but she did not

body trembling, his eyes following her every movement—pitiful,

he lower his head. His gaze turned toward the dark path where Navien still lay unconscious. With slow steps, he began to walk that way, the same direction they had come from,

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were filled with food, steaming and rich. Roasted meat gave off a strong scent, fruits shone like jewels, and wine in crystal cups waited untouched. Dark cloths covered the tables, and tall

with fur, showing their place above the rest. The emblem of the Silver Dawn pack

was ready. Yet no one touched the feast. The whole hall was

with every shift of light. Her curves pressed against the fabric, her shoulders bared and her cleavage so deep it hid nothing, as though she had dressed not for a banquet but for a brothel.

whom all this display was meant. She knew why Meriya painted her lips red and let her laughter ring hollow in the empty room. It was not for guests. It was not for the feast. It