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Final steps

Penulis: Natacha_H
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-09-03 17:28:19

Allison P.O.V.

She’s fast. Not young, not fresh, but fast in the way of women who’ve burned so much of themselves there’s nothing left to slow them down.

She gives ground when I press her to the wall of air that Talia hung and then takes it, snapping her wrist for my face. Dawn tilts my head. The strike whispers by. I answer with my shoulder; she flows around it like smoke. It’s like fighting perfume.

“Mother,” Crean says, rope humming, “stop playing.”

She doesn’t. Her eyes never leave mine. There’s a very small part of me that wants to say I see you, and then I remember the puppy kicked, and what she wanted to teach me, and decide I’ll be generous tomorrow.

She inhales, lips parting, black etching deeper. She’s about to pull something big.

‘Tara,’ I whisper, ‘please.’

‘Left,’ the child says at once, delighted. ‘And down. And… Now!’

I drop. The spell Caitlyn throws costs a decade; I can feel it peel off her. It rips the air where my head was and hits the chimney Tabs has obligingly wr
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  • Alpha Blake's Broken Luna    The way out

    Talia P.O.V.Caitlyn hums inside the glass we wove for her, thin, sharp, like a mosquito on the wrong side of summer. Tabs and I keep the box small; the smaller it is, the fewer places her temper can rattle. My magic hush sits around it like packed snow. Tabs’ magic is iron that keeps the edges honest.“All the way down,” I tell the box softly, because I can’t help myself. “No tantrums.” Her eyes are the same shade they were the night she taught us to stop flinching. Black. “Ungrateful,” she mouths, her usual sneer in place altough in minin size now.“Alive,” I mouth back, and turn away before I remember more than I want to.We’re moving, with Blake in front, shoulders squared, Allie one step off his right with rope burns and a wolf’s grin that makes my chest ease. Ruby is on Nicholas’ near side, jaw set, palms open like she’s still talking the magic into good behavior. Oloron meets us at the stair head with his satchel of crystals and a face that is both my father and something old

  • Alpha Blake's Broken Luna    Final steps

    Allison P.O.V.She’s fast. Not young, not fresh, but fast in the way of women who’ve burned so much of themselves there’s nothing left to slow them down.She gives ground when I press her to the wall of air that Talia hung and then takes it, snapping her wrist for my face. Dawn tilts my head. The strike whispers by. I answer with my shoulder; she flows around it like smoke. It’s like fighting perfume.“Mother,” Crean says, rope humming, “stop playing.”She doesn’t. Her eyes never leave mine. There’s a very small part of me that wants to say I see you, and then I remember the puppy kicked, and what she wanted to teach me, and decide I’ll be generous tomorrow.She inhales, lips parting, black etching deeper. She’s about to pull something big.‘Tara,’ I whisper, ‘please.’‘Left,’ the child says at once, delighted. ‘And down. And… Now!’I drop. The spell Caitlyn throws costs a decade; I can feel it peel off her. It rips the air where my head was and hits the chimney Tabs has obligingly wr

  • Alpha Blake's Broken Luna    Stay mad

    Allison P.O.V:Caitlyn smiles, which looks like it hurts to be honest. The roof wind can’t find purchase on her; it slides off that lacquered darkness she wears like a second skin now. Crean lingers by the hatch, lazy rope in hand, watching angles the way other men watch sunsets.Blake’s heat is a wall at my back but I don’t lean; I anchor. Below us, the tower bones ring again, but it feels different this time, as Nicholas and my pack carve light into corridors.“Bring me her tongue,” Caitlyn purrs to the red-eyes who finally stagger up the stairs.“Try it,” I say, and Dawn bares her teeth inside me, gathering up all the power Caitlyn doesn’t know has been released. Not yet anyway. They surge and I step in.It’s ugly work. Elbow, heel, throat. My wrists are still cuffed, visible restraints, invisible slack, but my hands are mine under Crean’s theater. A baton cracks my forearm and I take the sting and answer with a toe to the kneecap that sings higher. Another reaches for my hair. Da

  • Alpha Blake's Broken Luna    Dancing on rooftops

    Blake P.O.V.The roof’s a bad joke; waist-high parapet that’d make a safety inspector faint, a chimney that leans like it’s thinking of retirement, and a view too pretty for what’s been happening underneath it.Bane comes for me because of course he does. He always picks the wrong fight.He’s bleeding from the wrist, and I see a bite mark rimmed in silver like honesty. His eyes are red-rimmed and mean. He feints high, dives low, tries to take my knees. I leave one foot where it is, lift the other, and make a small correction to his face with the bottom of my boot. The sound he makes is universal.Crean stands by the roof access like a museum guard who’s bored of his job and thinking of lunch. Rope twirls easily in his hand; shadow and poisoned teeth and practice. He’s watching angles, not egos. That’s the dangerous part.“Allison,” he says pleasantly, as if we’re at a garden party. “You’re very tiresome.”“She’s alive,” I tell him, putting myself between them, “which is what keeps end

  • Alpha Blake's Broken Luna    First wave - there she is

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  • Alpha Blake's Broken Luna    One, two, keeping my shoe

    Allison P.O.V.Stairs are the great equalizer to men who cheat in rooms with rugs and who forgets what happens when the walls are narrow when the only way is up.Crean knows. He’s already moving for the door when I bolt, but misses me by a hair. Curses that would impress me in a less tense situation swells over his lips. I just save the best ones for later, because if I learned anything it’s that later will come if I don’t want it to. Bane tries to shoulder-check me into the wall; I duck, and he kisses plaster. It’s not enough to dent his stupidity, but it dents the plaster enough to slow him down. I take the doorway anyway, cuffed hands close to my belly, and take the first turn of the stairs two steps at a time.It’s a service stair, stone spine, too tight for swagger. The air tastes like dust and old soap. The wards skitter over my skin like cobwebs, trying, looking for cracks to creep under to destroy me. I hold them off, grit my teeth and ground myself. Not today. Not ever.

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