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Restless Obsession

Penulis: J.C Valecrest
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-09-12 19:12:37

The Silvermoon Pack mansion stood cloaked in quiet grandeur. By day it was alive with servants scurrying about, but at night, when the world hushed beneath the silver gleam of the moon, the silence grew heavy, haunting for those who carried secrets.

Kaelen paced his chamber like a restless predator. The night of his Luna ceremony had passed, and still his chest burned with an ache he could not quench. His hands raked through his hair, tugging at the roots as if pain might silence the thoughts flooding his head.

Liora… The name pulsed in his mind like a forbidden chant.

He had whispered it once by mistake…no, not a mistake, a truth..while tangled in Ravena’s arms. Her scent should have anchored him, but it didn’t. It burned like firewood, useful, but not enough to warm his soul. Liora’s scent, however, lingered in his memory: delicate, distant, untouchable. He remembered catching it faintly during the shifting ceremony. A fragrance like wild lilies touched with moonlight.

He stopped pa
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  • Mark by Destiny.   The Honeymoon

    Liora and christen as well as everyone else decided to rest after all the war and troubles. Liora went to take her bath and just when she was creaming her body with ointment, her towel fell and just then Christen walked in and froze, Liora froze too, but just then she picked up her towel Shyly and covered herself. Liora froze, her cheeks flushing as Christen’s eyes widened in surprise. The sudden, awkward moment made her heart race, but she quickly reached for her towel and wrapped it around herself, the softness of the fabric grounding her. Christen’s lips curved into a small, sheepish smile. “I—I didn’t mean to…” he started, his voice gentle, eyes filled with both admiration and amusement. Liora’s own lips twitched into a shy smile, her heart still fluttering. “It’s… alright,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the room softened as they stood there, caught between embarrassment and the warmth of their closeness. Christen took a cautious step

  • Mark by Destiny.   The wedding ceremony.

    The following week, the Moonveil Pack was a scene of tireless movement and vibrant excitement. The once-quiet valley was now alive with the sound of hammers striking, fabric rustling, and laughter carrying on the cool morning air. Banners of silver and blue — the colors of Moonveil — fluttered in the wind, their edges glinting like shards of light beneath the rising sun. The grand hall, carved from moonstone and oak, was decorated with wildflowers gathered from every border of the pack lands. The scent of lavender and moon-bloom roses drifted everywhere, mingling with the smoky sweetness of burning pinewood. Everywhere one looked, wolves and humans alike were hard at work — preparing food, setting tables, weaving garlands, and polishing weapons and armor that gleamed like silver under the sun. It was not just a wedding; it was a celebration of unity, the coming together of every allied pack after decades of division and war. Christen stood on a hill overlooking the valley, his han

  • Mark by Destiny.   Korrin's Reunion

    The promise kept. The sun was dipping below the mountains when Korrin rode into the quiet edge of the village. The scent of pine and blooming lilies filled the air, carrying the familiar calm of home. His armor was worn, his cloak torn and dusted with the trail of war, but his heart beat with only one thought — Mirra. The village seemed almost untouched by the chaos that had raged beyond its borders. Children ran barefoot through the fields, laughter mingling with the rustling leaves. Women gathered at the stream, washing and humming songs of peace once more. Yet, to Korrin, all the sounds of life blurred into a single hope — that Mirra was waiting, just as she had promised. As he approached their small wooden house on the hill, his horse neighed softly. The door opened before he could dismount. Mirra stood there — her eyes wide, her breath trembling. For a heartbeat, neither moved. The months of fear, of sleepless nights, of wondering if the other still lived — all melted in that

  • Mark by Destiny.   The Moon's Blessings before the Storm.

    The night stretched softly over Moonspire, quiet as though the stars themselves were holding their breath. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and moonflowers, and the pale silver light of the moon spilled gently over the palace courtyard. The battle that loomed over them was close — too close — and though the wolves of Moonspire had faced wars before, this one carried the weight of prophecy. Liora stood at the center of the gathering, her white cloak rippling slightly in the wind. Around her, the warriors of Moonspire, Silvermoon, and the allied packs bowed their heads in silence. Alpha Dean stood beside Loretta, their hands joined — strength and tenderness bound in one. Christen was just behind Liora, his expression steady yet solemn. Ravena and Kaelen stood together as well, her hand resting protectively over her swelling belly, a quiet prayer already forming on her lips. Liora raised her gaze to the moon. Her voice, soft yet commanding, drifted across the co

  • Mark by Destiny.   Liora's Leadership.

    Liora's vigilance. Moonspire did not sleep in ignorance. The rumor of the failed cup had stirred something like a net being mended: cautious hands, tight conversations, more eyes. Christen moved with the authority of one who has held sway and knows the cost of miscalculation. He did not rail at the risk; he countered it. “We move the supply lines,” he said to Liora in the dim of the strategy room, where a map lay like a sleeping creature. “We send two caravans in staggered timing. We post two guards at each crossing, one obvious, one hidden. Anything worth stealing will be watched.” Liora read the map as if she were listening to it. Her mind threaded smallness into the larger weave: who would grieve a sack of barley, who would whisper about a missing coin, which merchant would be quick to suspect rivals. She thought of jealous tongues that outlived precise facts. “We will make the small things public,” she said. “If a merchant’s sack goes missing, we will make it known that we hav

  • Mark by Destiny.   Theodore's Council.

    The torches flickered against the damp walls of Nightfang Fortress, their flames bending low as if afraid of the darkness that filled the war chamber. The air smelled of blood, ash, and damp fur. The stone floor was etched with claw marks from generations of battles planned and lost, but none had left such a stench of defeat as this night. Alpha Theodore sat at the head of the long obsidian table, his massive hands gripping the edges until the black veins on his arms pulsed. Around him, his wolves gathered — lieutenants, generals, and elders of the Nightfang line. None dared to speak. The silence weighed like iron. Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains, echoing the fury boiling inside their leader. Finally, Theodore rose. His armor creaked, dark metal plates shifting over muscle. His eyes — amber and cold — glowed with an unholy light that silenced even the bravest of his pack. He stood tall, the mark of the crescent moon scarred across his chest — a constant reminder o

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