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A tiny silver spark
Date de publication:
2026-09-23 16:25:33
Dernier chapitre
Rejected Luna of The Cursed Alpha We won’t let it break
The room fell into absolute, breathless silence.In the stone cradle next to the hearth fire, Leo lay curled up in his sheepskins, totally unaware that his little spark had just rewritten the rules of our ancient bloodline.Mother stood motionless in front of the mantel, the silver ritual bowl hovering still in her hands. Mother Elara stood by her side, murmuring a silent prayer in the old language of the north, slowly stepping towards the oak doors.Beside the roaring fire, Draven lay on the fur blanket.The heat coming from his body created a kind of inferno. His chest was shaking with shallow and sharp breaths, each of which sounded like shards of ice in his throat. The dark veins rising on his neck were pulsating in a violent way, fighting with a wild desperation against the remaining silver static I had infused him with at the gates.“Aria…”His voice was just a rasp, barely audible above the crackle of birch logs.I instantly turned to him, kneeling on the floor by the fireside.
Rejected Luna of The Cursed Alpha A tiny silver spark
The new horses carried us ruthlessly, eating miles in their fiery run across the northern tundra.By midnight, the blizzard had frozen into a brittle freeze. The sky above the icy ridge was split open with streaks of color like it didn't know if it wanted to rain or not.I rode knee-to-flank with the carriage, touching the wood with my hand.Once every half-hour, I checked on Draven. The fever was consuming his body from within, melting his skin into the glowing furnace. The king was fighting with himself in silence and cruelty, his jaws locked so tightly that blood was oozing from his mouth, his fingers scratching the bed of the carriage until crimson trails appeared on the timbers whenever the demon inside him came out. He didn't say a single word. He wouldn't waste any breath he needed to stay alive.But then, in the beginning of the third watch, the mountain road opened onto the high plateau."Torak!" I called out, lifting my voice.The captain pointed with his iron gauntlet towar
Rejected Luna of The Cursed Alpha Help me slay a five-hundred-year-old ghost
The answer was a howl of savage northern warriors, cutting through the teeth of the blizzard. The whip slashed over the backs of the four heavy draft stallions, the carriage lurched forward, and we were plunged into the narrow gorge of the Iron Pass.Under my many layers of fleece and wolf fur, the Tear of Elyra weighed heavily on my breastbone.It was quiet, its silvery light dimmed to a steady and rhythmic pulse. But inside my chest, behind the bone and muscle, I could still feel the phantom pain of the fractures I sustained at the Weeping Altar.I had been arrogant. I had underestimated the danger. In my desperation to save Draven from the beast within him, I had believed that bearing the blood of Elyra was enough. I had believed that the power of my love and raw defiance could swallow the centuries of ancestral retribution without consequences.Mother Morwen's words echoed in my thoughts. I needed my mother.My mind traveled backward through the leagues of snow, back to the tranq
Rejected Luna of The Cursed Alpha I need you where I can see you
Aria's POVThe mountain road was a gouge of black ice and sharp shale ripped from the ribs of the northern spine.The gray spires of Valemont were consumed by the storm behind us until nothing was left of the southern pack except for the ghostly reek of damp limestone, broken oaths, and burned silver. Ahead of us were two hundred leagues of frozen wilderness, leading straight to the heart of the northern realm, to my mother and my son.The wind tore down the gorge with the shriek of a wounded beast, hammering us with sharp sleet driven flat against our cheeks by the biting northern gale. I rode my mare to the right of the covered carriage, the wool cloak wrapped tightly around my neck, my gloved fingers numb from clutching the stiff leather reins. Every minute or so, the carriage jolted violently over a rut of ice, and my heart would jump into my throat.Every lurch was an agony that I knew Draven was enduring.I spurred my horse closer, leaning from the saddle to pull back the heavy
Rejected Luna of The Cursed Alpha That bastard she bore
Serena’s POVThe frost in the Sunken Hold was different from the cold of the mountain wind; it did not shift and bite and numb the skin. It simply fell upon me like wet wool, crawling in the seams of my bones and making each breath taste like stagnant water and weeping limestone.I was curled on the cold stone floors, dragging the hem of my shift over my knees, wrapped in the rough, unbleached linen saturated with the slimy muck of dungeon walls where prisoners before me had rotted away. My nails were broken and crusted with dark red where I had clawed at the bars when my sentinels first dropped me here.My bones ached, bruised and torn by the heavy gauntlets of men who used to look aside with reverence when I roamed the galleries of the Keep, but the rage in my chest smoldered brighter than any hearth in the Keep.Luna.I had earned the title with blood and pain. Every single full moon I gulped down the bitter, fiery draught of black-spore thistle just to keep my belly flat while tho
Rejected Luna of The Cursed Alpha If I hadn't rejected you
The way up from the Sunken Hold was a climb in stifling silence.Every step echoed on the stairs. Kael took the lead, his broadsword still in its sheath at his side, the golden torchlight flickering wildly up and down the damp spiraling walls. Behind him, Draven and I supported ourselves with the strength of his shoulder. His left arm held me at the small of my back.His skin burned through my cloak as hot as slag. The purple veins along his neck had gone dead and blue, but every harsh pant breathed in the faint smell of burnt ozone.We passed through the massive oak portal of the lower vaults and emerged into the High Courtyard of Valemont.The dawn on the mountains was not yet here. The sky was in an unusual color; I did not look at it much in my weak spirit. Twenty men from Draven's northern huscarls formed a strict formation in the frosty cobblestone. Their massive black-iron lamellar armor glowed with the moisture of the cold. In the front of them, their warhorses, the powerful
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