Masuk"Fuck."The curse is torn from my throat before I can stop it. It's not just irritation; it's a white-hot fury that sears through me as I stare down at my own unconscious body lying crumpled on the floor, a heap of useless limbs and stubborn pride in a form that is now his."Are you kidding me?" The words are a low growl, vibrating in this borrowed chest. "Now? Of all the cowardly, idiotic, *infuriating* times to collapse—you choose *now*?" My voice is a throaty rasp, a frustrated sound that barely contains the storm brewing inside.I crouch beside him, my fingers, clumsy and foreign, press against the side of my own neck, searching for a pulse.It's there. Strong. Steady. A stubborn, maddening rhythm that matches the man himself, even trapped in my fragile form.I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, the air leaving my lungs in a shaky, defeated rush. My shoulders sag for the briefest of seconds before the frustration comes crashing back in."So close," I grit out, the wo
Commander Holt screams. "No!" He tries crawling backward. "I'll talk! I'll tell you every contact! I'll—"The second strike is just as swift.Silence.Blood slowly spreads across the stone floor. The remaining warriors stare in horror. Ravelle wipes the blade clean on Holt's uniform before handing it back without a tremor. Her voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of a death sentence."If anyone else serves another master..." She slowly surveys every face. "...leave now. Because the next execution... will be slower."Nobody moves. Nobody even breathes too loudly. All I can see is absolute obedience. Not born from fear alone, but from certainty. She meant every word. And somehow... I understand why people would follow her. Not because she's powerful, but because when she makes a decision... she doesn't hesitate. She bears its weight herself. She doesn't look away. I hate admitting it. But... this... this is what leadership looks like.The hallway slowly empties as warriors rush to
I stand frozen, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, my brain slowly processing her words. I open my mouth to speak, but once again no word comes out. The silence stretching through the hall feels almost unbearable, a thick, suffocating blanket that terrifies me far more than her shouting ever could.Then, with a frustrated sigh, Ravelle slowly turns away from me. Without another argument. Without another attempt to convince me. She looks at every single warrior standing in the corridor. Her expression is unreadable. Cold. Calculating. Dangerously calm."You all failed."Her voice isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. The disappointment in those three words is enough to make several warriors lower their heads in shame."You were given one duty." She folds her arms behind her back, pacing slowly before them, my body moving with a predatory grace I know all too well. "Protect the former Luna. You trained for years. You swore your lives." She stops in front of the oldest warrior,
The roar of blood in my ears drowns out everything else. The frantic searching of the warriors, the desperate shouting echoing through the corridors, the birds chirping outside, the very beating of my own heart—it all fades beneath the storm inside me.A red haze blurs my vision. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms so deeply I feel them break the skin, but the pain is a distant echo. It's nothing.Nothing compared to the fire raging in my chest, a volcano of pure, unadulterated fury.Mother.The only word left in my head. The only thing that matters.I can barely breathe."ARRRGH!"A guttural scream tears from my throat, a sound so full of rage and pain it doesn't sound human. It's the sound of a trapped animal, a cornered beast. I lash out, sending a delicate porcelain lamp crashing to the floor. It shatters, but it's not enough. I sweep my arm across her dressing table, sending perfumes and trinkets flying. The mirror cracks, a spiderweb of fractures reflecting a hundr
This time, when the food comes, I force myself to eat every single bite. The stew tastes like ash, the bread like sawdust, but I choke it down. My stomach protests, a low, queasy rumble, but it stays down. Barely. Soon exhaustion claims me, my eyelids become impossibly heavy. I lean back against the pillows, the softness a strange comfort.Just for a minute... Only a minute. The low murmur of the guards' voices outside fades into a dull hum. My breathing steadies, deepens. Before I know it... sleep drags me under._____Sleep doesn't feel like rest. It feels like drowning. Darkness pulls me under, swallowing every thought until even my father's face disappears, and fortunately, there's no nausea. No aching muscles. No burning throat from vomiting.Just... nothing. Peace. I don't know how long it lasts.Then consciousness slowly claws its way back. My eyelids flutter open. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar for a second before memory crashes back into place. My Father's house. The
I'd rather die.The thought pounds through my skull as another wave of nausea threatens to rise from my stomach. I swallow it back down with a grimace.I'd rather have my throat ripped open on a battlefield, feel claws tearing through my flesh, have my father drive a silver sword through my heart.AnythingAnything but this.My stomach still twists, a hollow, clenching fist even though there's nothing left inside. My body feels like a brittle shell, exhausted after three straight days of heaving over a toilet until tears streamed down my face. Every muscle aches with a deep, bone-weary sickness that has nothing to do with injury and everything to do with this… this weakness.How do women survive this? How does Ravelle survive this and still have enough strength to glare at me like she wants to set me on fire? I don't understand it. I don't want to understand it.For one brief, pathetic, humiliating moment back there, I'd been willing. I'd accepted she'd get the key, get her wolf back,
I pull out the omega uniform from under my bed—plain brown cloth, shapeless, loose, ugly, and absolutely perfect for hiding the red dress beneath it. No one looks twice at omegas. Not in a palace that employs hundreds.I braid my hair up, tuck it beneath a dull omega scarf, then close my eyes to co
The Lunar Virtue Conclave is unbearable even before the gossip begins—or the class itself.The hall hums the way it always does: too many voices layered on top of one another, laughter sharpened with envy, silk skirts whispering across polished stone floors.I sit near the back, posture perfect, ex
Revulsion claws up my throat the moment I see him.Of all the men in this cursed kingdom, he is the one who walks like the world should kneel simply because he was born male. Always lingering too close, always wearing that smirk I’ve been tempted far too many times to wipe clean off his face. He ac
The throne room smells like power and old lies.Stone walls rise high and cold, carved with victories that were never won by women. The air hums with deep male voices—officials, elders, and war strategists—gathered for the morning assembly. My father sits on the obsidian throne at the far end, crow







