ログインWe trade blows for a while after that. She’s getting better—still wild, still too eager to overextend, but her feet are faster, her flinches shorter. When she lands a clean hit on my ribs, she whoops like a kid.“See?” she pants. “Progress. Soon I’ll be an unstoppable murder sprite.”“Cassian is going to age ten years watching you call yourself that,” I say, clutching my side.“Cassian can get in line behind everyone else who underestimates me,” she says, but the fondness under it is impossible to miss.When we finally stagger off the mats, Bella appears like a soft‑voiced ghost with waters and a basket of something that smells like bread.“I heard thuds,” she says by way of explanation. “And Naomi yelling ‘murder sprite’ again.”Naomi takes a dramatic swig of water, then points at me. “Lilah has a nuclear button now. An actual one. Moon Goddess sanctioned.”Bella’s brows knit. “What?”I sigh. “Morwen told me I can… end the bond myself. If it comes to that.”Bella’s fingers tighten ar
LilahFor three days, I avoid being alone with Ronan.It’s easier than it should be. The pack is busy—the Rite preparations give everyone something to do, something to fret over. There are patrol schedules and supply counts and tense little meetings I’m not invited to.I make myself busy, too.Morning: sparring until my muscles shake. Cassian pairs me with warriors who don’t go easy. They don’t laugh now when I end up on my ass; they offer a hand and a grudging nod.Afternoon: the healing wing. Wren’s sling is off, his arm still tender but mending. He waves it at me proudly anyway. Bella hovers nearby with fresh bandages and a sketchbook tucked under one arm.Evening: Naomi, who’s made it her personal mission to learn how to throw anyone twice her size. Cassian pretends to be annoyed by this. His eyes say otherwise.I orbit all of it. Training. Healing. Friends. I let their noise fill me so there’s no room for a particular voice, lowest in the room, that my bones are always listening
“This isn’t about whether you deserve him,” Morwen says. “It never was. You were always enough. The question is whether he can be enough for you. Whether he can stop trying to be everything for everyone and finally choose a life where you are not collateral.”“What if he can’t?” I whisper. The thought has been rotting quietly in the corner of my heart for days. Hearing it aloud makes it worse.“Then you can end it,” Morwen says simply. “Not with your death, not if you are wise—but with your leaving. Properly done, with willingness and knife and word, you can sever the bond yourself. You can walk away.”My head snaps up. “I thought the Severing Rite was for that. Their ritual.”“Their Rite is a butchery,” she says, sudden disgust roughening her voice. “Crude, dangerous, meant to punish you for daring to exist outside their order. What I speak of is older. Cleaner. Rarely used, because few Lunas are willing to bear the break. But the Goddess gave you that key as well.”“Why haven’t you
LilahMorwen thinks she can keep dodging me.To be fair, she’s survived longer than most by being hard to catch, harder to pin down. But I’ve learned a few things since I got here. Like how the healers have a rhythm to their days and how even witches need tea.The healing house smells like it always does—boiled herbs, pine smoke, and faint copper from dried blood. Someone laughs in the front room; a pup whines, shushed by a patient nurse. I slip past them, down the back corridor.Morwen’s workroom door is cracked.Inside, she’s bent over a low table, sorting leaves into careful piles. The light from the high window catches silver in her braid. A pot steams softly on a tripod, fragrant and sharp.“Busy?” I ask, pushing the door fully open.She doesn’t start. Of course, she already knew I was there. Her fingers keep moving, methodical.“For values of busyness,” she says evenly. “Come in, Luna.”“Don’t call me that,” I say, shutting the door behind me. I lean back against it so she can’t
*Lilah*Naomi's scream echoes across the training yard.I spin from the weapon rack, heart spiking—but then I hear the laugh that follows it, sharp and bright, and I relax.She's fine. She's just losing spectacularly.Cassian has her in a basic disarm hold, one arm twisted behind her back, her face pressed against his shoulder. She's thrashing like an angry cat in a sack, feet kicking at nothing."This is a dirty move," she snarls."It's a textbook disarm," he corrects, visibly trying not to smile. "You've been practicing this for three days.""Three days of you cheating," she shoots back."Firecracker, I could do this with my eyes closed.""Obviously not, because you're watching me suffer."I lean against the rack, arms folded, watching the spectacle. A few wolves passing by slow down, amused. Some of them even smile.Two months ago, Naomi would have been dragged off to a cell for this. Now she's being taught holds by the Beta and getting called nicknames.Progress.She catches my ey
*Lilah*Naomi is exactly where I expect to find her: sprawled on my pallet like she owns it, tapping something into a battered notebook she’s decided is now her “werewolf intel log.”Bella sits cross‑legged on the bed above, sorting herbs. Morwen gave her into neat little piles on a cloth. She looks up first when I push the door shut behind me a bit too hard.“Hey,” she says softly. “You look like you want to murder a wall.”“Or a council,” Naomi adds without looking up. “Or a smug wolf king. Or all of the above.”I lean back against the door, palms flat against the worn wood, and try to breathe.The images keep replaying: Malric’s voice, smooth as poison. Jax’s, lazy and edged. *Rite. Thorn. She’ll break. She’ll beg to leave.*“I just overheard Malric having a cozy little strategy session with Jax,” I say.That gets Naomi’s full attention. She bolts upright. “Define ‘cozy.’”Bella’s hands are still over the herbs.I cross the room and sink onto the bed opposite Naomi, feeling suddenl
*Lilah*He walks me back to my room in silence.Leo falls in behind us without a word. The tension in the corridor follows like a ghost—cracked stone, torn fabric, the echo of a boy’s scream, and the memory of Ronan’s hand on my face.My heart hasn’t quite figured out how to calm down yet. It stutt
*Lilah*I'm halfway through my morning training session with Cassian when I hear the name."—Jax Thorn sent it himself," Leo is saying to another warrior at the edge of the field. "Official seal. The works."Cassian's fist stops an inch from my face.I blink, belatedly remembering I was supposed to
*Ronan*I don't sleep.After Malric's shadow retreats down the corridor, I carry Lilah to the bed, settle her under the blankets, and sit in the chair by the window until the moon sinks and the first gray light bleeds across the sky.She sleeps fitfully. Sometimes, her fingers twitch, nails flicker
*Ronan*For a breath, all I can do is stare.Half‑moon grooves scar the floorboards where her nails dug in. Her fingertips are tipped in blunt, half‑formed claws. The air in the room crackles with the echo of her scream.And her eyes—Gold. Not a flicker. Not a trick of the light.A full, predatory







