After sneaking into a ceremony with a stolen invitation, Mordeu begins training to become an elite warrior in the Luna Cavalry—a group created to keep peace among the Supernatural. But just when he thinks he has a clear path, everything changes, turning his world upside down. In the middle of it all, Mordeu meets Cillian, the mysterious son of Alvitir. Their bond grows quickly, pulling Mordeu in deeper than he expected. As he searches for answers about the strange color of his fur, he finds loyal friends—but also a rising battle within his own mind. Can Mordeu stay strong through the chaos? Or will Tristan, the ghost of his past, be the one to break him?
View MoreMordeu shifted in his position, and Fjall placed a hand on Alana’s shoulder as a show of comfort and concern.She gave him a wary smile, but her eyes drifted back to Mordeu, whom she had been staring at since the beginning of her story.“He gave reasons to my mother, and it succeeded in pacifying her anger, but I was left with a broken heart, and I was angry and sad. My mother kept those reasons from me and only told me that Cillian was not for me, that I should move on. No matter how many times I asked her why, she never gave me an answer.”Fjall smiled pitifully at her. “And so this anger and need to expose their secrets originated from a broken heart,” he nodded. “It’s understandable now why you hate them. I will no longer call your obsession stupid. Cillian should pay for what he did to you.”Mordeu was surprised at what his brother was saying. He swatted Fjall’s hand from Alana’s shoulder, ignoring the look of confusion that took over Fjall’s appearance. Mordeu proceeded to draw
Alana rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I don’t see how any of it is a business of yours.”“Ahh,” Freya said like she had just had an epiphany. “Maybe your heart still longs for him?” she asked mockingly. “He openly rejected you. Take a hint, sister. You shouldn’t embarrass the coven with your lewdness, especially in a different Kingdom.”A hand went across her face. Freya’s entourage gasped and moved to attack Alana, who was prepared, waiting for them to pounce on her. Surprisingly, Freya stopped them from attacking by lifting a hand.She chuckled at Alana. “You must really enjoy hitting me, Alana. Does it excite you?” Her smirk was seductive.“Only a shameless, ugly-looking ogre would ever get excited by you. Oh wait, one already has,” Alana mocked.It was Freya’s turn to hit her, and so she did.“Don’t you dare bring him up,” she seethed.“Oh, you can bring up Cillian, but I can’t bring up your stinky ogre?” Alana asked rhetorically. “How rich, very elven-like.”Freya humphed as she fl
Mordeu was surprised to hear that. He lifted an eyebrow at Fjall, but before he could say anything, Alana said:“How are you so lax about everything that’s happening?” Alana’s voice was getting louder and angrier, her eyebrows were narrowed, and her heartbeat was quickening.Mordeu was taken aback by her tone, bewildered as to why she was getting so emotional over the issue. “Well, because it’s none of my business!”“They invited us here, and our safety might be compromised. What if one day you wake up and you’re engulfed in flames?” She gestured with so much enthusiasm, it looked like she was losing her mind over her unhealthy obsession with the issue.“Well, if that day comes, I’ll regret not listening to you right now. But if it doesn’t, then I’ll be happy that during my time here, I never got into things that were not my business,” Mordeu finalized sternly. He hoped she would finally get the message that in that aspect of her interest in the Alvitirs, he did not wish to indulge.A
Mordeu was shocked. He wanted to see what was going on. Why wasn’t anyone helping? Still, there was no time to waste asking questions. He pushed through the crowd until he reached the front row, where he could see everything without much effort.But he wasn’t just there to watch—he wanted to help.When he saw the scene, he understood why no one had stepped in. In the center stood the son of Alvitir—the white-haired boy. He held a sword, and his attacker stood opposite him, also armed.It didn’t make sense. Why was a wolf fighting with a sword? And where was his family or the guards?The son of Alvitir wore white robes—the same ones he had on earlier that day—but now they were stained with blood. The crowd had circled around him. His eyes were filled with cold, murderous intent.On the ground lay two dead bodies, both assassins dressed in black, their faces hidden just like the one still standing. Mordeu looked back at the white-haired boy. His chest rose and fell heavily. He seemed ex
The princess frowned at him and stopped walking for a moment, which made Mordeu chuckle. But she didn’t turn back—she kept walking forward with her group.“So you’re telling me I could slap that princess and not get in trouble for hitting a royal?” a girl asked Mordeu.Mordeu didn’t even look at her. He was too busy laughing hard at what she said.His loud laugh caught the attention of Lord Alvitir and his group. The Lord stood with two people: a pale boy with white hair and dull grey eyes, who looked tired just hearing Mordeu laugh, and a pretty girl with brown hair and bright green eyes—just like Lord Alvitir. Mordeu could see they were probably related.Then he heard a low groan. It wasn’t from him, but it was close, so he turned to see.It was Fjall. He was standing still next to a girl, staring at the Alvitir family with a look Mordeu knew too well—lust.“My mate,” Fjall groaned again, his eyes fixed ahead. He looked like he was starving, but not for food. It gave Mordeu chills,
“You fucking lowborn trash.”The guy on top of him threw another punch at his face, smashing his head into the dirt. He could taste soil mixed with blood. If he could speak, he’d say it was a disgusting mix.But there was nothing he could do except take the beating.He was just a lowborn trash anyway.Unlike him, the guy sitting on top of him, making his legs go numb with his weight, was from an important clan—rich, proud, and full of himself. The perfect arrogant jerk to steal from.When the “highborn” finally had enough, he got off him and climbed onto his horse. He rode off with his group of cologne-soaked pricks. Either they’d been at a whorehouse last night or they were the type of men who wore makeup and did things with other men.Mordeu slowly got up, spitting out the sand and blood he’d kept in his mouth. He could feel his wounds starting to heal, but the bruises from that jerk were still bad. If he went home like this, his mom would know he’d been in a fight.So he had to sta
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