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홈 / Werewolf / Mated To My Captor / Chapter 133: Blood (Kira POV)

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Chapter 133: Blood (Kira POV)

작가: ladidi
last update 게시일: 2026-04-20 13:01:18

"What do we have," I say, and Sage opens her laptop fully and looks at the screen and then she looks at me and she closes it again.

"I need to tell you something," she says. "I've been holding it because I didn't know when the right time was and I'm not sure this is it either but there isn't going to be a right time so."

"Just say it," I say.

She looks at her hands on the closed laptop and then at me. "When Juniper and I were cross-referencing the genealogic

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  • Mated To My Captor   Chapter 167: The Weight of the Dawn

    (Kira POV)The sun didn’t rise with a celebratory flare; it crept over the edge of Callahan City like a bruised secret. The light was a pale, watery gold that washed over the carnage of the observation deck, turning the shattered glass and cooling blood into a mosaic of failures.We sat in a ragged semi-circle, the silence so thick it felt like another presence on the roof. Dante sat closest to the edge, his silhouette sharp against the morning sky. He looked at the bodies, at Silas, whose twisted ambition had almost rewritten the stars, and at Cassidy, whose sacrifice had been the final, bitter anchor for our survival.Dante reached out, his fingers tracing a jagged line in the frost on the concrete. "I spent my whole life looking up to them," he said, his voice a low, hollow rasp. "Silas taught me how to read the city’s Ley lines. Cassidy taught me how to throw my first punch.

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    I flipped the business card between my fingers for the hundredth time, watching lamplight catch the embossed lettering. Elias Blackwell. Community Advocate. The Cleansing.Three days since that night outside the diner. Three days since I'd watched my sister get dragged away b

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    Pain woke me first, a dull, throbbing ache in my left shoulder that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Then came awareness: sterile smell of antiseptic, soft beeping of monitors, the scratch of starched sheets against my skin.Hospital. No, infirmary. The pack infirmary.

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    I stood outside the infirmary door for longer than I should have, hand still resting on the cool metal handle. My heart hammered against my ribs in a rhythm that felt foreign, too fast, too erratic, nothing like the controlled calm I'd spent eighteen years perfecting.The mat

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    I couldn’t sit still.The suite felt too small, the walls pressing in like they were trying to squeeze the air out of my lungs. I paced from the window to the couch, back again, boots scuffing the same strip of carpet until the fibers started to look worn. Sage’s

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