บททั้งหมดของ Lycans of Lunar Isle: บทที่ 171 - บทที่ 180

OpheliaThe door swung open and slammed against the wall with a crash. The flames licking at my hands fizzled out, their life sucked away by the thing that stood at the foot of Nova’s bed.It was a shadow in the shape of a man, but the darkness it was made up of was unlike anything I’d ever seen. One glimpse at how it devoured all light, even that from Nova’s bedside lamp, and I could tell it wasn’t the kind of darkness one found in this world.The shadow had no lips, but somehow it stretched them back to flash its sharp teeth.“Nova!” I shouted, but I couldn’t see past the demon. Goddess, let her be alive. She had to be alive. I turned my sights on the demon and tucked away every ounce of fear I felt. This demon wasn’t like the mindless runts my father had summoned. It was capable of thinking—of understanding. Hopefully, it understood this. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. I don’t care if I have to rip a portal into your fucking realm to do it.”Its grin began to widen, stretching unt

RykerThe purr of the Impala’s engine dampened to a quiet rumble as I pulled up to Edward’s place.His scent was everywhere. Salty like the ocean, but with a bitterness that made me feel like I needed to drink a gallon of water to wash it all down. Ophelia’s scent added a touch of sweetness, a burst of ripe cherries that settled across my tongue like a layer of sugar.Scanning the house, I immediately noticed Edward watching from the front window. His eyes held a claim in them that made me long to tear out his throat.Only a fool couldn’t see what the boy was planning. He wanted our mate, and not for the things he’d claim to want her for. Everything out of his mouth was sure to be a lie.Disposing of him would be smartest. Kill him before he kills us. Kills her. He’ll finish the job, and then who will you have? Jude won’t say in this world long—not without her. Edward needs to die. Tonight. Right now. A snarl ripped out of me. “Stai zitto, cazzo! Voci di merda!” [Shut the fuck up! Fu

OpheliaI returned to find Ryker in a heated discussion with who I assumed was another family member. The two were speaking rapidly, their expressions darkening like rolling storm clouds.“Te l'ho detto, Jude si è scusato. Ha sostituito la macchina, vero?” [I told you, Jude apologized. He replaced the car, right?]The man pointed at Ryker and growled, “Sappiamo entrambi che sei stato tu a sostituire la mia macchina. Tieni quel punk psicopatico lontano dalle mie cose! [We both know you're the one who replaced my car. Keep that psycho punk away from my stuff!]” Snatching a beer from a nearby ice bucket, he staggered off muttering to himself in Italian.Ryker was smirking to himself when I approached. “Did he say Jude’s name? What did he do this time?”“Nothing as of recent. He may have set Luca’s car on fire in the past though.”“Guy holds a grudge.”“Wouldn’t you, tesoro?”I shrugged. “I don’t know. Jude can be charming when he wants to be.”Folding his arms over his chest, Ryker crane

OpheliaMy head snapped up. The rich scent of whiskey hung in the air, sharp and unmistakable. Edward had been drinking, but not enough to lose himself. His posture was too controlled, his gaze too sharp as it slid over me.“What?”“You were smiling to yourself, and your face is flushed.” He said, his voice smooth, but the tension coiled beneath was impossible to miss. “So, I asked, fun date?”I met his gaze, my pulse quickening for a reason that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with unease. Edward wasn’t stupid. He knew what my smile had been about. He knew where I had been—who I had been with.He wasn’t pleased.Internally, I tried not to panic.There was a reason why Ryker and Jude had dropped me back off at Edwards house, despite our agreement stating I had to sleep under their roof.My father was coming today.At two a.m. exactly he’d be stepping through a portal with another batch of those mate-bond suppressing potions. I still hadn’t fessed up to the lie t

NovaWhatever I thought I’d been prepared for—it wasn’t this.He wasn’t some decrepit, mangled creature dredged up from the darkest pits of Hell. There were no pus-filled boils or swathes of infected, blistered skin peeling from his face and torso. No forked tongue or souls of the damned clawing to free themselves from his rotting body.He was tall and lean, with lightly tanned skin. His body was sculpted in a way that made every line of him feel intentional. Dangerous. His inky hair was unruly, curling around his forehead and ears. There was a thick white streak sliced through it, striking and unmistakable.Two crimson eyes, like polished rubies stared out at me.Tattoos inked his skin in bold, strange patterns. They coiled around his upper arms, around his throat, and around the contours of his chest.In his hand—of all things—was a rubber spatula.He was eating the vanilla buttercream I had made straight from its container. My breath caught again. I had planned to use that frostin