Semua Bab The Feral Alpha’s Rejected Luna: Bab 371 - Bab 380

Diana We land less than an hour later. In another hour, we’re standing at the edge of a massive cliff- the Vala Mire. The trees are dense around us—tall, ancient things. But they’re not what grab my attention. What I find myself fixated on is the fog that rises from the chasm below, thick and unmoving. I can’t see the bottom. No one can. And yet Eleanor believes the dark witches live down there? It doesn’t look like a place people live. It looks like a place people go to die. “How are we sneaking in?” I murmur, my voice low. “It’s broad daylight.” Eleanor steps beside me, her voice calm. “Dark witches are more active at night.” I blink at her, surprised. “Is that because of… their nature?” She shakes her head slowly. “No. It’s because most of their magic—rituals, curses, sacrifices—are stronger at night. Everything they do is darker. Bloodier. Hidden. They’ve become nocturnal not because of who they are, but because of what they do.” I nod, that eerie feeling

Diana Dom suddenly breaks into a run. No warning—just motion. I don’t hesitate. I bolt after him, boots thudding softly over moss and root. The others follow without a word, slipping into formation like shadows. I’m grateful for all those drills now—the grueling hours he made me train in conditions just like this. Steep hills. Mud. Obstacle runs through dead forest trails with no wolf form allowed. I move with ease. With purpose. I duck under twisted branches, leap over thick fallen trunks, kick off uneven rocks and surge up short slopes without a second thought. We’re not taking any kind of path. There are none here. Which means Dom is forging one himself—cutting straight through the thickest part of the forest. Every now and then, we scale narrow trees, moving across high branches to avoid clusters of rotten, spiked vines coating the ground. The trees here seem to lean inward, their twisted forms groaning softly under our weight, but never snapping. It’s dangerous. Fast. Pre

Diana The air up here smells even worse. Coppery. Acrid. Like dried blood and burned flesh. We don’t make it five steps before the first door on our right draws my attention. It’s ajar. And I hear it. A low, broken snarling. Wet. Raw. Dom tries to pass it without pause, but my eyes are drawn in spite of myself. I glance through the gap and see it. A werewolf. Or what’s left of one. He’s chained to the far wall, wrists and ankles shackled with thick iron, his body halfway shifted—stuck between forms. His limbs are warped, twisted, as if someone tried to break him apart and put him back together wrong. His fur is matted with blood, patches missing where the flesh beneath is raw and bleeding. He writhes, snarling through bared teeth, but the sound is broken—delirious. His eyes are wild, unfocused– glazed with agony. Magical runes are etched into the stone around him, glowing faintly red. Experimentation or torture. I don’t know much about magic to recognise what

Diana “Who are you?” Dom is rigid beside me. I follow his gaze. It’s a girl. No, a woman. A human woman. I realize it the same moment Dom does, and I feel the shift in his body—the razor tension in his frame melting ever so slightly. But he doesn’t drop his guard. He stays vigilant. The woman, looking to be between the late 20s to early 30s. stares at us with wide eyes, her body taut with alarm. Fear palpably pulses from her. She takes a cautious step back, eyes darting from Dom to me in caution, her hands trembling as they come to clasp at her chest. The two sides are frozen. I see as she swallows before her jaws clench and slowly, her hands come down to clench tightly into fists at her sides—as though trying to steel herself. “Who are you?” she asks again, her voice tight and wary. We don’t answer. For me, I’m shocked by her presence in here. Dom had been sure that the rooms were empty— and yet here she is. Dom however, has in seconds looked her over and de

Diana It’s pitch-black. The air is tight. Fabric brushes against my arms. My back is pressed against Dom’s chest, his hand firm over my mouth. We’re in a wardrobe.Outside, footsteps sound in the room. Sharp heels tapping against marble.But it’s not just the sound. The air practically tightens.There’s… a weight. A suffocating, oily pressure bleeding into the room.She’s here.The Matriarch.Even without seeing her, I’m sure it’s her.Her aura is massive and dense and dark. My heartbeat slams so loudly in my chest I’m scared it’ll fall out. And then—A voice. Trembling. The human woman.“M-Mistress…”The footsteps halt.Silence.Then a loud whimper—sharp and sudden.I flinch.“You dare?” The voice is glacial and sharp.Not loud. Not angry. Not even raised.Just… cold. Razor-edged.I don’t know what she just did to that poor woman. I don’t need to see it. That sound was pure panic and pain.“No. I don.t I swear! Mistress, I—I don’t understand!” the woman stammers, breath hitching, v