Semua Bab The Alpha’s Luna and the Bloodmoon Amulet: Bab 61 - Bab 69

“Darling,” Luna Anya cooed, “why don’t you start packing? We’re leaving this glorified kennel.”Seth blinked. “Leaving? But... the alliance…”Alpha Damien chuckled, shaking his head as he moved toward his son. “Alliance? Oh, come on, son. That wasn’t an alliance. That was a disaster in designer fur. Crimson’s idea of diplomacy is inviting thieves to dinner and calling them mates.”Luna Anya talked sweetly. “Honestly, I’ve had more warmth from a frozen river than from these people. Not even a decent cup of tea. And don’t get me started on the hospitality here.”Seth frowned, his book still open on his lap. “But Alpha Cove—he looked… like he was trying. And the guests…”Luna Anya sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes, let the Alpha sulk in his own rubble. We’ll send our regards. Perhaps,” she added with a glint in her eye, “after Conan’s destruction rains down on them, we’ll be gracious enough to offer aid.”Luna Damien’s brow arched. “Aid... with a few conditions, of course.”Luna Anya smile

“She’s the reason Alpha Cove dissolved the Silverstone alliance—and his contract marriage with Morrigana,” one maid whispered, the clatter of plates muffling her disgust. “Imagine,” another scoffed. “Ending a political bond for a thief. Morrigana is from a rich and powerful Lycan family. She was practically bred for power. And now? He’s breaking every rule... for her?” Lycia said nothing. Her fingers gripped the tray of used dishes tighter. Her muscles were tense beneath her plain sleeves as she walked steadily down the corridor, each word from the gossiping staff like an arrow to the chest. She was nearly at the corner when she turned too fast—and slammed into a body. The tray of dishes she held fell. Crack. Porcelain shattered at her feet. A small bowl of leftover stew splashed across the polished marble. She gasped, dropping to her knees without thinking, already trying to gather the shards. But she moved too fast. Her palm slid on the wet floor and she lost her bala

"Thorne, whatever you think you're doing, just stop it; because it's not going to work. If you come any closer, I’m going to assume you want something besides my opinion. Maybe my fist would do the trick." Thorne smirked from where he leaned against a mossy pillar, arms folded like he had all the time in the world after retracting them from touching Raven’s ass. "You can’t blame a man for trying. You’re colder than a witch’s tit." "Then go warm up with someone who actually wants to bear your touch," Raven replied flatly, not even glancing back. Their banter was cut short by the echo of approaching footsteps. Conan entered the chamber, his presence shadowed by three others. First came Alpha Derek,the tall, roged, rival faction leader against Alpha Cove who became allies with Conan to defeat Alpha Cove and his pack (Crimson Pack). Beside him, draped in a deep burgundy dress that showed every dangerous curve, was Melissa, his mistress: elegant, cunning, and unbothered by rules.

“Get it into the lower cellar,” Lucas ordered, wiping blood off his fingers with a cloth. “Salt the underbelly first. We won’t risk rot this year.” The three young werewolves nodded, heaving the bloody stag carcass between them. Its body was still warm, the trail of blood it left behind soaking into the brittle frost-covered ground. Winter was creeping in. Lucas could feel it in the air. He turned toward the trees to return ti work and tend to other things. And froze. “Doyle.” Leaning casually against an old tree like he belonged there. One hand in his coat pocket, the other twirling a ring slowly around his finger. Silent. Watching. There was something off about him. Still, but not calm. Quiet, but not peaceful. Lucas forced a grin, casual and detached. “Look who finally came to work with me,” he drawled. “Unless you’re here to finally admit you missed me.” Lucas whispered to Doyle looking around to make sure no one heard him. No response. Lucas chuckled, gesturing