Lahat ng Kabanata ng Alpha’s Moonchild: Kabanata 171 - Kabanata 180

Elvira – First Person POV The summit had ended, its echoes still reverberating in the cold stone walls of the room. The air was thick with the weight of decisions made, the lingering tension of alliances and rivals. The others filed out, some with solemn faces, others with their thoughts. I stood there, motionless for a moment, watching the backs of those who left, each of them carrying their burdens like armor, too heavy to shed. I had expected Jaxon to follow me, as he always did. But he didn’t. He didn’t even glance back. For some reason the weight in my chest grew heavier, suffocating in the silence that followed. He was different tonight. Maybe he was tired of asking, tired of wondering if I remembered who I was, who we were. I glanced down at my hands, empty now, and then turned toward the door. I felt so uneasy for some reason I couldn't wrap my head round. But tonight wasn’t about him. My father… I had to go to him. I hadn’t seen him in so long, and he wasn’t getting any

Elvira Back to dad’s room. The room had fallen silent, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall and the soft hum of breath escaping my father’s lips. His chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath the thick woven blanket Magreat had wrapped him in, one weathered hand resting limp over mine. The herbal concoction she’d brewed worked quickly, lulling him into the kind of sleep that was rare for him these days, deep, dreamless, peaceful. I sat beside him, our hands loosely twined, my thumb brushing across the back of his aged knuckles. His skin was cool, thinned from time and illness, but there was warmth still, enough to cling to, enough to pretend nothing had changed. A lullaby slipped from my lips, so soft I could barely hear it myself. I didn’t know where the melody came from. It wasn’t one of my mother’s old songs, nor something I remembered from childhood. It simply… emerged, weaving through the air like smoke, curling around my father’s sleeping form. Notes trembl

Eric’s POVFor days now, I haven't slept right. Not really. I’d close my eyes and pretend to drift off, but my mind always betrayed me, dragging me back to the weight pressing on my chest like invisible stones.That message had started as a warning. A flicker of paranoia. A single line that burned into my phone screen like fire.“Does your mom know you’re bending for a Clawshade alpha?”That first time I saw it, I froze. It had come from an anonymous number, no name, no profile picture, nothing but that accusation. I deleted it immediately, but it was too late. The words had already tattooed themselves into my thoughts.I sat alone now in my room, the pale moonlight slipping through the blinds like fingers. My brushes sat untouched on the table. The half-finished canvas in front of me stared back like it knew. My hand hovered over my phone, heart pounding. I opened the saved messages again even though I had them memorized. Four in total now, each more pointed, more deliberate.Does yo

Eric The sunlight slanted through the sheer curtains, turning the edges of my room gold. I lay sprawled across my bed in a tangle of silk sheets, shirtless, one leg tossed over the edge and the other buried under the weight of a half-folded blanket. My sketchpad rested near my hip, open to a charcoal drawing I barely remembered working on, a pair of hands nearly touching, but never quite. I sighed, rolling onto my back. For the first time in weeks, the estate felt still and quiet. No anonymous messages. No stolen glances across council rooms. Just silence, and the soft rustle of wind brushing against the high windowpanes. Then the door slammed open. “Eric.” I jolted upright, sheets flying. “Mother?” She strode into the room like she owned every damn shadow in it, and technically, she did. Her deep emerald gown, the sleeves falling like drapes from her wrists, and her gold-tipped cane clicked against the marble floor with every step. “My son,” she said, her tone warm and alarmi

She didn’t answer. That was enough answer. I took a step forward, letting my heels click against the polished floor with deliberate slowness. Every eye in the room turned to me, but I only saw her. I leaned in, close enough to breathe the rosewood perfume on her skin—fake, like everything else about her, and whispered, “I’m opening your chapter soon.” For a single heartbeat, her mask cracked. Then, with the suddenness of a viper, her hand sliced the air toward my cheek. But I caught it. I caught her hand. My fingers curled around her wrist, my grip tight and unforgiving. The bones beneath her skin felt bird-fragile in my hold, and I yanked her arm downward with such force that her whole body staggered. “You dare not lay your filthy hands on me,” I growled, my voice a whisper, but one that scraped through the air like steel. “Not now. Not ever.” I let go. The sound of her stumbling heels echoing was the only proof I needed of my power in that moment. Her fury flared across her