บททั้งหมดของ A Luna And A Whore : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

The forest had stopped whispering.No wind. No movement. Just moonlight slicing through black branches, cold and silver against Jasmine’s bare skin.She had wandered too far from the torches. Or maybe they had let her. Let her walk right into the mouth of something that had been watching her since she crossed the gate.She turned slowly in the clearing, cloak loose around her shoulders, eyes sharp. Her pulse thrummed under her skin like a second heartbeat, thick with the scent of moss, loam......and something hotter.The air shifted.A low sound behind her. Not growl, not breath. A vibration. Animal.She turned—Too slow.The body hit her like smoke and thunder, powerful and silent, knocking her flat into the earth. The cloak tangled around her arms, her back pressed into the forest floor, dirt kissing the side of her neck.And above her—A shadow made of heat.He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His weight straddled her hips, one hand pinning her wrists above her head like she was no

The air inside the chamber was warm and slow like breath caught between parted lips. Candlelight bled down stone walls in amber rivulets, casting long shadows that moved like watching eyes. The space thrummed with unspoken things—power, hunger, old laws folded into muscle memory.Jasmine stood at the threshold, a column of black silk and bare skin, framed in firelight. Her heels clicked softly against the flagstones as she stepped in, each movement deliberate, each sway of her hips a punctuation. She did not bow. She did not announce herself. She simply entered, like smoke curling under a door.The court gathered in tiers. Wolves, all of them. Male and female. Alpha and elder. They sat like predators disguised in silk and gold, every face turned toward her, every gaze sharpened to a blade.At the far end of the room, Roger reclined in a high-backed chair that was not quite a throne—too primal for crowns, too regal for beasts. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence curled aro

The Blackfang sparring yard smelled like sweat, blood, and the kind of want that clung to the skin long after the fight ended. Dust floated in sunlit shafts that cut through the tree-filtered sky, catching on the curve of Jasmine’s hip as she stood barefoot in the ring, a strip of black fabric knotted at her chest, barely covering her breasts. Her thighs gleamed with sweat. Her mouth wore the kind of smile that made men forget who they were.Across from her, Roger rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath the leather cords strapped across his chest. He watched her not like a man, but like something more primal. Something that had stopped pretending to be civilized.“You planning to fight in that?” he asked, voice a gravel-coated drawl that curled around her spine.Jasmine stretched, slow and shameless, the arch of her back purposeful, sensual. Her breasts lifted, barely contained. “You afraid of losing to someone in silk and bare feet?” she asked sweetly.Roger’s jaw ticked. His h

The training yard behind the eastern wing of Blackfang was drenched in twilight. Torches burned low in sconces embedded in stone, their flames crackling like whispers. The scent of ash, sweat, and pine clung to the air.Jasmine stood alone in the center, her feet bare against the packed dirt. A long coat hung open over her skin... nothing underneath. The chill bit into her nipples, pebbled them. She didn’t shiver.She was waiting.Not for instruction.Not for permission.For confrontation.It came in the form of Roger’s heavy footsteps, boots crunching gravel behind her. He didn’t announce himself. He never did.“Trying to provoke me again?” His voice was low. Dangerous.She didn’t turn. “I thought you liked being provoked.”He circled her like a wolf, his eyes dragging over her. She felt them like claws. She kept her gaze forward, refusing to flinch when he stopped directly behind her.“You’re not ready,” he said.“For what?”“For what you are.”She turned then, slowly. Let the coat

The moon hadn’t changed.It still rose pale and full, still spilled silver across the forests like an open throat, still bathed Blackfang in that eerie glow that turned everything beautiful and brutal at once.But something inside Jasmine had changed.She felt it first in her skin.It started with heat... subtle, creeping. A flush over her collarbones when she dipped into the basin that morning. Then deeper, a bloom between her thighs that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with ache.By midday, the ache had turned to tension.And by evening, tension to tremble.She stood at the edge of the Blackfang compound’s overlook, bare feet sinking into moss, her robe falling open just enough to catch the wind, letting it kiss the fever off her chest. Her eyes searched the horizon, but nothing grounded her. The trees danced. The mist moved. Her blood throbbed with a rhythm she didn’t recognize.The fever wasn’t in her mind. It was in her bones.Elora had once described it like d