Semua Bab A Luna And A Whore : Bab 31 - Bab 40

She didn’t dream that night.Sleep refused to come after surrender. Jasmine lay tangled in velvet sheets that still smelled of heat and skin and the wet earth where he had taken her. Her body thrummed, low and coiled like a harp still quivering from the strike.Roger had left her aching.Not with pain. Not even with pleasure. But with something worse... the ghost of him, the heavy absence of teeth never quite biting. The promise of ruin that hadn’t yet come. Her thighs still burned where his mouth had lingered. Her skin smelled of pine and sweat and sex.And Jasmine knew the pack would smell it too.Morning in Blackfang was brutal in its stillness. Mist clung to the barracks and stone arches like silk dressing a corpse. Wolves sparred in silence, fists cracking against bone, the clang of steel and barked commands echoing off the valley walls.Jasmine sat before the fire, naked beneath a black robe, her legs crossed, her fingers dipped in oil. She smoothed it along her thighs slowly, s

The moon hung heavy in the Blackfang sky, swollen and silver, casting everything in that haunting shade of bone-pale blue. It dripped across the stone halls like water, pooling on the flagstones, bleeding into shadows that moved a little too deliberately.Jasmine sat at the edge of her chamber’s windowsill, one bare foot curled beneath her, the other swinging lazily into the night. The wind teased the hem of her slip, playing with it like a lover, brushing it along the line of her thigh. Her body hummed with a restlessness she couldn't shake. Not even after the bath. Not even after the wine. Not even after the endless silence of the room that had once felt like a cage and now just felt like a warning.Below, the courtyard stood empty. No training tonight. No posturing. Just stillness and that thick, quiet hunger that always came before something changed.She felt him before she heard him.The scent struck first.Pine. Musk. Leather. And something sharper beneath it... something that a

The hall where the pack gathered was nothing like the opulence of the House of Solace. There were no velvet drapes, no mirrored ceilings, no honeyed perfume clinging to the air. Here, the walls were stone and rough timber, the hearths spitting with flames that cast long shadows over iron fixtures. But the men inside still lounged like kings, still held their drinks with slow arrogance and watched her like they deserved to devour her.Jasmine walked through the smoke and warmth, and the world narrowed to the sway of her hips and the flick of her gaze. She wore black. Not mourning-black, not submission-black. Her gown was midnight silk, slit to her hip, with sheer panels that shimmered like water. No jewelry. No paint. Just lips the color of bruised plums and a mouth that moved like a prayer half-spoken.She didn’t need more than that.She never had.The table in the center of the room had been cleared, chairs drawn into a wide circle like the inner court of some ancient judgment. Dozen

The scent of jasmine clung to the hallway long after she had passed.Roger stood in the corridor’s bend, half-wrapped in darkness, one shoulder braced against cold stone as the torchlight flickered and hissed at his side. The night had turned still... unnaturally so. No guards. No footsteps. Not even the rustle of wind beyond the window’s slits.Only her.And the sound of her breath through the crack beneath the door.He had not meant to follow. Not really. He’d told himself it was coincidence. That he just happened to be walking the northern wing when her scent trailed him like silk on fire. But now he was here... silent, still, and very much aware of the war in his blood.Inside the room, the air was thick with heat.Not the kind that came from firelight or furs.The kind that curled between thighs and wet the sheets in silence.She was alone. She thought she was alone.And Jasmine… Jasmine was unraveling.He didn’t need to see her to know it. The way her body moved, the stifled sou

The night breathed differently in Blackfang’s woods. It didn’t exhale; it growled.Mist curled low around the roots, wrapping trees in a hush of threat. The moon hung swollen and voyeuristic above the treetops, casting silver onto moss and broken stone……like a god that never looked away.Jasmine walked barefoot.Not like a girl wandering lost.Not like a woman in need of saving.But like something sacred and sovereign……a dark prayer wearing skin.The House of Solace was long behind her, a velvet memory soaked in perfume and rules. Here, there were no locked rooms. No soft warnings. Just the scrape of her heel against bark and the cold kiss of night on her thighs.The hem of her thin nightdress clung wet to her skin. It had rained earlier……and the damp fabric caressed her hips with every step, translucent and hungry. Her hair was unbound, wild as the wind threading through it. Her body, still aching from what she had done to herself hours ago, was a live wire stretched tight across the