Lahat ng Kabanata ng Reborn Luna: Kabanata 171 - Kabanata 180

ElliotI look over the formula one more time, the symbols blurring as my Lycan prowls restlessly under my skin.Too slow, he growls. She’s out there.“I know,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing a hand over my face. Clare’s image rises unbidden the moment I close my eyes—pale blonde hair like moonlight through frost, cognac eyes warm enough to soften stone. The ache in my chest is sharp and familiar. I’ve denied myself the thought of her for so long that letting it surface now feels like ripping open a healed wound.She was safer without us, I remind him, the same lie I’ve fed myself for years.She’s never been safe without us, my Lycan snaps back. His claws scrape along my ribs, impatient. And now that we’ve escaped, Silver Fang will hunt her.That’s the part that won’t let me breathe. Clare in their hands. Clare alone. All I can think about is tearing her from their grip and finally—finally—holding her the way I’ve dreamed of every night I forced myself not to think about her.The me

KeithI stand at the edge of the clearing with sawdust on the wind and the steady rhythm of hammers beating like a second heartbeat through the pack. Temporary housing is going up fast—faster than I thought possible—but not fast enough for the numbers we’re expecting.Our land was meant for this, my hybrid rumbles.I can't disagree. I’d always seen the mileage of acres of my pack as more responsibility, and, at one time, more than we needed.Even with space to roam for our beasts it was ten times the size of other packs.Now I know why my ancestors were drawn here. Why the fought off rouges and traitors and refused to budge an inch when it came to splitting territory.Somehow they knew we would need it.That we would need it.My wolf growls in agreement, the rumble a mixture of pride and responsibility.The males are mapping out and building frames, wolf and lycan, old and young.The trust the Lycan Chieftains are placing in me by displacing their tribes' families is more than I can p

StevieThe checkpoint towards Silver Fang is a shallow bowl in the land, ringed by granite ribs and a stand of old pines that knot together like they’ve been whispering secrets for centuries.We chose it because it hides heat and scent, because wind slips around it instead of through it, because the stars above look like they’re minding their own business. I drop my pack and roll my shoulders, feeling the ache of distance settle into bone.We’re safe enough, my Lycan murmurs, pacing the inside of my skin. For now.“Circle’s good,” Leif says quietly. The tracker from Thorne’s clan moves like he’s half-shadow, half-forest nymph. He presses his palm to the earth, inhales. “Nothing crossed this bowl in the last day.”He looks around as if he’s cataloguing every blade of grass and spec of sediment.Sig and Hiro split without being told, both from Devon’s clan, both built for violence and restraint in equal measure. Sig starts a fire with practiced efficiency, no sparks wasted. Hiro sets pe

ElliotI clutch the pocket watch in my hand letting the cool metal press against my palm as a memory floods my vision.“What are you doing?” Clare asks.“Immortilzaing it.” I say, pushing the pin down into my grandfather's watch to freeze the ticking of the slim hands.“What are you talking about, El? You know sometimes you're as confusing as a salmon swimming downstream.” Clare scrunches her little nose and her eyebrows twist up.“This moment, the moment I was sure you're my mate. I want us to remember it forever.”Her face melts into something between happiness and awe. “You feel it to?”“I’ve always known it was you. I was just waiting for nature to catch up.”“It's getting late.”That familiar sandpaper voice pulls me from my memory. “Sorry mother, didn't know it was past my bed time.”I stare at the fire, it seems brighter than it was just moments ago.The log shifts as he sets his hulking mass down beside me.“If you're here to give me shit, I have to warn you that I'm not in t

RhysWe’ve put miles between us and Silver Fang territory by the time the moon climbs high enough to silver the treetops.Not enough for comfort—but enough that the air starts to feel different. Less sharp. Less hunted.Still, I don’t slow the pace until Stevie finally raises a fist and the line eases to a stop on a shallow ridge overlooking a narrow valley. The people we pulled out are barely holding together. Exhaustion hangs on them heavier than fear now. Pups whimper softly, adults slump where they stand, and even the warriors move like their bones are filled with sand.Among them, Lina keeps going.She walks steadily, the small pup cradled against her chest, shadows still clinging to all of us like a second skin. It’s thinner now, fraying at the edges, but it’s there—and I can see the cost of it written all over her.Sweat beads along her brow despite the cold. Her breathing is controlled but shallow. Her shoulders are tight, jaw locked, eyes focused straight ahead like if she lo