Lahat ng Kabanata ng Reborn Luna: Kabanata 181 - Kabanata 190

HopeThe pack hall hums with low voices and the clink of cutlery, a sound I’m still getting used to again. Long tables stretch from one end of the hall to the other, heavy wood polished by decades of elbows and shared meals. Today, every seat is filled—wolves, lycans, elders, warriors, healers. No separation. No quiet corners. The leaders decided meals together would help rebuild what was fractured, and for once, both my human heart and my wolf agree.Food is trust, my wolf murmurs, content and watchful. Eating together means no one fears poison. No one fears attack.She’s right. So is running together in our beast forms, baring throats and flanks, showing we trust one another not to tear them open. These rituals are older than titles like Luna or Alpha. They’re how we survive grief. How we stitch ourselves back together.I take a slow breath and step into the flow of bodies moving toward the buffet tables. The scent hits me first—fresh bread, roasted meat, spiced potatoes, fruit. My

KeithThe room settles into a low, expectant hush as Tessa rises from her chair.She doesn’t need to raise her voice. She never does. The authority just lives in her bones.“So,” she says, palms braced on the table, eyes sweeping over all of us, “first step down—we’re all here. The packs, the clans, the refugees. We need to flesh out what this is going to look like for the foreseeable future.”My lycan lifts its head, alert. Structure. This is still our territory. We need to establish rules.Jeb is the first to speak, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “The problem is our people still only look to us as leaders. Their own Alphas. Their own chieftains.”“I agree,” I say, voice steady. “Which is why we need to present a united front.”Every eye shifts to me. Hope nudges my side lightly under the table—supportive, grounding.“I was thinking we operate like a council,” I continue. “Votes on major issues. Decisions were presented as unanimous. Our people need to know they can come to

RhysI set the beam with a solid thud and wipe sweat from my brow with the back of my forearm. The scent of fresh-cut pine hangs thick in the air, sap sticky on my palms, sun beating down on the back of my neck. It’s good work. Honest. Repetitive. The kind that keeps my hands busy and my mind—mostly—out of trouble.Mostly.You’re lying, my Lycan rumbles, low and restless in the back of my skull. You’re counting minutes.I bare my teeth in a grin that isn’t quite humor. I’m working, I tell him.You’re racing, he counters. Pack hall. Lunch. Her.Don't pretend I'm the only one waiting to be near her.Mine, my lycan confirms. My Lina. My female.Lina’s name settles into me like heat. Four days. Four long, grinding days of keeping my distance while she’s wrapped up in her family—brothers everywhere, laughter echoing down the halls, her attention pulled a dozen directions. I told myself I’d give her space. Give myself control.It’s felt like torture.I grab the next plank and lift it into p

EliraI am back in the Sliver Fang, and the walls know my name.They remember my blood, the sound of my breath when I was smaller, weaker, still learning how to keep my shoulders squared when fear tried to bow them. The keep rises around me in slate and bone, banners snapping in the winter wind like teeth chattering. Victory should taste sweet after everything we’ve taken back—but it doesn’t.It tastes like iron.Like mockery.It never feels good to backtrack.To show the world your failure, to see it in the eyes of everyone who is supposed to follow you.He broke in. Tool them, my Lycan snarls, pacing the inside of my skull. He shouldn’t have been able to make it past the guards.“I know,” I murmur, fingers curling against the stone railing that overlooks the training yard.Keith and those traitor Lycans will get there due soon enough. If they think a last minute alliance will save them from my plans then they are just as foolish as I always thought them to be.Keith. The name scrape

JaceThe clearing glows like it’s breathing.Lanterns hang from the low branches, warm amber light swaying with the evening breeze. The scent of pine, smoke, and something sweet—honeyed bread, maybe—wraps around me as the entire community gathers in a wide circle. Lycans and werewolves shoulder to shoulder, elders leaning on canes carved with old sigils, kids perched on logs or sitting cross-legged in the dirt, eyes bright with curiosity.My heart is trying to beat its way out of my ribs.Easy, my Lycan murmurs, pacing inside me, claws clicking against bone. This is not a fight. This is a claiming.Stevie stands at my side, close enough that our arms brush. He looks steady, calm, dark hair pulled back neatly by a series of flora pins. Her curls meet at the nape of her neck and cascade down between her shoulder blades.Her eyes shining a myriad of brown and green in the lantern light. When she glances at me, the corner of her mouth lifts, just a little.“You breathing?” she murmurs.“B