Semua Bab BENEATH THE BLOOD MOON: CLAIMED BY HER ALPHA: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Selene woke up before dawn, her chest tight with a restless tension that had settled deep inside her since the day she’d been confined to the alpha’s wing. The room was bathed in a pale blue glow filtering through the heavy curtains, and the scent of cedar and smoke curled softly through the air. The fire in the hearth had died down to glowing embers, but she could still feel the lingering warmth, like the echo of luna’s presence. A faint sound stirred her senses: the soft scrape of boots on stone just outside her chamber. Her eyes snapped open. There, framed in the doorway, stood luna. Barefoot and silent, cloaked in a long dark robe that seemed woven from shadows and moonlight, her silver hair spilled like liquid light down her back. Her eyes were intense, molten, and wild, fixed on Selene with an unwavering, possessive gaze. Selene’s heart hammered painfully against her ribs. “You’re awake,” Luna said softly, stepping fully into the room. She moved with the fluid grace of a

The sound of boots against floor echoed through the alpha’s wing long before Rowan appeared. His stride was purposeful, the kind that made even seasoned guards shift nervously out of the way.He had been gone for only three days, but already the air in the stronghold felt… different.Thicker.Charged.He knew that feeling. He had felt it once before, in the final weeks before they’d been forced to bury luna beneath the sacred ruins.It was the scent of a storm in the making.---When rowan pushed open the doors to luna’s chambers, he didn’t find her seated behind the war table or bent over maps of contested borders.He found her standing too close to selene.Selene was by the window, arms crossed tightly against herself. Luna stood beside her, gaze sharp, shoulders tense like a wolf circling it's prey, she had already claimed.Neither of them looked up when he entered.“I see you’ve been busy,” Rowan said, his tone calm but edged with tension.Luna finally turned her head slowly, her

I didn’t hear her footsteps.I felt her.The bond between us flared like an ache sharp, sudden, flooding my chest with heat that wasn’t mine. Fear. Anger. The two were so tightly tangled that I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.The door to the Alpha’s Wing slammed open.Luna filled the threshold like a shadow made of fire, boots striking the floor hard enough to echo, her coat swinging behind her like a storm wind. Her golden eyes locked on me, and the air itself seemed to stiffen.“Where were you.”Each word was its own low growl, separated, deliberate.I stayed seated on the couch, fingers still curled around the mug of cold tea I’d been pretending to drink since rowan left.“I was—”“Don’t lie.” Her voice cut like a blade. She stepped closer, the scent of pine and frost clinging to her like she’d run the whole way back from the northern border.The bond pulsed again harder this time. She’d felt me. The magic. The drain. She knew.I set the mug down carefully becaus

The great hall was already crowded when we returned from the visit.It was a cavernous space of stone and timber, the rafters hung with banners representing each sub-pack of Crescent Vale. The central fire pit burned high, casting flickering light over the faces gathered inside. The smell of woodsmoke, wet fur, and oiled leather mingled with something sharper tension, like a metallic taste on the tongue.A semicircle of heavy oak chairs had been dragged into the center, positioned like a tribunal before the Alpha’s throne.The sub-pack leaders sat in them as if they were thrones of their own:Marrok of the Western Hills, a man with broad shoulders like a mountain, his weathered face carved by a scar that ran from temple to jaw.Viera of the Riverlands, slim and elegant, her silver hair braided into a crown, her pale eyes calculating.Kerric of the Northern Ridge, whose heavy brow shadowed eyes like shards of flint, his hands resting on his knees with the stillness of a coiled predator

By midday, the training yard was empty.The frost had melted into a dull sheen of mud, except for the dark stains where blood had soaked in. The smell of it clung to the air copper and iron and something sharper that made my stomach turn.Inside the infirmary, the wounded waited.I had treated sprains and shallow cuts before, but what marrok and the others carried in from the yard were something else entirely split lips, bruised ribs, shoulders wrenched out of joint. It wasn’t a sparring match they’d lost. It was a warning.---Marrok sat on the nearest bench, one hand clamped over his side, his knuckles still raw. His eyes tracked me as I approached, dark and assessing.“Did she send you?” he asked.I kept my voice neutral. “I’m here to treat injuries. Nothing more.”His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “So you’re not denying it.”I didn’t answer. I dipped a cloth into a bowl of warm water and began cleaning the blood from his temple.---One of the younger warriors groaned from the