Semua Bab Captive Moon: The Alpha's Blood Pact: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The moon hung like a cracked mirror over Blackpine Forest, its silver shards slicing through the trees to paint the mossy ground. Elara’s boots sank into the loam, each step muffled by the scent of damp earth and something sharper—pine, iron, wildness. She wrapped her white coat tighter, but the chill seeped in anyway, settling in the hollow of her throat where her pulse hammered.In her pocket, the medical report crumpled like dead leaves. Liam Voss, 19. Lycanthropy Degeneration Stage 3. Prognosis: irreversible without lunar serum. Her brother’s face flashed behind her eyelids—gaunt, his once-brown eyes clouded with the sickly gold of a failing transformation.A low growl rippled through the woods. Not a wolf’s. A man’s.Elara froze. He materialized from the shadows as if woven from them, his cloak billowing like smoke. His frame blocked out the moon, and when he stepped forward, she saw the way his boots crushed twigs without effort, the way his fingers curled slightly, as if itchin

The car’s engine sputtered as Elara turned onto the dirt road, headlights cutting through a wall of fog. The river gurgled somewhere in the dark, its current a low, hungry whisper. She parked beside a rotting dock, her breath fogging the windshield, and stared at the vial in her lap. The serum glowed faintly, as if alive—but so did the mark on her wrist, throbbing in time with the distant howl of a wolf.Liam’s dying. She grabbed her coat, the scalpel digging into her palm through the fabric. Don’t think. Just do.The dock creaked under her boots. Mist curled around her ankles, cold as a grave, and when she looked down, the mark on her wrist cast a silver glow over the planks—a trail, she realized. It’s showing me the way.A shadow detached itself from the trees.Elara stiffened, fingers closing around the scalpel. But it wasn’t him. A wolf, lean and black as pitch, stood at the edge of the woods, its eyes twin embers. It bared its teeth, but didn’t attack—just watched, as if waiting

The first ray of sunlight sliced through the trees, landing directly on Elara’s face. She jolted awake, her body stiff from sleeping on the forest floor. For a heartbeat, she forgot where she was—until the scent of cedarwood and something wild hit her, and memory crashed back.The clearing. The moon. Him.She sat up, wrapping her coat tighter around her. The grass around her was flattened, and there was a faint indentation in the soil where he’d knelt beside her. But he was gone, leaving only the faint, lingering warmth of his skin against hers.The mark on her wrist pulsed, a lazy thrum this time, not the searing pain of the night before. She touched it, and a vision flashed—him, standing at the edge of the woods, watching her sleep, his golden eyes softening for a split second before he turned and vanished.Elara’s jaw tightened. Don’t mistake kindness for weakness. She’d let the bond cloud her judgment, let the moon and the mark and the raw, aching need override her logic. But morn

The mark burned like a second heartbeat.Elara stared at her reflection in the den’s stone basin, watching the silver wolf’s head on her wrist pulse in time with the rising moon. Three days since Kael’s exile, and the air had grown thick with tension—whispers in the corridors, wolves avoiding her gaze, Lira’s constant, wary glances.They’re waiting, the mark seemed to hum. Waiting to see if you break… or bend.A shadow fell across the basin. She turned, finding him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His shoulder had healed, but the scar from the wolfsbane dagger lingered, a pale pink line against his dark skin.“Training starts today,” he said, his golden eyes scanning her face. “Ready to stop being a doctor… and start being a Lycan’s mate?”Elara’s jaw tightened. “I’m not a Lycan. And I’m not your ‘mate.’ I’m a woman with a deadline.”He pushed off the doorframe, his boots silent on the stone floor. “Semantics. By the time the mating heat hits, your body won’t care what you

The full moon hung like a blade over Blackpine Ridge.Elara’s skin felt too tight, every nerve singing as the silver light soaked into her.The mating heat rolled off her in waves, thick and sweet, mixing with the coppery scent of blood from the great hall. Beside her, he stood half-shifted—wolf ears tufted with black fur, claws glinting, his golden eyes blazing with a hunger that matched hers.“Ready?” he said, his voice rough with the edge of transformation.Elara gripped the dagger Eleanor’s journal had described—forged from moonstone, etched with Voss runes—and nodded. The mark on her wrist glowed so bright it cast shadows, and she could hear the heartbeat of the forest: Kael’s army gathering at the ridge, their thoughts a cacophony of bloodlust and ambition.Sixty-seven wolves. All half-crazed from wolfsbane laced in their water. Kael’s at the front, wearing my grandfather’s pelt like a trophy.The bond had become a river, flooding her with his thoughts, his fears, his hunger.“S