The Billionaire’s Marked Mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Zaria woke in a cold sweat. The moonlight sliced through the thin curtains of her small servant’s room, painting the cot in silver streaks. Her heart pounded so violently she feared it might break through her ribs. The mark on her neck throbbed with a pulse she could feel beneath her fingertips—a pulse that didn’t belong to her. She pressed her hand against it again, flinching as a shiver raced down her spine. It was warm… almost alive. Her fingers recoiled, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Something inside her stirred, unfamiliar and insistent. What did he do to me? The words echoed in her mind, repeating like a mantra. Not a curse, she realized. Not exactly. Something… more. Her chest tightened as she remembered Lucien’s golden eyes, wild and furious. The smell of him—the heat, the animal instinct, the raw power—was still in her memory. A part of her wanted to vomit, to run, to hide. Another part… wanted more. No. Stop it, she whispered to herself. He’s your enemy. ⸻ By mo

Zaria pressed her hand against the crescent-shaped mark, feeling the lingering warmth that pulsed like a heartbeat of its own. The artifact she had touched last night was gone—safely hidden beneath the folds of her uniform—but the residue of its energy lingered, humming beneath her skin, vibrating through her bones. Every step she took across the polished floors of Vane Estate was tethered to it, and through it, tethered to him. Lucien. The very thought sent a jolt through her. She hated him. Hated that he had changed her, hated that she was drawn to him, hated that even now, she felt his presence as if it lingered around her like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Focus, she reminded herself, gripping the mop tighter. Morning chores loomed like a battlefield. Dusting the grand staircase, polishing the silver, scrubbing the floors—the routine of servitude had never felt so complicated, so psychologically suffocating. Every glance from Lucien, who had been observing silently from the libr

Zaria’s knees nearly buckled as she stumbled out of the East Wing corridor, the cold stone beneath her bare feet slick with her own sweat. Her lungs burned, dragging air into her chest as though she had been drowning all along. Every muscle in her body screamed, her heart racing with the memory of the shadows that had almost swallowed her whole. She pressed a trembling hand to the bite mark at her neck—the mark Lucien had left. It throbbed, alive, pulsing with something she couldn’t name. It wasn’t just pain; it was heat, awareness, a tether pulling her in one direction only. To him. Always to him. And there he was. Lucien leaned against the archway, cloaked in half-shadow. His golden eyes caught the candlelight, burning like molten steel. He said nothing, simply watched her—like a predator deciding whether his prey had proven itself worthy of survival. Her breath hitched. She wanted to speak, to ask him what the hell that… trial had been, but the words withered on her tongue. Lu

The manor seemed to shudder with the force of Lucien’s roar. The sound ripped through the corridors, rattling windowpanes and sending flocks of birds scattering into the night. Zaria clutched at the doorframe, her body trembling. She had never heard anything so primal, so animal, yet beneath it she heard his voice—Lucien’s voice—threaded through the sound like a command meant for her alone. Stay. But every instinct inside her revolted. The pulse at her throat, the mark he had given her, throbbed in sync with the chaos unfolding outside. She could feel him through it, the heat and strain of his body, the clash of power colliding with power. She could not stay. Ignoring the voice in her head, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and bolted from the room. The manor’s grand hall stretched before her like the ribcage of some great beast, shadows shifting across the vaulted ceilings. She could smell smoke—no, not smoke. Something acrid. Burning magic. Her feet pounded again

The first light of dawn barely touched the horizon, but the clearing was already alive with tension. Mist rolled across the forest floor like a living thing, curling around gnarled roots and half-fallen logs. Zaria stood near Lucien, chest heaving, palms still trembling from the power she unleashed. Her mark glowed faintly, pulsing with the memory of the energy she’d released, syncing with Lucien’s own feral heartbeat. Lucien crouched low, golden eyes scanning the shadows beyond the trees. His body radiated raw power, the tension in his muscles so thick it made the hairs on Zaria’s arms stand on end. Even in his human form, he seemed more predator than man; now, in full wolf form, he was breathtakingly fearsome, a creature of myth and instinct. “They’re coming,” he growled, nostrils flaring. His voice was low, dangerous, almost musical in its intensity. “The Shadow Alpha isn’t alone. More will follow.” Zaria’s throat tightened. She’d never seen anything like this. The shadows from