Semua Bab Star-Crossed Wolves: Silver Moon Rising: Bab 61 - Bab 70

"POV: Ferdinand KingThe chains around Ferdinand's wrists were more ceremonial than functional—ornate silver that spoke to his royal status even in disgrace—but they served their purpose of reminding everyone who witnessed his arrival at Moonrise Academy that he was a prisoner rather than a student. The irony wasn't lost on him that his first glimpse of elite supernatural education came through the barred windows of a government transport vehicle.Captain Torres, the head of his father's royal guard, sat across from him with the kind of professional neutrality that had made their relationship tolerable during the three-day journey from Louisiana. Unlike many of the king's enforcers, Torres seemed to understand the difference between following orders and taking personal satisfaction in the suffering of prisoners."Your Highness," Torres said quietly as the vehicle turned through Moonrise Academy's iron gates, "I want you to understand that this isn't personal. Your father's instruction

The girl who stepped out from behind the massive Douglas fir was unlike anyone Ferdinand had ever encountered in the sophisticated political circles that had defined his entire life. She moved with natural grace that seemed to flow from genuine connection to the forest around her rather than practiced courtly elegance, and her presence immediately calmed his agitated wolf in ways he couldn't begin to understand."Actually, this section of the forest is part of the groundskeeper's jurisdiction," she said, her voice carrying quiet authority that seemed to emerge from absolute confidence rather than inherited status. "Students who have permission from groundskeeper staff are allowed to access these areas for educational and therapeutic purposes."Ferdinand stared at her in amazement, watching as she completely redirected the confrontation with his security escorts through what appeared to be creative interpretation of academy policies. She was beautiful in an ethereal way

POV: Bea SharpeThe satisfying crack of fist meeting training pad echoed through the combat gymnasium like a gunshot. My opponent—some cocky Beta from Eastmoor Hall who'd thought challenging me was a brilliant idea—stumbled backward, shaking his stinging hands and looking like he'd just discovered what actual Alpha strength felt like when it wasn't being held back by politeness."Again," I commanded, not even breathing hard despite the thirty minutes of continuous sparring that had left three previous opponents on the sidelines nursing bruised egos and sore ribs. "This time, don't telegraph your moves like you're sending a formal invitation."The gymnasium was packed now. Word had spread through the academy's social networks with typical teenage efficiency, and it seemed like half the student body had found reasons to be in the combat facility during my afternoon training session. They lined the walls and filled the observation balcony, drawn b

POV: Bea SharpeThe fight continued with renewed intensity, but now every strike and counter carried emotional weight that went far beyond athletic competition. We were using combat as a medium for expressing years of accumulated hurt, anger, and complicated feelings that neither of us had ever learned to process in healthier ways.Ben's fighting style had definitely evolved during our separation. He moved with fluid precision that incorporated elements of Brazilian jiu-jitsu and mixed martial arts, suggesting serious training with professional instructors rather than just pack-based military conditioning. But underneath the new techniques, I could still recognize the fundamental patterns that had been drilled into him during our shared childhood training sessions.Which meant I could still predict his moves if I focused on muscle memory instead of letting emotional manipulation distract me from tactical analysis."You're still dropping your left sh

By the third day of his disciplinary custody, Ferdinand felt like the stone walls of his room were closing in on him despite their generous dimensions. The academic coursework was intellectually engaging—supernatural history taught by professors who understood the complex relationships between pack politics and territorial law—but the constant supervision and restricted movement were gradually eroding his psychological equilibrium.More troubling were the individual counseling sessions with Dr. Whitmore, a pack psychologist who'd been brought in specifically to address Ferdinand's "inappropriate prioritization of personal moral convictions over royal duties." The sessions were presented as educational opportunities, but they felt more like systematic attempts to convince him that his conscience was a liability that needed to be managed rather than a strength to be honored."Your Highness," Dr. Whitmore had said during their morning session, "I want you to consider the possibility that