Stormfang Pack: Human Luna のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 47

The journey was a blur of cold roads and restless miles.Two days after stumbling into the little town, Bella pressed onward, carrying nothing but the clothes on her back and the ache in her chest. She bartered what little jewelry she had left—a simple locket her mother once gave her—for a seat in a wagon headed east. The ride was long, the air sharp with winter, and each jolt of the wheels sent pain lancing through her blistered feet.But she didn’t complain. She couldn’t risk speaking much.When the driver, a kindly man with thick hands and tired eyes, asked her name, she hesitated a fraction too long before murmuring, “Isla.” It wasn’t her true name, but the syllables rolled easily enough from her tongue. A name without history. A name without Stormfang.The countryside shifted slowly as the miles passed. Forest gave way to open plains, dotted with farms where smoke rose from distant chimneys. By the time the wagon neared the outskirts of a human city, the sun was setting, painting

For nearly a year, Lilith Duskbane had languished in Stormfang’s dungeon.The stone had been cold, damp, and merciless. Rats skittered through the shadows, and her breath clouded against the iron bars when winter crept into the mountain keep. Silver cuffs bit into her wrists until the skin blistered, raw and red. Her lips cracked. Her body thinned.But her pride never bent.She was a Duskbane—noble-born, moon-blessed, heir to a bloodline that had outlasted kings. Chains could bruise her flesh, but they could not tarnish her name.And her family had not forgotten her.Every moon cycle, an emissary arrived— uncles, brothers, cousins cloaked in furs, their voices echoing through Stormfang’s council chamber. They brought petitions stamped with Duskbane seals, each written in fine calligraphy, each dripping with fury and entitlement.“It is beneath us,” one thundered, his fist striking the table. “To chain a daughter of the Duskbane line like a common criminal.”“She has paid enough,” ano

The café was quieter at night, its warmth drained with the last departing customers.Bella stood behind the counter, her hands moving automatically as she wiped crumbs from the wooden surface. The smell of roasted beans lingered heavy in the air, faintly bitter now, clinging to her apron and hair. Mae had gone home an hour earlier, leaving Bella to lock up alone.The lamps had been dimmed, the light thin and golden, casting long shadows across the walls. Each creak of the old building sounded louder in the silence. Bella stacked the last of the mugs, her fingers brushing the rim of one chipped cup. For a moment, she thought of her father—the way he always insisted on repairing rather than discarding, his hands steady with glue and patience. The ache in her chest returned, sharp and sudden.She pushed it down. She had work to finish.Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Bella stepped toward the door. The evening chill leaked through the cracks of the windows, carrying the sc