Semua Bab Alpha’s Regret: His Luna, His Heirs, His Redemption: Bab 21 - Bab 30

POV: Olivia The apartment was finally quiet. For once, all four of them slept at the same time. Harvey curled against his brother’s side, Hyden’s tiny hand fisted in the blanket. Lily dreamed with her mouth parted, lashes trembling on flushed cheeks. Daisy slept stubbornly on her back, as if even at days old she had to defy everyone. I leaned against the crib, arms folded, just breathing them in. The room smelled of powder and warm milk. The city hummed outside the window—cars passing, someone shouting three blocks over, the bakery downstairs pulling another tray from the oven. Life moved on, loud and unbothered. But here, in this little pocket of borrowed peace, everything that mattered was right in front of me. Four heartbeats. Four tiny lives. Four reasons to keep going. My body still ached, scars from labour not yet healed. My hands shook when exhaustion got too deep, and sometimes I swore I could still feel the cold stone of the packhouse under my knees the night he rejected

POV: Olivia The park had become our little kingdom. On good days, when the sun broke through the clouds and turned the pond into a cracked mirror, I let them run. The twins tore across the grass like wild things, Harvey racing Hyden to see who could summit the jungle gym first. “I win!” Harvey shouted as he slid down like a missile. “You cheated,” Hyden muttered, already climbing back up, jaw set. “I didn’t cheat.” Harvey stuck his tongue out. “You’re just slow.” Hyden didn’t argue. He just reached the top and folded his arms, like conquering was enough. Daisy had plopped stubbornly at the bottom of the slide with her dolls and a tin teacup, refusing to budge until she was ready. When other kids tried to cut in, she lifted one regal finger without looking up and said, “Wait your turn.” Somehow, they did. Lily chased butterflies with solemn concentration, her laugh ringing like bells when she managed to cup one in her hands and then open them to let it go. For a moment

POV: Olivia The sound dragged me out of sleep like claws raking across my nerves. At first, I thought it was a dream—the low, raw sound rising in the dark, animal and aching. Then Harvey arched on his bed, sweat beading on his brow, lips parting as a sound tore free that wasn’t human at all. A howl. Thin. Rough. Wolf. The blood drained from my face. “Harvey.” My whisper cracked as I scrambled to his bedside. His little chest rose and fell too fast, his fists knotted in the sheets. The sound ripped out again, higher this time, shaking the air. The girls stirred—Daisy whimpering, Lily sitting up, blinking owlishly. “Was that Harvey?” she mumbled. “He sounds—” “Shhh.” I pressed a trembling finger to my lips. My heart thudded so hard I thought the neighbours would hear it. What if they had? What if someone outside this house heard that wild, bone-deep cry? I touched Harvey’s shoulder. “Baby, wake up.” His eyes fluttered open—blue, soft, human again. “Mama?” he whispered, dr

POV: Olivia The fever came fast. One moment Daisy was chasing her sisters across the living room, cheeks flushed from laughter. The next, she was curled in my lap, skin burning hot enough that my palms stung. By nightfall, she shook so violently I thought her tiny bones might rattle apart. I sat in the nursery chair, rocking her back and forth, a cool cloth slipping against her damp curls. My arms ached. My back screamed. But I didn’t dare stop. If I stopped, it felt like the world might stop with me. “Shhh, sweetheart,” I whispered hoarsely, kissing the crown of her head. “Mama’s here. Mama’s not going anywhere.” Her breath hitched, the softest whimper tearing me open from the inside. Two nights without sleep had blurred my vision into static. The other three were finally asleep—Lily clutching her fox, Harvey and Hyden tangled together like they’d fought their way into dreams—but their sister kept burning in my arms. Aria had begged me earlier: let me call a doctor, with Hana

POV: Luther The whiskey burned, but it didn’t touch the hollow. I stood on the stone balcony above the yard, glass in hand, watching Red Moon breathe in the dark. Torches guttered, throwing ragged light across training posts and wet flagstones. A few late warriors still drilled—because I had told them to, and obedience is easier than sleep when the Alpha is restless. They bowed when they saw me. Too fast. Too shallow. Fear has a scent, and it rises quickest at night. Wind slid cold along the ridge, lifting the hair at my nape. Beyond the border, the forest swayed like a black ocean in the moonless dark. I tipped the glass and found it empty. Silence thickened. Then the night split. At first, not even a howl—just a child’s voice, carried where no child’s voice should ever reach. “Mama—it hurts!” The words tore through the night, small and breaking. Pain, not power. A pup’s cry, raw and unhidden. A second voice joined, thin and strained—two little throats overlapping in fear.