The Curvy Heiress: Lost Werewolf Sister のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 201 - チャプター 210

Midday in the Great Hall should mean noise.Not the unpleasant kind - just the layered hum of pack life. Plates clinking. Laughter bursting too loud from the warriors’ table. Children weaving between benches until someone’s mother snapped their name like a whip. The scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and whatever herbs the kitchen had decided were appropriate for the season.Today, it meant something else. Today, it meant eyes.I paused just before stepping fully through the arched doorway, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from my skirt. Mara stood half a step behind me - never intrusive, always observant. If I were to trip over my own feet, she’d pretend it was intentional. That’s loyalty.“Breathe.” she murmured under her breath.I did. And then I walked in.The shift was subtle but unmistakable. Conversations didn’t stop - but they dipped. Heads didn’t bow - but they inclined. Warriors straightened. A few of the older pack members placed hands briefly over their hearts.Respect.No

We don’t shift often just for the joy of it. There is always a purpose. Patrol. Hunt. Ceremony. Strategy.Tonight, there is only the moon.It hangs low and swollen above the treetops, silver spilling through the forest in long ribbons of light. The air hums with that restless energy that presses against skin and bone alike.Cameron doesn’t ask.He simply meets my gaze across the clearing near the lake, and I feel the question in the bond."Run?"I smile. "Always."The shift comes like a breath drawn too deep.Bones rearrange with familiar precision. Muscles ripple and stretch. The world sharpens into scent and vibration and instinct.White fur replaces skin.I land lightly on four paws, snow-bright against the dark soil.Across from me, he stands taller. Larger. His wolf is magnificent in a way that makes even my wild heart pause - midnight black, but threaded along his flanks with faint silver streaks that catch the moonlight like blade edges.He lowers his head slightly. A challenge

Morning doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It arrives anyway.I’m awake before the sun fully clears the horizon, though I don’t remember sleeping. The room is painted in pale blue light, that fragile hour where everything looks softer than it deserves to be.Cameron is still asleep. That alone tells me how hard the night hit him.He’s on his back, one arm flung slightly toward my side of the bed, like even unconscious he’s making sure I’m there. His face is calmer now. No tension in his jaw. No crease between his brows.But there’s something else. Exhaustion. Not physical. The kind that settles into marrow.I prop myself up on one elbow and study him.This is the man who leads a pack without flinching. The one warriors instinctively straighten for. The one who carries decisions like iron in his spine.And last night, he was eleven again.I brush my fingers lightly along his collarbone, careful not to wake him. He shifts slightly but doesn’t open his eyes.Good.He needs this.I slip out of

The knock comes just before noon.Not timid. Not confident either. Just… controlled.I look up from the stack of ceremony logistics I’m pretending to read. The Luna office still feels strange - too big, too polished, too official. The desk isn’t mine. The power isn’t mine yet.But the responsibility already is.“Come in.”The door opens slowly.She’s older. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Dark hair threaded heavily with gray, braided tight over one shoulder. Her posture is straight in a way that tells me she trained herself not to fold.But her eyes.. Her eyes are exhausted.“Luna.” she says.I stand immediately. “Please. You don’t have to-”“I do.” she interrupts softly.Her wolf brushes against mine. Not aggressive. Not submissive. - Grieving.She steps inside and closes the door behind her. The click echoes.“May I sit?”“Of course.”She lowers herself carefully into the chair across from my desk. Hands folded in her lap. Knuckles white.“I won’t take much of your time.”Someth

The training yard is loud. Steel striking steel. Boots grinding into packed dirt. Warriors shouting corrections across the field.Blackridge breathes war.I cross the courtyard with Tomas Voss’s photograph folded carefully in my pocket and a knot in my stomach that refuses to loosen.The elders’ visit keeps replaying in my head. Choose wisely. The words sounded like advice. But they felt like a threat.The commander’s building stands at the far edge of the yard, dark stone and heavy glass overlooking everything like a watchtower. Fitting.Cameron never liked being watched. But he always watches.As I climb the steps toward the entrance, voices drift through the slightly open door. Sharp voices. Older voices. - Council. They were quick. I must admit that. I slow instinctively.“…reckless,” someone is saying. That voice belongs to Counselor Dane. I recognize the gravelly tone. “This investigation will fracture alliances we’ve maintained for decades. It will ruin us.”Another voice join