Semua Bab The Moon’s Pure wolf : Bab 61 - Bab 65

QUEENETH’S POVThe Pact of ShadowsThe Hollow King’s voice does not raise. It does not need to.He speaks and the air tightens. The world around us shrinks to the space between his words and my heartbeat.“Join me,” he says. “End the cycle forever. No more councils. No more wars. No more wolves born to carry roles they did not choose. No more children made for obedience. No more mistakes repeated across generations.”His eyes are patient. Persuasive. He lets the weight of his promise settle over everyone.I feel the pack shift behind me. Their fear is sharp, immediate. They do not move forward. They do not step back. They just wait. Unsure if their lives belong to the story or if the story belongs to them.All it costs is Collins.Not his life. Not his body. Not even his loyalty.His place. His claim as Alpha. The authority he earned through blood and years. The trust the pack has in him. That is the price.I taste iron in my mouth. Blood or panic, I cannot tell. I swallow anyway. It

QUEENETH’S POVThe Breaking PointEverything breaks.Not slowly. Not softly. Not with warning.It rips apart in pieces too sharp to catch, too loud to ignore.The wards shatter first. Cracks run like veins through the air, sparks flickering against the trees. I can feel the energy twisting, warping, leaving jagged holes in the space around me. My skin prickles, my claws scrape the ground, and every instinct in me screams that nothing will ever be the same.Wolves scream. Not in unison. Not in anger. In terror, confusion, shock. The sound presses into my chest. Each cry hits like a hammer, a drumbeat echoing in my ribs. Some fall mid-step. Some leap too early and twist into unseen obstacles. Every one of them a thread tearing, a life unraveling. I hear it. Every break. Every snap. Every desperate gasp.Amy roars.She does not wait for me to act. She moves faster than thought, a blur of shadow and teeth. And in the instant she loses even a fraction of control, the consequences are devas

QUEENETH’S POVAftermath of ChoiceAfter, nothing feels clean.The air is heavy, sticky with smoke, dust, and something I cannot name. The forest beyond the pack territory shivers under a weight it has never carried before. Wolves are quiet now, unnervingly so. They do not speak. They do not shift. They only look at me, at their knees, at the ground, as if trying to decide if this is punishment or salvation.The Hollow King calls it proof. Proof that I am not weak. Proof that I can bend chaos without breaking. Proof that I can command life and death with a thought. He calls it inevitability, destiny, rightful power. There is a dark satisfaction in his voice, the kind that makes my stomach tighten and my skin crawl. He says he knew all along. That I was always going to do exactly this.The elders call it tyranny. They speak in whispers sharp enough to cut. Their eyes do not leave me, but their words do not carry compassion, only fear. They say I have overstepped, that I am dangerous, t