บททั้งหมดของ The House Beneath the Blood Moon: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

Samantha POVThe first thing Silas did was smile.Not with lips—those barely moved—but with the space around him. The Sanctuary recoiled, light tightening like a held breath. Absence pressed against my skin, cold and intimate, the way grief does when it remembers your name.“Oh,” Silas said softly. “You changed the equation.”Lucien didn’t move. He stood where the breach had opened, sword raised, light compressed tight along the blade’s spine. To Silas, he must have looked perfect—King-shaped. Familiar. Vulnerable in all the ways legends are.That was the point.I felt the bond hum, strained but stable. Lucien was loud inside me—controlled fury wrapped around an iron calm—but beneath it I felt something else. Pain. Real pain. He was holding the decoy together with will and blood and a refusal that tasted like love.Three seconds, I sent through the bond. Then I move.Make it two, he replied. He’s adapting.Of course he was.Silas tilted his head. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “You colla

Samantha POV The Sanctuary did not explode. Which, frankly, felt rude. After everything—Silas ripping reality like a cheap zipper, Sébastien emotionally detonating centuries of unresolved trauma, me discovering I could rewrite metaphysics like deprecated code—I had expected at least a small collapse. A chandelier falling. A wall melting. Something cinematic. Instead, the Sanctuary did what all terrifyingly competent systems do after a catastrophic event. It rebooted. Soft gold light replaced the angry red. The crystalline veins dimmed to a warm, steady pulse. Somewhere deep in the manor, something chimed—polite. Cheerful. Like a server confirming that yes, the apocalypse had been successfully postponed. I stood there blinking, adrenaline draining out of me in ugly waves. “Oh,” I muttered. “So now we’re calm.” Lucien exhaled slowly beside me. Not relief—control. He rolled his shoulders like a man reacquainting himself with gravity after holding up the sky. “You severed the de

Lucien POV Silence had always been my language. Not peace. Not rest. Control. I had learned it early—before crowns, before wars, before the Council decided my existence was more useful as a symbol than as a man. Silence meant survival. It meant restraint. It meant not giving the world another reason to take something from me. But tonight, silence felt… unfamiliar. The Sanctuary was quiet in a way that wasn’t absence. It breathed. Adjusted. Listened. And she was asleep. Samantha lay on the wide stone bed the Sanctuary had prepared without asking me—linen soft, light dimmed to a warmth that mimicked dusk. She had fallen asleep faster than I expected, exhaustion claiming her the moment her head touched the pillow. No dramatic resistance. No final quip. Just trust. That terrified me more than Silas ever had. I stood at the foot of the bed, unmoving, hands clasped behind my back like a relic in a museum that no one had bothered to dismantle. The gold in my eyes had dimmed sinc

Samantha POV I woke up already angry. Not the cute, groggy kind. The deep, bone-level irritation that comes from knowing—without evidence yet—that someone, somewhere, was making decisions about me. The Sanctuary was quiet. Too quiet. Not asleep-quiet. Listening-quiet. The kind of silence that means something is being discussed without your consent. “Oh no,” I muttered, staring at the ceiling. “Absolutely not.” The bond was warm. Present. Lucien was awake. Alert. Focused. Guilty. That last one snapped me fully upright. I swung my legs off the bed, ignored the fact that the floor was heated to my exact comfort preference (rude, frankly), and followed the pull through the corridor barefoot, hair wild, patience nonexistent. I didn’t bother announcing myself. The Sanctuary did it for me. Lights brightened one degree ahead of me. Doors opened. Floors warmed. Escort mode. Which meant: decision detected. I found them in the strategy hall. Lucien stood with his back to m

Samantha POV The first scout arrived like a bad email. No subject line. No signature. Just pure audacity. The Sanctuary flagged it as EXTERNAL MOVEMENT and then—because apparently my haunted smart house has a personality—added: —RECOMMENDATION: DO NOT ENGAGE. USER IS TIRED.— I stared at the glowing text on the wall. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I whispered. The Sanctuary pulsed once. —ACKNOWLEDGED. USER IS STILL TIRED.— Lucien’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. Sébastien, lounging like the world wasn’t actively trying to murder us, sighed dramatically. “I hate to agree with the house,” he said, “but you are visibly running on spite and bread.” “Spite is an energy source,” I replied. “And bread is… honestly, my religion now.” Lucien’s gaze cut to me—quiet, protective, grounded. The bond didn’t tug or hum like exposed wiring anymore. It was a steady pressure at the base of my skull, like a second heartbeat that only existed when I remembered I wasn’t a