The Bane And The Alpha Beast のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

RonanI smelled the blood before I saw her.Fresh. Sharp. Undeniably wolven. The kind that sings to something ancient in my bones. Something that hungers—not just to feed, but to destroy. My demon stirred beneath my skin, teeth bared and eager.Kill.“No,” I muttered aloud, voice hoarse in the cold. “Not this one.”She’s weak. Easy prey. It’s mercy.“She’s still breathing.”Barely.I crested the ridge where the scent pulled strongest, and there she was—curled in the snow like some fallen creature carved of moonlight and ruin. Her body was a mess of blood-crusted scratches, tangled white hair, and torn clothes clinging to skin too pale to be alive.But she was.Still breathing.Barely.And not alone.Three rogues circled her. Low to the ground. Tails twitching. Jaws slack with hunger.I didn’t shift.Didn’t need to.I let the monster through my voice. My growl cracked the silence like thunder, primal and full of promise.Mine.The rogues bolted like cowards. Good. If they’d hesitated,

EliraThe fire hissed as I tipped another scoop of steaming water over my head. Ash and melted snow clung to my tangled hair, staining it a murky silver-gray. I scrubbed harder, using the hem of my shirt like a washcloth—its rough edge grating over skin, catching on half-healed cuts and fresh bruises. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I wasn’t just trying to get clean. I was trying to erase everything. The filth. The pain. The memories. As if enough scrubbing could peel off the last few weeks of hell.The water stung more than it soothed. My skin was raw, my arms blotched with scrapes and purple bruises that stretched down to my ribs. Every movement ached. But I didn’t care. I needed this—one moment of control, one moment of clean.The silence in the cabin felt almost too thick, like it was holding its breath with me. No birdsong. No creaking branches. No footsteps overhead. Just the hiss of fire and the splash of water echoing in an old iron pot.Outside, the world was all white and shadow

EliraThe stew was on.Steam curled from the heavy pot in slow, twisting ribbons, thick with the scent of fox meat and root vegetables. It should have been comforting. It should have felt like warmth and survival and the small illusion of safety.Instead, the silence between us was sharp enough to flay skin.Every sound seemed too loud against it—the pop of the fire, the faint scrape of his movements, the wet simmer of the stew. I felt pinned beneath it, as exposed as if I were still naked and bent over in the cold.I needed something to do before the quiet crushed me.I padded over to the straw nest that had become my bed and sat cross‑legged, running my fingers through the long pieces I’d gathered earlier. The memory came in a sudden, aching rush—Sasha’s patient hands guiding mine as she taught me to weave, the smell of sun‑warmed hay, Ginny laughing when my first basket collapsed in on itself, Tawny teasing me for making it crooked.I needed a basket. Something practical. Something

RonanThe spoon paused halfway to my mouth. I looked up, slow and deliberate. And smiled.It wasn’t a kind smile. It was sharp around the edges. Cold in the center. The kind of smile wolves give when they’re about to sink their teeth into a truth someone’s not ready to hear.But she’d asked. So now she’d have to listen.“Well,” I said, setting the bowl aside with a quiet clink, “the short answer is… I’m half demon.”Her eyebrows lifted—not in fear or disbelief, but in that same quiet calculation she always carried like a shield. She didn’t gasp. Didn’t flinch. Just studied me like she was trying to glimpse what lay beneath the surface.Then she said, cool and unbothered, “And the long answer?”I leaned back on one elbow, stretching out beside the fire. Letting the warmth soak into my skin, letting my words hang in the silence before I dropped the weight of them between us.“My mother was a wolf. Not just any wolf. High blood. Moon-blessed. Born into one of the oldest lines in the north

EliraRonan didn’t say a word, just jerked his head toward the trees and started walking. It was a yes. A growly, annoyed, grudging yes.I followed without smiling.We walked for nearly a mile in silence. Snow crunched beneath our boots, and a raven cawed somewhere in the distance. The forest was all frost-laced shadows and filtered light. He moved like he belonged to it.“Where exactly are we going?” I asked.He didn’t look back.“You need to keep quiet,” he said flatly. “Keep your head on a swivel and stay alert.”“For what?”He glanced at me over his shoulder, eyes glinting.“Rogues.”My pulse stuttered. “There are rogues out here?”He didn’t answer.That was answer enough.We kept moving until we reached a small clearing where an old cabin leaned against the edge of a ravine. Smoke puffed lazily from the chimney. He walked up and knocked twice.A heavy thud of footsteps.Then the door swung open, revealing a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a scar down one cheek. “Alph