Todos los capítulos de The Freak Is The Mate Of The Lycan: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

​The scream didn’t come from inside the keep. It came from the borders.​I was sitting in the solar, watching Ares trace the line of a supply route on a map, his hand warm over mine. The fire was crackling, a low, domestic sound that had become the soundtrack to our week of peace. We were arguing, playfully, about whether the village needed a new grain silo or a larger schoolhouse.​Then the horn blew.​It wasn’t the rhythmic, deep blast of a ceremonial horn. It was a jagged, frantic sound. Three short blasts.​Intruders.​Ares went still. The playful light in his silver eyes vanished, replaced instantly by the flat, cold look of the Alpha. He didn't say a word; he just moved. He was out of the chair and halfway to the door before I had even set down my quill.​"Stay here," he commanded, not looking back.​"Don't start that again," I said, grabbing my dagger from the table. I strapped it to my thigh over my simple grey dress. "I'm the Luna. If there's a threat, I face it."​He paused

​The morning sun did nothing to warm the stone floor of the solar. It just highlighted the tension that had settled over the room like a layer of dust.​Ares stood by the window, his back to me. He hadn’t spoken since I walked in. He was staring down at the courtyard, watching the Enforcers drill, but I knew his mind was in the dungeons below.​"He can't stay down there, Ares," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "Elias says the dampness is making the infection in his leg worse. If he stays in that cell, he’ll lose the leg. Or he’ll die."​Ares didn’t turn. His shoulders were a rigid line of black leather.​"Then he dies," he said. The words were flat, devoid of emotion. "He is an intruder. A liability. I gave him life when I should have given him a sword through the chest."​"He is my friend," I snapped, the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours fraying my patience. "He is the heir to my former pack. He fought Tiana. He tried to save his sister. He doesn't deserve to rot in the dark

​I didn’t run. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me flee.​I walked down the tower stairs with a measured, steady tread, even though my blood was boiling hot enough to melt the stone beneath my boots.​Go.​The word echoed in my skull, bouncing around with the memory of his back turning against me. He had dismissed me. Like a servant. Like a child who didn’t understand the grown-up talk of war.​I slammed the heavy door of our chambers shut, the sound a satisfying, thunderous boom that shook the tapestries.​"Arrogant, controlling, impossible bastard," I hissed to the empty room.​I paced. Eighteen steps to the window. Eighteen steps back. The rhythm that had kept me sane during my captivity now just fueled my rage.​I wasn’t a captive anymore. I was the Luna. I had executed a traitor. I had earned my place at his side in blood and silver fire.​And yet, the moment I disagreed with him, the moment I showed mercy to someone he hated, I was back in the box.​I walked to the t

​Peace.​It was a strange, fragile thing, lighter than air, and I carried it carefully, afraid that one wrong step would shatter it.​Three days had passed since the confrontation in the solar. Three days since Ares had, with a jaw tight enough to snap bone, agreed to let the cage doors open.​And in those three days, the sky hadn't fallen. The walls hadn't crumbled.​In fact, the sun had come out.​I stood on the balcony overlooking the lower training fields, a mug of hot tea warming my hands. Below, the morning drills were in full swing. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of wooden staves against shields drifted up, a familiar, comforting percussion.​But there was a new note in the symphony today.​Down near the weapons rack, leaning heavily on a cane but standing upright, was Riel.​He wasn't fighting. His leg was still heavily bandaged, stiff and useless for combat. But he wasn't isolating himself in the shadows, either. He was talking to Valerius.​I leaned over the railing, straining

​I climbed the spiral stairs to the tower, my legs heavy.I reached the heavy oak door.My hand hovered over the iron latch.I pushed the handle down and stepped inside.​The room was sweltering.Ares had fed the fire until it roared, the orange light dancing violently against the black stone walls.He was standing by the hearth, one arm braced against the mantel, staring into the flames. He looked like a statue carved from tension and violence.He heard the door close.I saw the muscles in his back bunch, a ripple of movement under the leather.But he didn’t turn."You're burning all the wood," I said quietly.Ares slowly turned his head.The firelight caught the scar on his face, twisting it into a grimace. His silver eyes were dark, almost black, the pupils blown wide.He looked at me—at my face, my hands, my body.He looked like a man who had been holding his breath for an hour."I like the heat," he rumbled. His voice was rough, like gravel grinding together."It's suffocating,"