บททั้งหมดของ The Heart of a Luna: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

NoahWe walk around the corner, well out of sight of Lyric before I turn on Weiland. A raw, primal fury, thick and hot as spilled blood, surges through my veins. I seize him by the front of his impeccably tailored, obviously expensive, designer shirt, and throw him backward with enough force to make the old, salt-worn structure groan. The impact is a sickening thud followed by a dry, splintering crack as his back hits a rickety wooden booth, one of those abandoned shacks that probably housed rigged carnival games decades ago.The rotting wood pillars give way with a wet snap under his weight. He drops the sheaf of rolled-up blue prints and the small, black USB drives containing the ride demonstrations. The paper flutters downward, catching the humid sea breeze, a white, pathetic bird against the dull, dark sand. The sticks land with dull, barely audible thuds, swallowed by the gritty drift sand.My teeth are bared, a low, guttural snarl vibrating deep in my chest. I lean in until th

LyricNoah holds his arm out and I take it without thinking. We had functions back at the towers. Probably nothing like the one Noah’s taking me to, but we'd dress up and dance. I’m not completely clueless or without etiquette.My heels literally sink away in the rotting wood of the promenade, and I’m genuinely concerned that I’d either break a heel or we’ll fall through the rotting boardwalk.“The contractors are coming in tomorrow,” Noah says as if I said my thoughts aloud. “The first thing they’re going to fix is the promenade.”“So I’ll be stuck indoors for a few weeks?”“No. I was thinking of booking you into a hotel while they do their work.”"I don’t want to cost you more money, but I also can’t say no. No one says no to the Lycan prince, not even a daughter of the towers.""Then don’t," he says simply, guiding me toward the edge of the collapsing promenade where a sleek, black car is parked. Its polished surface catches the pale moonlight, and the driver opens the backseat as

NoahThe drive back from the gala is quieter than the ride there. I am exhausted, and even our driver looks a little deflated. The adrenaline of the public spectacle has worn off, and has been replaced by a comfortable, if somewhat strained, silence. There’s always this weird, anti-climactic silence after a gala. A silence I don’t always know what to do with when I’m alone.The Bentley glides through the city, now softened by the deep blue of the late-night hours."Thank you, Noah," Lyric finally says, her voice soft, the polite ‘Mister Roarke’ entirely forgotten. "It was… nice to get out. It was a good idea to get away from that musty old flat for a while and enjoy the company of others, even if they were humans."Thank God my driver is a wolf, or he’d probably have some questions right now.Her acknowledgment is a small thing, but it warms my heart and it makes Conri stupid happy. I reach over and squeeze her hand, which is still resting near mine on the plush leather seat."You’re

LyricThe silence in this beautiful, borrowed cottage is louder than any scream. Two weeks. It’s been fourteen days since Noah left me on this porch, a single key in my hand, and drove away in his ridiculously silent, expensive car. Fourteen days of complete, absolute radio silence.I unpacked my few belongings. I explored the neighbourhood to death. I walked to the beach and back a thousand times. And learned a crucial fucking lessons.With freedom comes boredom. I know no one. I have no friends. Not that I had friends back at The Towers, but I had my father and my Omegas.Here it’s just me and the endless fucking silence.Fuck my father for kicking me out. And fuck Noah Roarke for dropping me off here in the middle of nowhere.A small, rational voice, the one I am desperately trying to listen to, insists that he owes me nothing. He has given me this house, a wardrobe full of clothes I’m too afraid to wear, a promise of a future business, and, most importantly, the blissful, terrifyin

NoahLyric is only out of it for about a minute, and I can’t tell if the sudden blackout was a side effect of our newly forged bond or if the wave of psychic pain and despair triggered a panic attack. The intensity of the shared emotions had been overwhelming, a physical jolt to my entire system. I felt a surge of pure, raw something slam into me, a psychic echo that resonated deep within my own core.It began as a sharp, agonizing stab of fear, quickly followed by a visceral revulsion so potent it made me sick to my stomach. Then came a wave of sadness so crushing, so intense, it was as if someone had physically reached inside my chest and torn my heart to shreds, leaving behind nothing but bleeding fragments.And then, compounding the psychic assault, came the kind of acute, gut-wrenching pain that always, without fail, reignited the cold, simmering hatred I harbor for wolves. They are capable of unspeakable things, and they do it to each other, to outsiders, to those they deem we