Killed and Reborn: My Alpha’s Obsession のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

*Aria*The first night back, I dreamed of her.Not the way I used to.No blood moon.No altar.There is no sensation of a cold hand closing around my heart.Just… a room.Small.Stone.It was lit by a single lamp that gave off more shadow than light.Elyra sat on the floor, her back against the wall.Her famous robes were gone.No swirling shadows, no dramatic hood. Just a plain dress, torn at the hem, and bare, pale feet scuffed with dirt. Her wrists were bound—not with rope, but with threads of light that looked suspiciously like the sigils I’d drawn at the shrine.Chains made of my own stubbornness.She glared up at me as I stepped toward her.“You should have been mine,” she hissed.Her voice wasn’t the booming, everywhere‑and‑nowhere sound that had once made trees shake.It was thin.Hoarse.Petty.“I was never yours to keep,” I said.Her lip curled.“You think you’ve unmade me,” she said. “You think one loud gesture under a bleeding moon—”“Probably. But they won’t be *you.* And

*Aria*The forest where I died the first time was just… a forest.It shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did.Birds sang.Leaves whispered.Sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken shafts, catching on motes of dust and the occasional drifting bit of pollen. The patch of earth where my blood had soaked in another life was now a tangle of ferns and stubborn wildflowers, no different to the eye than a dozen others.Only my bones knew.“Here?” Lucian asked quietly when I stopped.“Here,” I said.He stood a step away, close enough that I could feel his heat, far enough that I had space to breathe.I closed my eyes.Memory rose like a tide.The cold press of the ground against my back.The sting of the blade.The weight of his hands on my throat—not these hands, not this life, but his all the same.Elyra’s voice, syrup‑sweet and hungry.The awful clarity of choosing to die so he would live.I inhaled.The air that filled my lungs now was warm, threaded with loam and green things

*Aria*Leadership, it turned out, was a lot less about dramatic speeches under blood moons and a lot more about logistics.“Hunters are reporting more deer on the north ridge,” Fen said, tapping a finger against the map spread over the small table in the council room. “Less sickly than before. Might be time to ease rations for the pups and elders.”“Do it,” I said. “But slowly. I don’t want anyone’s stomach to rebelling out of enthusiasm.”Rhea snorted. “I’ll tell the kitchen to watch the little terrors.”Across the table, Rowan flipped through a stack of reports. “No new signs of residual curse activity,” he said. “The worst of the nightmares are tapering. There are still pockets of… old fear, but that’s more habit than magic.”“Habits can be broken,” I said.“Says the girl who died twice to prove it,” Rowan murmured.“Once,” I corrected. “The second time was more of a very aggressive nap.”A few of the younger wolves around the table huffed light laughter.Lucian leaned back in his

*Aria*The witch was gone, and the curse was broken; my nightmares hadn’t gotten the memo.The first one hit a week after we planted the border tree.I woke with dirt in my mouth.Not real dirt.Just the phantom grit of memory, dry and choking on my tongue. My heart was hammering, my ribs felt too tight, and for a split second, I didn’t know where I was.Forest.Stone.Hands on my throat.Elyra’s laugh.“Aria.”Lucian’s voice cut through the panic—rough, close.Warm.Not the cold, distant echo from another life.His arms tightened around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His breath was hot against my neck, ragged in my ear.“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’m me. I remember.”I dragged in a breath.The air tasted of smoke from the banked fire in the hearth, of linen and wolf and the faint sweetness of the soap Lucian pretended not to like. Not copper. Not rot.My hands had fisted in the sheets.I pried my fingers loose one by one.His hand slid over mine an

*Aria*The first time someone mentioned it, my stomach dropped straight through the floor.“It’s just an astronomical note,” Rowan said, as if that made it better. He waved a scrap of parchment at me over the pile of ledgers on his desk. “Lesser blood moon. Partial umbral eclipse. There is nothing to do with curses. Probably.”“Probably,” I repeated.He winced. “Wrong choice of adverb.”I took the parchment.The symbols and notations meant little to me beyond the highlighted circle and the neat line explaining that, on a certain night, the moon would rise red‑tinged again.A lesser version.Natural.Harmless.In theory.“Have you told the elders?” I asked.“Some of them can smell a red moon coming whether I tell them or not,” Rowan said. “Better we get ahead of the panic—make it something we manage, not something that happens to us.”My pulse ticked up anyway.“The last time it happened,” I said, “I died.”“And the curse rode Lucian’s bones, and Elyra laughed at us, and a lot of peopl