Semua Bab The Alphas’Dirty Desires : Moan for Us: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Velaria Mary Storm“That’s my mother.”The words left my mouth sharper than I intended, cutting through the room like a blade.Three sets of eyes turned to me at once. Silence followed—thick, heavy, almost cautious. They all understood immediately. I saw it in the way their expressions shifted.“Oh…” Lorenzo breathed softly.I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh?” I echoed, my voice rising. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”Valentino tilted his head slightly, studying me. “You’ve never spoken about her.”“There’s nothing to speak about,” I fired back too quickly. My pulse was racing now, my chest tight. “She left. I was a child, and she walked away like I was something she could set down and forget. So forgive me if I don’t feel overwhelmed with joy about her sudden desire to reappear.”The room went quiet again.Vincenzo folded his arms, leaning back against the table. “You hate her.”“I do.” The answer came out steady—but inside, I felt anything but steady. My throat b

Vincenzo DrakvolkThis—right here—is what success looks like when every piece of a plan falls perfectly into place.I stand in the center of the grand hall, silent and still while the crowd buzzes around me. Crystal chandeliers spill golden light across polished marble floors, and the air is thick with expensive perfume and quiet ambition. My gaze remains fixed on the human man standing proudly on the stage, his voice echoing through the room as he boasts about his newest creation.Investry.According to him, the perfume is revolutionary—crafted specially for werewolves. Refined. Luxurious. A scent powerful enough to enhance our natural instincts.The audience murmurs with interest. Some even look impressed.I almost laugh.Because everyone in this room is pretending not to see what is painfully obvious.As if we aren’t all aware of the truth lurking beneath his polished presentation.As if we aren’t betting on the same thing.That somewhere behind the glittering brand and smooth word

Velaria Mary Storm: The wall is cool against my back, but Valentino’s body heat is the opposite—scorching, deliberate, pressing just close enough that every shallow breath I take brushes my chest against his. His forearm is braced beside my head, caging without quite touching, and the way he’s looking down at me makes my pulse knock hard against my throat. Not angry. Worse. Possessive in that quiet, lethal way only Valentino can manage—like I’m already his, I’ve always been his, and someone else briefly forgetting that fact is an insult he’s still deciding how to punish. Vincenzo stays in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms loosely folded. He hasn’t said anything since that first growled “No—he didn’t,” but I can feel his stare like a second set of hands. Heavy. Watching. Waiting to see whether he needs to step in or simply enjoy the show. I try again, voice smaller than I want it to be. “A hug isn’t—” “When you hug someone,” Valentino cuts in, voice low and rough like

Velaria Mary StormThe bell above the café door chimed softly as I stepped inside.Warm light spilled across polished wood tables, the rich scent of roasted coffee beans hanging in the air. It was quieter than I expected for the afternoon—just a few people scattered around, murmuring over laptops and cups.Serah had texted me twenty minutes ago telling me to meet her here.So I did.I slid into a seat by the window and ordered a coffee I barely intended to drink. My fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic mug when it arrived, but the heat did nothing to calm the restless storm twisting in my chest.I stared down at the swirling foam, replaying the conversation over and over.Her voice.Her words.Her demands.My stomach twisted.The bell chimed again.“Hey baby, how are you?”Serah’s familiar voice cut through the fog in my mind.I looked up just as she slid into the chair beside me instead of across the table, her arms already opening.The moment she wrapped them around me, something

Serah:The door closed behind me with a soft, deliberate click that felt louder than it should in the hush of Dante’s apartment. The hallway light from the building corridor snuffed out the moment the latch caught, leaving only the warm amber glow of a single lamp in the living room. It cast long shadows across the minimalist space—dark wood floors, a low leather couch, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Lagos skyline. The city lights twinkled like distant stars, indifferent to whatever was about to happen inside these walls.I stood there for a heartbeat, purse still dangling from my fingers, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. Dante hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, still wearing the charcoal trousers and white dress shirt from the client meeting. Sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, exposing corded muscle and the faint shadow of a tattoo I’d never gotten close enough to decipher. His tie was gone. The top two bu