Semua Bab The Obsidian Covenant #1: The Rejected Mate's Ruin: Bab 21 - Bab 30

POV: ViggoUsually, after the rage breaks, I am empty.The Red takes everything. It burns the fuel in my blood. Snaps the fibers in my muscles. It leaves me hollowed out, scraping the bottom of my own soul for a reason to keep breathing. The silence after a battle is usually the loudest part—filled with the echo of my own screams.But not today.I stood amidst the ruin of the warehouse. My chest heaved. Steam rose from my shoulders into the cool, toxic air.I did not feel empty. I felt... full.The energy Neoma had pushed into me sat heavy and cool in my gut. It was like swallowing a glacier. It hummed in my veins—a dark, velvet vibration that kept the beast lulled to sleep. I looked at my hands, still gripping the haft of my warhammer. They weren't shaking.The battle was over. The Rogues who hadn't been crushed were fleeing back into the shadows of the Dregs. Tails tucked. Whimpering."Sector clear," Wolfy’s voice came over the comms. Cool as ever. "Thermal signatures retreating."I

POV: GullerThe spirits are usually restless in the Citadel. They cling to the corners of the Undercroft. Weeping for bodies long since incinerated.But tonight, the dead were quiet.The living were the ones screaming.I sat in the lotus position in the center of the Medical Bay. The smell of antiseptic and ozone burned my nostrils—a sharp, chemical fire. My eyes were closed. My sight turned inward. Scanning the energetic web of the Vanguard.Barzil was a steady, iron pulse. Thum-thum. Unshakable.Wolfy was a cold, rhythmic tick-tock of calculation. Ice water in a glass.Neoma was a void—a terrifying, beautiful silence in the cacophony.But Viggo...Viggo was a wildfire.I opened my eyes. The air in the room tasted thick. Syrupy. Heavy with a scent that triggered a primal alarm in my hindbrain. Musk. Pine resin turned sour. The metallic tang of aggression.It is too soon.I rose to my feet. My robes whispered against the floor. I moved to the diagnostic console.The biometrics on the

POV: BarzilProtocol demanded I execute her.Class 4 Isolation Vaults are restricted for a reason. Entering one without authorization is a capital offense. Entering one containing a Highblood in the throes of a chemically accelerated Rut is suicide.And yet.Standing in the doorway. Watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. I did not reach for my blade.I reached for understanding.The vault, usually a cauldron of screaming madness during a cycle, was silent. The oppressive heat that had blasted me when I opened the door had dissipated. Replaced by a cool, quiet stillness that settled in my lungs.Viggo lay slumped against the wall. His massive frame relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in a decade. The tension wire that usually held his spine rigid had snapped. And curled into his side, her head resting on his chest, was Neoma.Her hand was tangled in his sweat-damp hair. His arm was draped protectively over her legs. Heavy. Possessive.They looked like a painting from the Before. Th

POV: NeomaThe invitation didn't look like paper. It looked like a weapon.It sat on the scarred oak table of the common room. A rectangular slab of beaten silver leaf. Heavy enough to break a toe if dropped. The edges were razor-sharp. Embossed in the center was the sigil of the Lugal—a crescent moon eating a sun—stamped in obsidian dust."I'm not going," I said. Crossing my arms over my chest.Barzil stood by the window. Polishing his gauntlets. Scritch. Scritch. He didn't look up. "Attendance is mandatory for all Ensi and their senior staff. You are senior staff.""I am a battery," I corrected. "Batteries stay in the drawer until you need them.""You are a political statement," Barzil countered. The metal sang as he ran a cloth over the knuckles. "The rumors are spreading, Neoma. The Void Witch. The Rogue-Killer. If Nergal hides you away, the other Houses will think he is afraid of what you are. Or worse, that he can't control you."He turned. His golden eyes hard. "Weakness invite

POV: NeomaThe Apex smelled of ozone and lies.It was a scent so thin and sharp it made my head spin. We were ten thousand feet above the surface. Floating on a platform of anti-gravity engines and arrogance. The ballroom of the Celestial Spire was a dome of transparent crystal. It offered a panoramic view of the storm clouds churning below.To the Highbloods, the view was majestic. To me, it was just a reminder of how far I would fall if they decided to throw me out."Chin up," Wolfy murmured beside me. His voice was a low vibration against the ambient chatter. "You are projecting insecurity. Project boredom. It confuses them."I straightened my spine. The silver boning of the black silk dress dug into my ribs. Pinch. The Vanguard moved around me in a diamond formation—Barzil at the point, Viggo and Guller at the flanks, Wolfy at the rear. I was the payload in a convoy of predators.The room went quiet as we entered.Hundreds of eyes turned. Gold eyes. Amber eyes. The predatory gaze