บททั้งหมดของ Luna Rossi: Alpha's Little Human Mate: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The days bled into a tense, waiting game.We were in the eye of the hurricane. The Pack House was a hive of quiet activity—Alpha Sam and Luca held hushed councils with Liam in the study, debating the legality of our existence. Jack and Bastien retreated to the garage, bonding over the engine of a vintage Mustang like two boys who weren't preparing for an assassination.I spent my evenings with Mila.Liam had insisted. He didn't want me isolated in the house, stewing in my own anxiety while he plotted war. So, Mila would pick me up, and we would drive. We didn't go to malls or movies. We drove the perimeter roads, the windows down, letting the cold air numb the fear."Can I ask you something?" I broke the silence as we cruised along the edge of the forest. The moon was high, painting the road in silver.Mila glanced at me, her hands steady on the wheel. "About Dante?""Yeah. How did you meet him? He’s... intense."Mila smiled, but it was a sad, wistful expression. "I thought he was a s

I thought we might talk. Or maybe... something else.But Liam was out cold. His breathing had evened out into a soft, rhythmic snore that vibrated through the mattress.I propped myself up on one elbow, watching him. He looked younger when he slept, the harsh lines of command smoothed away from his forehead. He looked like the boy who used to build pillow forts with me, not the Alpha who was plotting assassinations and wars.He was exhausted. Between the training, the politics, and the constant vigilance, he was running on fumes.When does it end? I wondered, tracing the line of his jaw with my eyes. When Adler is dead? When Dimitri is gone?No. Because I was a Lycan. As long as I existed, there would be a target on my back. And by extension, on his.Living in the shadows, always looking over your shoulder... it was exhausting. I thought of Dante, living like this for a century. Alone. No pack. No mate. Just survival.He had been in the same city as me for years, watching, protecting,

Time became a fluid, meaningless concept.I slept. I woke. I ate the food that appeared like magic.I explored the boundaries of my prison. It was luxurious, sterile, and terrifyingly prepared. The closet wasn't empty. It was stocked with clothes in my exact size—jeans, sweaters, silk dresses, even lingerie.This wasn't a ransom holding cell. This was a habitat.I shuddered, pushing the closet door shut. Whoever had taken me didn't plan on letting me go. They planned on keeping me. Like a pet. Or a blood bank.I lay on the bed, staring at the white ceiling. My cheek still throbbed where Marcus had struck me. I hoped Liam found him. I hoped he tore him apart.Liam.The thought of him was a physical ache. He would be frantic. He would be tearing the city apart. And he would be looking at Edward Adler.A cold knot formed in my stomach. The kidnappers knew I was going to the festival. They knew exactly when to strike.A traitor, I realized. Just like Lily.The lock on the heavy door click

Time in the bunker was a flat circle. Without windows or clocks, I measured the passing hours in heartbeats and anxiety.I showered, checking every inch of the tiles for cameras before stripping down. Zaya was right; I needed to clear my head, and the scalding water helped wash away the lingering sensation of the drug. I dressed in a thick green hoodie and black leggings I found in the closet—clothes that fit too perfectly, chosen by a ghost who knew my measurements.I paced the room, my nerves strung tight. Waiting was worse than fighting.Finally, the lock clicked.The heavy steel door swung open. Dimitri walked in, carrying a silver tray. He was smiling, a look of genuine, relaxed warmth that was far more terrifying than a snarl.Zaya followed him, carrying a second tray.But something was different. The shark-like CEO from yesterday was gone. Zaya kept her head down, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her shoulders were hunched, her movements stiff and careful. She placed the tray on th

I stopped counting the hours. I started counting the meals.Seven breakfasts. Six dinners. A dozen trays of perfectly sliced fruit I hadn't touched.I was going crazy.I paced the room until I had worn a path in the plush carpet. I did pushups until my arms shook, channeling the anger into muscle memory. I stared at the camera in the corner, imagining I could burn a hole through the lens with my violet gaze.Dimitri hadn't come back.Zaya was my only visitor. She brought food, inspected my prison, and offered biting commentary on my appearance. But she never answered my questions.Until today.The door opened. Zaya walked in, carrying a tray. She was wearing a sleek black jumpsuit, looking like she was ready for a funeral. Or a hunt.She stopped when she saw me sitting at the table, my head resting on my arms."You look terrible," she observed, setting the tray down. "Like a corpse warmed over."I lifted my head. "Seven days in a windowless box will do that to a person."Zaya sat oppo