Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 141 - Chapitre 148

POV: Lilah The funny thing about peace was that it generated more paperwork than war.During the curse, everything had been triage and crisis. You didn’t stop to draft policy when a goddess was throwing tantrums and elders were plotting sacrifice.Now?Now I had a stack of folders on the council table labeled things like EMERGENCY RESPONSE COORDINATION and CROSS‑JURISDICTIONAL INCIDENT REPORTING.Naomi called it “my villain origin story.”“You’re the one who wanted laws,” she muttered as she flipped through a packet, highlighter uncapped. “This is what happens when you fix things. Humans show up with acronyms.”“They’re our acronyms,” Lena said mildly from the other end of the table. “Well. Mostly.”The local council had sent three representatives this time.Lena, in her official capacity as “rural liaison,” wore the badge. Two others—Councilor Harper, who always smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink, and a younger man named Malik, who’d only ever known this town as the slightly

POV: Lilah Legend arrived in the form of a badly drawn comic.“Mama, look,” Rowan said, barreling into the kitchen with a stack of crinkled paper clutched in both hands. “We made history.”I glanced up from the pot I was stirring—Morwen’s “approved” stew recipe, which apparently involved exactly seven herbs and no substitutions unless you wanted your eyebrows hexed off.“Oh?” I said. “What did you burn down this time?”“Nothing,” they said, affronted. “We drew you.”That was, in its own way, more alarming.They slapped the comic down on the table.Naomi, already sitting there with a mug of coffee, leaned over eagerly. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “I have never loved anything more.”The first panel showed a stick‑figure version of me with extremely dramatic hair, standing on a boulder, arms raised. My eyes were enormous circles with jagged lines coming out—lightning, maybe.Underneath, in Rowan’s careful, wobbly handwriting: THE KERSED LUNA.The second panel had a moon with angry eyebr

POV: Ronan There were nights the scars itched.Not literally—Morwen’s salves had long since handled the physical side of things—but in my head. Like old stories tugging at the edge of sleep, wanting to be told again.That night, the house was quiet.Rowan had finally surrendered to exhaustion after a spirited argument about why bedtime was “a human construct.” Lilah had fallen asleep beside them for a while, hand curved protectively over their back, breath slow.I’d carried Rowan to their own bed, tucked them in, and watched their little chest rise and fall until my wolf finally accepted that they were safe.Now, with the moon a thin smear behind high clouds, I found myself in the small washroom off our room, shirt off, and the lantern turned low.The mirror over the basin was old and slightly warped. It had seen different faces. Different Alphas.Tonight, it reflected mine.And all the lines carved into me.The long pale slash over my right ribs from Malric’s first “lesson” when I

POV: Lilah Years later, I went back to the beginning.Not the bar.Not the hospital.Here.To the place they’d dragged me after that first night. The edge of pack territory where the truck had jolted to a stop and my whole world had narrowed to a line of trees and the smell of wolves.The dirt road was the same.Rutted. Flanked by tall pines. A faded NO TRESPASSING sign leaned at an angle, now accompanied by a newer one with friendlier lettering: PRIVATE LAND – ASK BEFORE ENTERINGRowan had designed that one.I stood just inside the tree line, fingers brushing the rough bark of the nearest trunk.If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear it:The crunch of boots on gravel.The slam of a van door.The scrape of my own breath as I’d tried not to make a sound.Back then, this place had been a threshold into someone else’s story.Tonight, it felt like… a bookmark.“Talking to trees again?” Naomi’s voice floated toward me, threaded with amusement and the faint creak of the wagon she was ha