Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Alpha’s Rejected Human Luna: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

*Lilah*The first thing I notice when I wake is that my head doesn’t feel like it’s splitting in two.The second is that I’m not in my bar uniform or the dirt‑streaked green dress I destroyed in training. Someone’s changed me into a clean, soft t‑shirt and shorts that definitely aren’t mine.Panic flares for half a second.Then I clock the details:I’m still in “my” guest room. The sheets are the same. The faint crack in the ceiling is the same. The curtains are half‑drawn, letting in a slice of pale light. My body aches like I’ve been used as a punching bag, but nothing feels…wrong.Still. Someone undressed me.Heat creeps up my neck.“Relax,” I mutter to myself. Laughing at my own voice keeps panic small enough to swallow. “Hospitals do this all the time. It’s just a wolf hospital. With less paperwork.”Bits of memory float up.Training field. Cassian’s grin. Dirt. Falls. That one glorious moment when I actually flipped him. Pride. Then pain. Collapsing. Ronan’s arms lifted me.Then

*Lilah*The dining hall looks like something out of a dark fairy tale.Long wooden tables stretch the length of the room, lit by iron chandeliers and the glow from a massive fireplace at one end. Wolves fill the benches—some rowdy, some stiff, all too aware that this is more than just dinner.It’s a show.I stand with Ronan at the entrance, the cream dress swishing softly around my boots. My hand is not in his, but I can feel the heat of him beside me. The bond hums—too aware of him, too aware of every stare aimed our way.Conversations dip as we step in.“He really brought her.”“She’s actually human.”“She smells like—”“—the curse.”I fight the urge to shrink.“You don’t have to enjoy this,” Ronan says under his breath. “You just need to get through it.”“Oh good,” I whisper back. “I was worried you’d lost your flair for pep talks.”His lips twitch once, then flatten again as he leads me toward the high table at the far end.The elders sit there—Malric at the center, of course, his

*Lilah*He walks me back to my room in silence.Leo falls in behind us without a word. The tension in the corridor follows like a ghost—cracked stone, torn fabric, the echo of a boy’s scream, and the memory of Ronan’s hand on my face.My heart hasn’t quite figured out how to calm down yet. It stutters every time I catch his scent—pine, smoke, and that wild heat that’s starting to feel like its own weather system.At my door, Ronan pauses.“Inside,” he says.“I’m not a puppy,” I mutter, but I go.Leo stops at his post.Ronan steps in behind me and shuts the door.I whirl on him. “You can’t just—”The words lodge in my throat.Because now there are no other wolves. No elders. No narrow stone corridor and witnesses.Just him and me. Four walls. A bed. A bond humming like a live wire.“You’re shaking,” he says again, softer this time. “Sit.”“I’m not—” I start.My knees wobble in traitorous agreement.I sit on the edge of the bed because I’d rather do it on my own terms than fall over.He

*Lilah* Ronan’s “rules” echo in my head as I walk. Sit. Smile. Speak when spoken to. Don’t poke the wolves. Too bad I’ve never been good at following instructions. The late‑afternoon light slants in through the high windows of the main hall, painting long bars across the stone floor. Voices bounce off the vaulted ceiling—raised, tense, more growl than conversation. I almost turn around. I don’t owe them anything. Not their arguments, not their politics, not their snarls. But curiosity is a stubborn thing. So is the new spine I seem to be growing. I drift closer. The great hall looks different without the fancy dinner spread. The long tables are shoved back, leaving a wide aisle down the middle. A small knot of wolves has formed near the front: a broad‑shouldered male in work‑worn clothes, shoulders hunched in fury; a thinner, gray‑faced man with the pinched look of someone who’s been ground down his whole life; and between them, Malric. The elder stands with his hands folded

*Ronan*For a breath, all I can do is stare.Half‑moon grooves scar the floorboards where her nails dug in. Her fingertips are tipped in blunt, half‑formed claws. The air in the room crackles with the echo of her scream.And her eyes—Gold. Not a flicker. Not a trick of the light.A full, predatory glow that has no place in a human face.A faint, broken growl vibrates in her throat. Her lips peel back from teeth that are still mostly human but edging wrong, just enough to make my wolf bare his own.He surges against my skin, not in horror.In recognition. In pride.*Ours.*She whimpers, then, the sound scraping the rough edge of that growl, folding in on itself like a wounded thing.That breaks the freeze.I move.I’m on my knees beside her in two strides, the hardwood cool under my bare shins. Up close, the scent of her pain is a bitter tang on the air—fear, sweat, that sharp mineral edge of something new and wild trying to break free.“Lilah,” I say.Her body jerks, every muscle kno