Semua Bab The Alpha’s Rejected Human Luna: Bab 71 - Bab 80

LilahThe safehold doesn’t look like much from the road.Which, I decide, is the point.It’s tucked into a fold of the land where the forest thickens and then suddenly breaks. One moment we’re moving under a dense canopy of pines. The next we’re sliding into a hollow, that doesn’t quite make sense.Stone outcrops jut from the earth at odd angles, half‑hidden by moss and ferns. A low wall curves around them—not tall, not imposing, just there, like an afterthought. Wildflowers grow in the cracks. A narrow stream cuts through one edge, water bright and cold.If you didn’t know how to look, you’d think it was just another pocket of forest.Morwen lifts a hand as we approach and mutters something under her breath.For a heartbeat, my ears ring.The air shivers.Lines of faint light flicker along the stones—runes etched so deep they’ve nearly become part of the rock. The wall seems to straighten, the hollow deepen. Space… stretches.“I hate witch doorways,” Naomi mutters, clutching the side

LilahThe next morning, my body protested before I even stood.Every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry crooked. The ache under my sternum is a familiar throb now—less emergency, more constant background threat.I sit up anyway.If there’s one thing the last few weeks have taught me, it’s that pain doesn’t wait for permission.The common room smells like smoke and something vaguely herbal. Naomi is sprawled in a chair with her feet on the table, hair yanked into a knot, eyes half‑closed. Bella is hunched over a piece of paper, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration as she sketches the curve of the hearth.“You look like roadkill,” Naomi says when she notices me.“Thanks,” I say. “You look like you fought the road and won.”“I did,” she says. “It was gravel. I’m very brave.”Bella glances up, eyes bright. “You slept,” she says. “Properly. I could tell.”“Define properly,” I say. “But yeah. There was a dream. Less death. More… weird empowerment

LilahThe first hint comes as a tug at my senses, subtle enough that I almost ignore it.Smoke, metal, and something… thorned. A hint of something familiar, sharp, and impossible to mistake. My muscles tighten without conscious thought, and I freeze mid-kick, foot suspended in the air, feeling the blood in my veins pulse like an alarm.It’s not here—at least, not fully. Not inside the sanctuary, where Morwen’s wards thrum a quiet, steady pulse under my skin. And yet…Close.Too close.I drop my leg and pivot, scanning the trees beyond the outer barrier. The air smells of the forest in early spring, of moss and wet stone—but threaded through it is that signature note: iron tang, charred wood, thorns scratching against the skin. Jax.Just the thought of his name makes my chest clench. Bitter. Sharp. Like a blade catching sunlight wrong. I bite my lip to stop it from trembling, fighting the instinct to run and fight and hide all at once.“Jax,” I murmur. One word, more a whisper of recog

RonanWeeks without her feel like living in negative space.She isn’t here.That’s the simplest truth.I still wake before dawn. Walk the borders. Sign patrol reports. Approve resource allocations. Listen to elders argue about winter stores and training priorities.On paper, nothing has changed.In the courtyards, wolves nod. Warriors spar. In the kitchens, omegas clatter pots, pups sneak extra bread.Life moves on.But the pulse under it… isn’t right.Conversations cut off when I walk into rooms. Glances slide away—not just in deference, but in uncertainty.They can feel it.The bond is a faint, constant ache now, like a muscle I tore and never rehabbed. Sometimes, it flares—sharp, a jolt of power or pain that isn’t mine, carrying the echo of her training, her focus, her anger.Every time it does, I feel both better and worse.Better because she’s alive. Working. Getting stronger.Worse, because she’s doing it without me.I deserve that.It doesn’t make it easier.“Alpha.”Cassian’s

LilahMorwen makes us run perimeter drills that morning.It's not the nice, meditative kind.The “if you trip, you eat dirt” kind.We jog the inner ring of the wards—Naomi loping along like she was born to this, Bella doing her best beside us, cheeks flushed but eyes determined. Morwen doesn’t run; she walks the opposite direction, staff in hand, gaze skipping over the air as if she’s reading invisible ink.The wards hum louder today.Closer to a growl than a purr.We’re halfway around when a ripple shivers through them.Not the usual brush of wind. Not a passing animal.Something smarter.“The hell was that?” Naomi pants, slowing.I stop dead.The scar under my sternum pinches, a quick, breath‑stealing squeeze.Not Ronan.The flavor is wrong.Sharpened steel. Smoke. Teeth hidden behind a smile.“Jax,” I say.Bella’s eyes widen. “Here?” she whispers.Morwen halts a few strides away, head tilted like she’s listening to someone only she can hear.“Persistent,” she mutters. Then, louder,