《His Mate, But Not His Luna》全部章節：第 31 章 - 第 40 章

Author’s POVHenry returned to the pack house just after dawn, ten minutes after Isyra’s carriage rode away.His boots tracked damp earth across the stone floor of the pack house entrance. Dead leaves still clung to his hair and shoulders, remnants from the white wolf he had been only hours earlier. His clothes were askew—shirt torn at the collar, sleeves rumpled, the faint scent of forest and sweat still clinging to him.Madam Joyce was waiting at the front door.She straightened the instant she saw him, her eyes flicking over his disheveled state without comment. Training and good sense kept her expression neutral, though the subtle tension in her stance made it clear she recognized trouble when she saw it.“Good morning, Alpha,” she said, bowing. “The elders are waiting for you in the throne room.”Henry paused. His wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin at the words, a low warning hum he ignored with effort. Of course they were waiting. He hadn’t summoned them, which meant this wa

LyseraThe salve stung faintly as I smoothed it over the fading bruises along my ribs and back, the cool paste sinking into skin that still felt too tender to press. Healer Apollo’s work was remarkable because by this morning, the ache had dulled to a distant throb, the angry purples and blues already fading.I flexed carefully, testing the healing, then reached for the cloth again and worked the salve higher, slower, breathing through the faint burn.My body felt almost fine.And it had nothing to do with rest.I hadn’t slept at all.After I ran—after the insults tore out of me and I slammed the door shut—I slid down against the wood, my knees drawn tight to my chest, my whole body shaking. I pressed my ear to the door and waited. Counted breaths. Counted heartbeats. Listened for heavy footsteps, for the low snarl of anger, for the sound of an Alpha coming to remind me of my place.He never came.The shock of that still hadn’t worn off.I had insulted an Alpha. I had spoken back, ref

Lysera The air became charged as Henry’s anger flooded the room, raw and undeniable, until I could taste it on my tongue. Sweat broke out along my spine. My hands began to shake, the cutlery rattling faintly against the plate as his presence bore down on everyone In the great living room. No matter how badly I wanted to keep eating, ignoring him was no longer an option.I lifted my head as Henry entered the living room, looking thunderous. His Beta was at his side.Harlow looked like an innocent lamb beside him.For a second, I wondered —as I always did when I saw the Beta— about how he even became the pack’s Beta. He was tall and lanky, all long limbs and wide eyes, as if a strong wind could knock him over. He looked nothing like a man meant to guard an Alpha’s back.I had never understood why Henry chose him. Why pick someone who looked like a little lamb? Who looked so gentle? So unassuming? Someone who didn’t look like he could survive the kind of treachery that always followed

Author’s POVHenry melted into the kiss.For a brief, dangerous moment, it felt exactly as it always had.The world narrowed to warmth and familiarity, to the soft press of Isyra’s mouth against his, to the scent he had learned to associate with comfort and certainty. His hands moved almost of their own accord, sliding over the curve of her waist, down her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.The kiss deepened.Isyra’s breath hitched softly against his lips, a sound she had learned he could never ignore. She pressed into him, pliant and eager, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor him there. Heat flared, sudden and consuming, and for a heartbeat Henry responded without thought.His hand roamed over her breast and he lunched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.Isyra moaned, the sound low and pleased, and it sent a jolt of triumph through her. She leaned into him, encouraged, her body speaking for her when words were unne

LyseraI lay on my back, staring at the pale blue ceiling, my eyes fixed on a single dark spot near the corner where a spider was patiently building its web.It moved with slow, deliberate care—stretching, anchoring, retreating, returning again—its tiny body a quiet rhythm against the stillness of the room.In any other circumstance, I would have been screaming. I would have leapt from the bed, clawed at the door, demanded someone come rid the room of it. I hated insects. Always had.But my mind was too far gone for fear.I wasn’t really seeing the spider at all.My hand rested on my stomach, fingers splayed over skin that was still flat, still giving nothing away. My other hand tapped against it softly, rhythmically, like I was counting time or heartbeats or how long it would take before hunger finally tipped into something worse.Just as I had predicted, no one had brought me food again.Not yesterday evening. Not this morning.If I hadn’t forced myself into the kitchen yesterday—if