Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Rejected Luna's Second Chance: Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

Selena's POV An hour later, the night has deepened around us, and I'm still pressed so close to Damian that I can feel every breath he takes. My head rests on his bicep, my body curled into his side, the sheets tangled around our naked bodies. We haven't moved. We haven't wanted to. There's a sacred stillness in this room—the kind that comes after making love until there's nothing left but raw, honest love between two people.Damian is kissing me. He's been kissing me for the past ten minutes—my cheeks, my temples, my forehead, my closed eyelids—everywhere his lips can reach. Each kiss is feather-light, reverent, like he's memorizing the geography of my face. His fingers trace the same paths his lips take, tracing the curve of my ear, the line of my jaw, the bridge of my nose. Then his hand slides into my hair, gently tugging the strands behind my ear, and he smiles.That smile. Warm and slow and so full of love that it makes my h

Selena's POV “H-He said he will send my daughter’s head to me.”Mary cries and cries, her body shaking so violently I feel it in my own bones. I can't stand to watch her crumble alone on floor, so I slide off the mattress onto the cold stone floor and pull her into my arms. She collapses against me, her grief a living thing, raw and ugly and violent.She sobs into my shoulder, her fingers clawing at my dress. All three of us are sitting on the floor now—me holding Mary, Damian close beside me, his knee pressed against mine, a silent anchor. The moonlight slants through the window, silvering the tears on Mary's cheeks."I… I haven't seen my Daughter in more than three years…" Her voice splinters, barely a whisper. "I… I don't know if she's even Alive…"I hold her more tightly as she cries. My throat burns. Three years of not knowing if her child breathes, if she laughs, if she's even

Damian's POV The corridor stretches before us, lined with ancient tapestries and the soft glow of wall sconces. Selena walks beside me, Asher cradled in her arms, while I carry Lydia against my chest. We're heading to Sera's chamber for the morning healing. The pack house is quiet, but it's the kind of quiet that feels watchful, like the walls themselves have eyes.I lean close to Selena, my voice dropping to a hush. "The remedy you made with Greta… did everything go well?"She shifts Asher on her hip, her expression careful. "The smell is exact. Identical. But the taste… it's a little bit off." She pauses, her brow furrowing. "We're taking a risk. If Sera finds out, she'll point it out, but she won't push or make drama of it. She's not that kind of person. But if the people who are watching Mary are present and they notice something's wrong, it will be a problem. A big one."My jaw tightens. "Is it worth taking this risk? Mary

Selena's POV** The afternoon light pours through the curtains, soft and golden, warming the chamber. I'm settled on the bed, back against the headboard, Asher in my arms feeding him my milk, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling.Rina, Beth, and Lily sit in a circle on the bed, legs tucked beneath them, with Lydia at the center patiently enduring their ministrations. Rina is doing Lydia's makeup, talking nonstop, her voice filling every corner."And then I told Beth that arranging healing herbs properly is by color first, then by use, because if you do it by smell alone you'll end up with lavender next to wolfsbane, and…""Rina," Lily interrupts, sharp with exasperation, "shut up for one minute. Just one."Rina gasps, hand to her chest in theatrical offense. "Lily! You do not say such things to your elders! I am your older sister, which means you must respect me, and respect means listening when I speak, and I speak because I

Damian’s POVThe morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and sweat from the training grounds below the eastern battlements. I stand beside Gracia on a stone overlook, watching Ironhold's warriors move through drills with brutal precision. I've seen Silvermoon's forces, and I'm proud of them—but this is something else entirely.Gracia gestures expansively. "Walter and Eamon built all of this. Every training regimen, every defensive protocol. The men lives for Ironhold."I watch as squads shift formation in perfect synchronization. Beyond the main yard, I spot a rifle range where warriors fire with chilling accuracy, the crack of gunshots echoing against the mountainside.Further still, snipers practice on a ridge, their spotters relaying targets through earpieces. A separate ring hosts hand-to-hand combat, and the violence there is controlled but savage—joint locks, throws, and strikes that would shatter bone.Then my attention snags on a wide, fenced enclosure to the north. I