Banished By The Alpha King:Claimed By The Cursed Lycan Beast のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 151 - チャプター 160

Elara's POVThe day of the execution dawned grey and cold.I had not slept well. The dreams came again, and again the same ones that had plagued me since the day Luna Seraphine had entered these walls. Chaos. Fire. Screams. Darkness swallowing everything I loved. I woke with my heart pounding and my sheets tangled around my legs, gasping for air. The images slipped away like water through a basket, leaving only a residue of dread.Lucian was already gone. He had left before dawn to oversee the preparations. I could still feel the warmth of his side of the bed, but he had been up for hours. I dressed slowly, my hands trembling, a weight pressing on my chest that I could not name.Something was wrong.I felt it in my bones. In the back of my throat. In the way the morning light seemed too pale, too thin, as if the sun itself was holding its breath. The air was heavy, thick with an unseen pressure that made my ears pop and my skin prickle.But I could not say what.I walked to the window

Darius's POV Lucian came to my cell three days before the execution. I had expected him sooner. Or later. Or not at all. But he came, alone, his boots heavy on the stone floor. The guards stepped aside for him. The torchlight flickered across his face, making him look older, harder. His gold eyes were cold when they looked at me. His jaw was tight. He spoke of justice. Of public execution. Of letting the people see me fall. I sat on the stone bench and listened. Let him speak. Let him feel powerful. He was a fool, but he was a fool with an army and a throne. For now. I was quiet for a long moment. "I have one request," I said finally. "One last thing. As old friends." "We were never friends." "As former allies, then. As men who once shared a table and a glass of wine." He looked at me. "Let my mother see me. Before the execution. She is old. She is not well. She deserves to say goodbye." He studied my face. Looked for the lie, the manipulation, the hidden dagger behind his wor

Lucian's POVThe war room fell silent after Elara finished speaking.Kylan stood by the window, his arms crossed, his face pale. He wore a simple tunic now, no armor, the blue fabric stained with dust from the earthquake. Dana sat at the table, her hands flat on the wood, her knuckles white. The maps were still spread before them, but no one was looking at them.Darius had the Orb. Alpha Lancelot was dead. The human scientists of the United States of Arcadia were preparing for an invasion."We need to seal the portal," Dana said. "Before they can cross."Elara shook her head. "The portal is unstable. The exiled witches used blood magic to crack it. If we try to seal it from our side without the proper ritual, we could make it worse.""Then what do we suggest?" Kylan asked. "We sit here and wait for them to come to us?""We prepare," I said. "We fortify the walls. We gather allies. We find a way to reinforce the barrier." I looked at Elara. "You said the ritual requires a White Witch's

Lucian's POV Her hands woke me. Not gently. Not with a whisper or a soft touch. Her fingers were splayed across my chest, warm and insistent, sliding down my stomach. Her leg was hooked over my hip, pulling me closer. Her face was buried in my neck, her breath hot against my skin. I froze. Every muscle in my body went rigid. My heart slammed against my ribs. The beast stirred beneath my skin, not with rage, but with hunger. She was dreaming. I could tell by the soft sounds she made, the way her fingers curled into my flesh, the way her hips shifted against mine. She was somewhere else, somewhere warm, and in that somewhere, she was touching me. My body responded. There was no stopping it. I had been starved of her for weeks. Months. Since the kidnapping. Since the potion. Since she had looked at me with empty eyes and asked who I was. And now her hand was on my chest, sliding lower, and I was harder than I had ever been. I gripped the edge of the mattress. My knuckles went wh

Elara's POV I rushed forward before I could think. My arms wrapped around her. My mother. Her body was solid beneath my hands, warm, real. I could feel the fabric of her gown, the softness of her white hair, the steady beat of her heart against my cheek. She held me back. We clung to each other in the dusty darkness of the abandoned room, and we wept. Tears streamed down my face, soaking into her shoulder. Her tears fell into my hair. Neither of us spoke. There were no words for this. No words for the years lost, the moments stolen, the love that had been ripped away and was now, impossibly, returned. "I have dreamed of this," I whispered. "Every night. Every single night, I dreamed of holding you." "I know, my daughter." Her voice was soft, trembling. "I have watched over you. I have never left you. Not really." I pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her silver eyes, so like my own. Her white hair, glowing faintly in the dim light. Her smile, warm and sad and bea