The Feast of the Luna의 모든 챕터: 챕터 11 - 챕터 20

The morning sun crept through the high, arched windows of the Alpha’s suite, painting golden stripes across the velvet duvet. Elara groaned, burying her face in a mountain of goose-down pillows. Her head felt heavy, her muscles hummed with a strange, residual electricity, and her nose was currently informing her that someone three floors down was frying bacon with slightly too much black pepper. "Too loud," she mumbled into the silk. "The sun is too loud." "That’s the light, darling. Sound is what you hear with your—well, with those." Elara’s eyes snapped open. She sat up abruptly, and the movement caused a sudden, violent thump-thump-thump against the mattress. She froze. Slowly, she reached a hand behind her, her fingers diving through the blankets until they met something thick, exceptionally soft, and very much attached to her spine. "Fenris," she whispered, her voice trembling. "There is a rhythmic intruder in the bed." Fenris was sitting in a plush armchair by the hearth, n

The courtyard of the Black Ridge fortress was usually a place of rigorous combat training and the occasional friendly wrestling match that ended in a cloud of displaced fur. Today, however, it had been converted into a stage for the most peculiar theatrical production in the history of the mountains. Elara stood on a mounting block, her silver-white tail swishing with a rhythmic thwip-thwip against the stone. She held a long willow switch like a conductor’s baton, pointing it toward a row of four massive, battle-hardened wolves who currently looked like they were attending a very confusing lecture on etiquette. "No, no, no!" Elara cried, her silver ears pinning back in frustration. "Silas, you look like you’re waiting for a bus. You need to look like you’re waiting for a victim." Silas, the Beta, shifted his weight. He was dressed in his most intimidating black leather vest, studded with iron. He was also, unfortunately, wearing a pair of bright, sunflower-yellow knitted socks that

The return journey to the Black Ridge was significantly louder than the departure. Usually, a tactical retreat or a successful diplomatic mission was met with stoic wolfish silence, broken only by the occasional snap of a dry twig. This time, however, the silence was replaced by the high-pitched, frantic wailing of Sarah, who was currently bundled into the back of the "Meat of Menace" cart, surrounded by several very bored-looking enforcers and a large quantity of beet-juice-stained venison. "I have delicate skin!" Sarah shrieked, clutching the side of the wooden cart as it jolted over a particularly jagged mountain pass. "The mountain air is giving me hives! I demand to speak to the Mayor!" Silas, who was riding a massive charcoal-grey mare beside the cart, didn't even look up from his knitting. He was currently navigating the treacherous "turn of the heel" on a sock that looked suspiciously like it was intended for a very large, very hairy foot. "The Mayor is currently being fish

The first official meeting of the Black Ridge Artisans’ Guild—otherwise known as "Silas’s Tactical Knitting Circle"—was held in the sun-drenched conservatory of the North Wing. It was a room filled with potted ferns, comfortable velvet armchairs, and enough raw wool to insulate a small village.Elara sat in the center of the circle, her silver-white tail tucked neatly around her ankles. She was currently attempting to master the "basic knit stitch," a task that was proving significantly more difficult than transforming into a six-foot-long predatory wolf."It’s just a loop, Elara," Silas grunted, his fingers moving with the precision of a master assassin as he worked on a complex cable-knit sleeve. "You insert the needle, wrap the yarn, and pull it through. You don't need to growl at it.""I’m not growling at it," Elara puffed, her silver ears pinning back as she tangled her index finger in a nest of ivory wool. "I am communicating my displeasure to the fiber. It’s being uncooperativ

The preparations for the Winter Ball had reached a fever pitch that bordered on a tactical emergency. The Great Hall smelled of beeswax, roasting duck, and the sharp, floral scent of the "Peace Lilies" Kael had insisted on importing from the lowlands. But while the fortress hummed with excitement, a secondary, much quieter drama was unfolding in the corner of the armory.Silas, the deadliest warrior of the Black Ridge and a man who could track a scent through a blizzard, was currently frozen in front of a full-length mirror."It is too much," Silas muttered, tugging at the high, stiff collar of his charcoal-grey formal tunic. "I look like a velvet-wrapped pillar. A man cannot defend an Alpha in a garment that restricts neck rotation by thirty percent.""You aren't defending the Alpha tonight, Silas," Elara said, stepping into the room. She was wearing a dressing gown of pale blue, her silver ears peeking through a crown of braided hair. Her tail was currently in a state of high agita