The Fallen Alpha's Alliance: The Human Luna のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Vance stood up, pulling a heavy, leather-bound ledger from the center of the table. “According to the Blood Laws of the Silver Moon, an Alpha who willfully endangers the pack by refusing a necessary union during a state of siege is deemed unfit. You are acting out of grief, not leadership. You are volatile. You are broken. You are a liability we can no longer afford.” “I am your Alpha,” Lachlan growled, his voice dropping into a register that was more wolf than man. He felt the shift in his chest, the heavy, golden power of the Alpha line surging, begging to be let loose. “You are an Alpha in name only,” Silas added, his thin lips curling into a predatory smile. “As of this moment, the council invokes the Right of Regency. We are stripping you of your authority to lead, to command the warriors, and to manage the pack’s assets. You will be confined to the west wing. You will be fed. You will be housed. But you will not speak for this pack again.” Harlan stepped between Lachlan and t

The fever hit Lachlan at four in the morning. It was not the heat of a virus or the warmth of a transformation. It was a jagged, predatory fire that clawed at his insides, radiating from the spot in his chest where the mate bond had tried to anchor itself. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the icy blue gaze of Vivienne Malone. Every time he breathed, he smelled vanilla and woodsmoke.By six, he was standing on the balcony of a penthouse on the forty-second floor of the Obsidian Tower. The wind off the river was freezing, but his skin felt like it was simmering in lead."You look like hell," Dan Reyes said, stepping onto the balcony. He was carrying two cartons of coffee and a tablet. "I have seen men with silver poisoning who looked healthier than you do right now."Lachlan did not turn around. He gripped the cold steel railing so hard the metal began to groan under his strength. "It is just the rejection. My wolf is throwing a tantrum because I told him no.""It is not a tantrum,

The turbine hall of Livingston Energy was a cathedral of rusted iron and dying dreams. At five in the morning, the air was a thick soup of stagnant oil, cold soot, and the metallic tang of ozone. Lachlan Livingston stood in the center of it, stripped to his waist, his skin glistening with a mixture of sweat and heavy-duty lubricant.He was buried elbow-deep in the housing of a decommissioned Westinghouse generator. His fingers, moved with a precision that belied the fever burning in his blood. To the ghost workers watching him from the shadows of the catwalks, he looked like a fallen king trying to rebuild his throne out of scrap metal. To Lachlan, he was just a man trying to keep his wolf from screaming.The bond-sickness was a jagged, predatory thing today. Every breath he took felt like inhaling ground glass. His skin was hypersensitive, his nerves singing with a frequency that only one person in the city could tune out."You're over-torquing that bolt, Lachlan. If you snap it, we

The air-conditioning in the Senate Office Building was humming at a chill 18°C, but Vivienne felt clammy.She sat behind her mahogany desk, her fingers digging into the leather arms of her chair with enough force to white her knuckles. To the outside world, she was the "Ice Queen" of the Capitol, but inside, her blood felt like it was approaching a rolling boil.The moment her heels had touched down as she arrived at work, the fever had spiked, and every mile she traveled away from Lachlan felt like a physical wire being pulled taut inside her chest until it threatened to snap.She reached for a glass of ice water, but her hand shook so violently that the glass clinked against her teeth—a sharp sound in the sterile silence of the room. "Get it together, Vivienne," she muttered to the empty room. "It's all in your head, even the doctor confirmed it."The heavy oak door didn't just open; it was thrown back against the wall as Marcus, her Chief of Staff practically fell into the room. He