Semua Bab Blessed Luna Rising: A Dark Medical Mate-Bond Revenge : Bab 121 - Bab 130

The Voss pack’s city compound had never felt small before.Aiden had grown up in these halls: wood and stone and glass, clean lines threaded with old symbols. The big common room where disputes were settled. The training yard is visible through the rear doors. The second‑floor gallery where pups used to lie on their stomachs and watched drills below.Tonight, the common room was full to the walls.Betas, Gammas, a handful of junior Alphas eager to be seen. Elders in their corner chairs, some with canes, some with sharper eyes than most of the young. Faces he’d led into battle. Faces he’d nearly died to protect.They were all looking at him.It should have felt like home.Instead, it felt like a cage his father had built and left him to unlock.Rylan stood to his left with his arms crossed, not in a doctor’s coat now but in dark clothes that marked him as pack, not just Institute. On Aiden’s right, his Beta, Cass, held a clipboard she wasn’t reading; the paper gave her hands somewhere

Lyra had never gotten used to the way the Institute sounded when it was tired. In the day, it hummed: chatter, monitors, wheels on tile. At night, it thinned into something more brittle. Tonight, after hearings and fractures and bargains, it was somewhere in between—too quiet to be normal, too loud to be safe. She was halfway to her office, mentally triaging Park’s draft and Rylan’s inevitable list of “things you forgot the Council will exploit,” when the elevator doors opened with a soft chime she didn’t like. Livia Voss stepped out. She wasn’t in regal pack finery. No fur‑trim cloaks, no statement jewels. Just a dark dress cut for a woman who expected to be ignored and never was, her silver hair pinned up in a simple knot. No escorts. No Victor looming at her shoulder. No Aiden. That was new. “Dr. Hale,” Livia said, voice soft enough not to carry but clear enough for Lyra to hear. Lyra’s hackles rose on reflex. Her hands stayed still. “You’re out of your territory,” L

Lyra had been asleep for ninety‑four minutes when the world broke again.She knew the exact number because her watch was still digging into the inside of her wrist where she’d forgotten to take it off. Ninety‑four minutes since she’d stripped out of blood‑stiff scrubs, showered by muscle memory, and collapsed face‑down on the on‑call bed.Her phone was vibrating on the metal shelf. Not the shriek of the emergency pager. A steady, insistent buzz.She groaned, rolled onto her back, and flung an arm toward it.Three missed calls. One from Park. One from Rylan. One from Aiden.Her stomach did something unpleasant at that last one.Before she could decide which fire to triage first, the door banged open.Rylan didn’t bother knocking.“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve become a myth. Unfortunately, we have a real emergency.”Lyra scrubbed a hand over her face.“You’re going to need to be more specific. I have at least seven problems in rotation.”“This one involves new wolfsbane signatures

It was almost a week before the next hit.Long enough for Tarrow’s worst cases to stabilize under institute care. Long enough for Park to produce a second, even denser draft of the pup‑protection resolution. Long enough for Lyra to almost believe the world might give her forty‑eight consecutive hours without new catastrophe.Then the sirens started again.She was in the imaging lab, bent over scans of a Tarrow wolf’s scrambled neural pathways, when Jace’s voice came over the internal comms.“Code Gray, perimeter breach. Repeat: Code Gray. All nonessential personnel clear outer corridors.”Lyra’s head snapped up.“Source?” she demanded.“Rogue band,” Jace replied. “Looks like a splinter from the Tarrow mess. High on the designer wolfsbane. They hit our south fence and a Voss patrol simultaneously. They’ve got teeth on both sides. We’re trying to herd them away from Pediatrics, but—”A muffled crash. A snarl. Someone’s muffled curse.“—but I could use some divine intervention, doc.”Lyr

The field tent smelled like antiseptic, canvas, and old fear.By the end of the day, Lyra was fairly sure that at least two of those scents were coming off her.The Institute proper was still on partial lockdown after the rogue incursion. The south atrium was sealed for glass replacement and forensic sweeps. Council envoys had been through, asking pointed questions wrapped in polite phrasing. Park had dragged her into a corner for a ten‑minute whispered argument about liability and precedent and “do you have any idea how many clauses I have to invent to keep you out of prison,” then shoved a protein bar into her hand and ordered her to “sit on something that isn’t on fire for thirty minutes.”The only place that wasn’t currently on fire, metaphorically or otherwise, was the overflow tent they’d erected in the south courtyard for less critical cases.She’d sent the last of those inside half an hour ago.Now the tent was mostly empty: a few cots still rumpled, a steel table with a tray