Todos los capítulos de Claimed By Four: The White Wolf Luna : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

POV: AidenThe torches don't gutter. They inhale.Every flame bends toward the floor like the stone below just drew breath. My hand finds Luna's shoulder in the blackness, not gentle, just there, my thumb settling into the groove of her collarbone. Her pulse strikes the bone in rapid, erratic thuds, and I'm already counting. One. Two. Three. Too fast."Nobody moves," I say. "Breathe through your nose. Count the stone under your boots.""I can smell him." Jace's voice cuts across me from the dark. "Under the floor. Wet iron and old smoke. He's been here longer than three days." He's right. Cold sweat soaked into wool, charred rosemary from the garrison's last cook-fire, and a faint sweetness like overripe plums splitting in heat. I log every scent in order, but that sweetness coats my back teeth like resin, defying classification. A sliver of unmapped noise in my ledger.Then the voice speaks. Not through my ears. Through the base of my skull, the hinge of my jaw, the roots of my teeth

POV: LunaThe chamber is empty now. I walk to the circle where Jace stood. The stone is warm under my palm. Not from the torches. From him. The black wolf went so deep into his ribs that the heat is already fading.He didn't fight back. He just stopped.The stone cools fast under my fingers. Like it's forgetting him. I won't.I press my hand flat and hold it there until the warmth dies under my skin. Then I pull away and follow the sound of boots grinding stone three corridors down.The war room door is open. Aiden's voice comes low, measured, counting something under his breath the way he counts casualties after a raid. Jace's pacing rhythm hits me before I cross the threshold. I know that rhythm.I know the exact moment the pace changes, too. Three steps when he's angry. Four when he's trying not to be.I step inside just as Jace slams a folded letter onto the war table. The pine groans under the impact. Aiden doesn't bend. He sits with his thumbs interlocked, fingers tapping a slow

POV: JaceThe rogue's shoulder gives under my claws with a wet pop. I'm half a heartbeat slow. Steel skims my ribs, barely breaking skin, and heat spreads beneath my shirt before I register the cut. The body under me reeks of wet fur and rust.I shove it off. Somewhere behind my sternum, Zara's voice repeats. Not the threat. The other part.I'll kill for you. Three years since anyone bled for me without keeping score.The southern wall gives. Draveth pour through the gap and my Jathorne line crashes into them. Greasy pine-smoke settles low in the corridor, clinging to the salt and bitterness on my tongue.Aiden's voice pierces the Link Call. "Left corridor. Four hostiles. Jace, rotate your line twelve degrees south.""Don't angle me like a supply line, Aiden.""Then stop bleeding on my map."The old wound twitches. Six years of being managed, positioned, moved like a pin on a board. I shove it down and drive my claws through the nearest Draveth throat.And that's when the bond starts

POV: AidenThe noon sun beats down on blood-stained sand. Sweat drips down my neck. Inside, I'm freezing cold.The twin bond hums behind my ribs. It's sealed, whole, but fragile. The grounding held six hours. We needed fourteen.Beneath it all sits a new thread. Gold. Foreign. Alive.Zara's claim from last night. I don't know what to make of it, so I focus on survival math.My hands are cold. I flex my fingers around the sword hilt, forcing blood back into them.Ten minutes, I push through the Link Call. We give them theater. Not a corpse.Just don't trip, Jace answers. Rough. Wired.Focus. My jaw locks. If we miss an anchor, Tavi dies.Then don't miss.The far gate grinds open. Jace steps into the pit.Black leathers dust-caked. Twin blades ringing once off stone. Dark energy bleeds from his shoulders in thin, wavering streams, warping the air around him.His scent hits me through the link. Smoked leather. Cardamom. Dark amber.From the gallery above, Dax leans over the iron railing.

POV: AidenI stand over the war map of the reclaimed dawn ridge, but the numbers won’t stay still.Third pylon. Ice shift. Ward pressure.I read the same three figures again. They change every time.“The third pylon… if the ice shifts there, the ward…”I stop. Start again. Can’t.My black tea and bergamot scent has turned sharp. Cold clings to it. I can taste the bitterness at the back of my tongue.I should know this. I always know this.But every answer disappears before I can hold on to it. My jaw aches from holding everything shut.I drag a hand over the map, then pull it back when the ink smears beneath my fingers. Too much pressure. I blink and the lines separate again. Three pylons become five. Five become one. I grip the table until my knuckles hurt, waiting for my vision to obey me.The door opens. Pear skin cuts through the freezing air.Luna stops three steps in. She takes one look at me.“You’re counting the dust motes again, Aiden.”I don’t look up. “Perimeter w