All Chapters of The Broken Luna's Surrogate: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

POV: VivianWolfsbane?If I had taken that sip, my whole sacrifice would've been wrecked by those gossiping my name. Silas would smile in accomplishment of his greedy mission.I swept my gaze one more time on the sizzling steam from the liquid, rising up from the evil poisoned herbal, The smell stung to my tongue. Rot, Bland. Bitter.Few hours to Alpha Gideon to arrive at my cottage.‘I Told You The Concussion Was Poison’ my wolf said her voice steady.I stumbled backwards, my chest heaving heavily inside my chest.Just two months here yet everyone has suddenly sees me as a threat. Silas wants to use me because he thinks I'm desperate.Luna Cynthia… She feels the sexual intimacy has become more than clinical. Something… attached.My wolf surged again this time with more smooth fury.‘That Rot Would Have Put You In Danger. Who Knows After This Night, A Miracle Might Happen.’I sat on the floor, the fire on the hearth kept burning higher and higher, I needed it for the freezing weather.

POV: GideonThe excruciating burn in my skull was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, lethal realization that made my wolf claw at my ribs.I stood in the center of the cramped cottage kitchen, staring at the dark, bubbling stain on the rug where the shards of ceramic lay scattered. The metallic, oily stink of refined wolfsbane was strong in the air. It choked my lungs. It turned my stomach.Under my roof. On my land.Someone had walked past my perimeter guards, carried a lethal poison into this house, and handed it to the woman who will carry my future. They hadn't just tried to abort the mission of getting my heir; they had tried to butcher an innocent girl who was only here because my own household was bleeding out."Marcus!" I roared, the raw Alpha command ripping from my throat so violently it rattled the window panes.The front door burst open within seconds. Beta Marcus stepped into the room, his eyes instantly dropping to the iron poker Vivian was still holding tightly by

POV: Luna CynthiaThe silver-framed mirror shattered against the floorboards before the final sound of the midnight war horn could fade in the pack estate.I stood in the center of my cold, velvet-draped bedchamber, my chest heaving violently under my silk nightgown. The bitter, artificial smell of the herbal tonic I had forced down my throat hours ago tasted like iron in my mouth.I was supposed to be dying.I was supposed to be the fragile, pale flower that Gideon wept over, the sick wife whose failing heart kept him bound to my side by guilt and duty.But right now, my veins were burning with hot, venomous rage that no medicine could quench."Where is she?" I hissed, turning sharply to look at the shadows by the service door. "Where is that maid Nora?"The wooden door scraped open. A figure stumbled into the room, wet with mud and shivering so hard her teeth clicked together like loose stones. Nora fell to her knees, her white nightgown soaked through with midnight rain, her bar

POV: VivianTwo weeks crawled by like dull, dragging weights.The cottage had become a fort of silence. Following the night of the wolfsbane, the packhouse maids were gone. Nora was locked away in some dark cell below the main estate, and Martha had been stripped of her keys. The only face I saw now was Beta Marcus, who arrived every second morning to personally deliver the mandated rations, dry flour, salted meat, soup and fresh water.He inspected the kitchen like a warden checking a cell block. He looked at my face, he looked at my hands, and he left without speaking a single unnecessary word.But the real battle wasn’t with Marcus. It was inside my own skin.I stood over the washbasin in the corner of the small bedroom, my hands gripping the wooden edges so tightly the splinters pricked my palms.A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit my throat.I leaned over the cold water, gagging until my ribs ached, my stomach churning violently despite the fact that I hadn't eaten anything si

POV: VivianThe thick iron broadsword didn't tremble in Beta Marcus’s hand.The blade was held a mere inch from Dr. Alistair’s throat, the cold steel reflecting the sharp, pale gray light of the kitchen.The high-town physician was pinned flat against the edge of the table, his breath coming in short, terrified wheezes, his face completely drained of color.“Empty your pockets,” Marcus commanded, his voice dropping into a flat, lethal baritone. “Slowly.”Alistair’s fingers shook violently as he reached into his purple velvet coat. He placed the second, identical black-wire vial onto the dark wood. The liquid inside was thin, watery, and pale. A fake.Beside it, Marcus placed the original vial, the one filled with my thick, warm, dark red blood.“Thomas,” Marcus barked, not taking his eyes off the trembling physician. “Pour the real glass.”Senior Healer Thomas stepped forward, his old hands surprisingly steady as he picked up my vial. He uncorked the wax and tipped the dark red drop