Halsey Matty Healy の小説・ストーリー

I glanced up, my heart thumping at the unexpected hesitation in her eyes. “Well,” Helena said slowly, choosing her words with caution. “Luna Claire is perfectly healthy, but…” “But what?” Liam’s voice sharpened with frustration. Helena took a deep breath. “Our Luna is with child, alpha.” My blood turned to ice. No, this can't be. Liam hasn't been touching me for months. Unless… no!

I murmur into the silence. She doesn't answer. She just strokes the back of my head, her fingers idly playing with my hair. It calms me. And I hate it. I hate that a twenty-four-year-old woman with hazel eyes has the power to unmake me. I hate that my sanity is tied to her pulse. I lift my head. She’s looking at me. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed. She looks beautiful. And she still looks like she’s hiding something. I stand up, adjusting my clothes, then I bend down and scoop her up into my arms. She’s light, but the weight of her presence is crushing.

On my eighty-ninth call, Victoria's voice answered instead: "Emma, it's my birthday today. Marcus is here in Iceland celebrating with me. Be reasonable and stop harassing us with these calls, won't you?" Through the phone, I caught Marcus's distant voice: "Don't let irrelevant people ruin our mood. Come blow out your candles!" The words hit me like silver bullets to the chest. Irrelevant people. Alice was dying—my sister, my heart, my everything—and he called us irrelevant. The Iceland trip was supposed to be the honeymoon Marcus had planned with me... I spat out a mouthful of fresh blood from my chest. Like a broken puppet, I was escorted back to the ward by orderlies.

I was so lost in adoring his features that I almost missed his words. "Hi. I'm Halsey."

Make it more professional. She agreed and soon I heard the clearing of throats. I looked to my mate and his mother who stared at me with lopsided grins. I returned one of my own and zoned back out to Blaine. Hey I have to go. I'm talking with Luna Frances right now, Tate's Mom. I'll talk to him later and let you know. Bye Blaine, I told her. Bye Chan.

“Renee isn’t answering her phone, and it’s her honeymoon. It’s just you and me to get this done.” Kat groaned. She should have just not answered her phone, too. “I need you to know there is a really, really handsome man sleeping in the next room right now that you are going to make me leave,” Kat informed Cassie. “Really, really handsome.” “Thor-level handsome?” Cassie asked. “Better. The body of Michael Phelps and the eyes of Paul Newman,” Kat replied. “Wow,” Cassie whistled. “Young or old Paul Newman?” “Does it matter?”

Finally dropped the fake halo and showed up like the villain she really was. "If you behave, I might let you live long enough to die of old age." Cute. Real generous of her. Even if I'd been totally clueless, they still would've wiped me out. Just like last time—erase, delete, gone. Lillian cracked up, loud and unhinged. "You did this to yourself! Rot here! Everything you had? Mine now!" In my last life, I never got why Bobby and Whitney backed her. She might've "saved" them, sure, but I was their son's wife. That used to mean something, right?

He looks at me for a long moment, and something passes between us that has nothing to do with the bond, nothing to do with three months of careful distance — something quieter, something that feels, for the first time, like two people standing on the same side of something. Across the hall, Halsey is speaking to one of her attendants in a low voice, and I catch only a fragment of it before she turns away. “…separate the two of them first thing. I want to know if their stories match when neither one is performing for the other.

Alpha Edward demanded. “Amanda isn’t my mate, and we never had sex,” Beta Matthew revealed, and a gulp passed down my throat.

Both Heather and I groaned as we walked out of my room. Matthew, or Matt, was the Beta’s son; he was obsessed with Harriet. They had been glued to each other’s faces, at least I only pictured their faces, for a few weeks now. Harriet continued her excuse, “He came to me. Well, for me.” Heather faked vomited as we hustled down the stairs.