How Old Was Logan Lerman In Percy Jackson นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“I tried to kill you the first day I saw you. I told myself it was mercy. That livestock shouldn’t carry a predator’s mark. Then you looked at me with those eyes, and my wolf refused to obey. You think you’re being watched? You are. Not because I want you dead anymore… but because if anyone else tries, I will end them.” …………………… Alpha Xander Nightfall was never meant to have a human mate. Especially not a male one. A mistake he plans to eliminate with a bullet. Noah Bennett has never questioned his straight, ordinary life. Until the night a masked man with gold eyes presses him against his own wall and makes him crave things he cannot confess out loud. He wakes alone, aching, ashamed… and desperate for it to happen again. Xander tells himself he is studying his target. He tells himself the touches are nothing and the hunger is temporary. Yet every time Noah trembles beneath his hands, the wolf inside him marks, claims, protects. And the more he claims, the more impossible the truth becomes. Because the human he plans to eliminate might not be human at all. And what he is……………….might start a supernatural war.

Once betrayed, twice reborn, Amanishakheto Strelitz will never forgive. Her chosen mate, future Alpha Vance, cast her aside for the scheming Zebub, a venomous rival whose lies dragged Amani into ruin and left her condemned to die. But the Moon Goddess has granted her a second chance, and this time she will not be the perfect Luna. She was reborn. In this new life, she will be the storm. Fueled by vengeance, Amani vows to expose Zebub’s treachery, break Vance’s grip on the Eclipse Star pack, and claim the Alpha’s throne for herself. Yet when fate entwines her path with Menelik Mecklenburg, a formidable male wolf with a hidden identity and a debt from her past, the future collides with the scars of yesterday. In a war where love and vengeance intertwine, Amani must decide whether to wield her rebirth as a weapon or surrender to a destiny that could reshape the fate of every pack forever…

Kael and I, Bella, grew up side by side in the Silverclaw Pack. We were bound by the unbreakable thread of fate. Just as we reached adulthood and dreamed of our future together, I was diagnosed with Wolf Soul Degeneration: a rare, incurable illness that would drain my life force completely in just one week. Our Marking Ceremony had been scheduled for exactly one month later. Kael, the rightful Alpha heir, was scheduled to depart for the three-year Northern Trials, the only path to earning his place as leader of our pack. Knowing he would abandon everything to stay with me, I made the unbearable choice to break his heart and drive him away. Three days after I staged my betrayal, he appeared before me, his arm wrapped around a soft-spoken she-wolf from the Blackstone Pack. I forced myself to stand tall and pretend nothing was wrong as he stared at me for a long, heavy moment. Then he pulled out an official pack decree and said, "Ella and I will be mated in three days. I want you to officiate the ceremony." Without another word, he turned and walked away with his new Luna-to-be I stared at the decree in my hands until my vision blurred. "I'm sorry. I hope you're happy forever."

In order to protect my father, I was tortured for ten hours, but my father was busy celebrating his adopted daughter’s eighteenth birthday. With my dying breath, I called my father and said, “Dad, it’s my birthday today. Could you wish me a happy birthday?” “You crazy monster! You got your mother killed in order to celebrate your birthday! How could you still ask me to celebrate your birthday? You should just die!” With that said, he hung up. The next day, my corpse was placed in different flower pots and put in front of a police station. My father was in charge of inspecting my corpse, and he could immediately tell that the murderer did this for revenge. What they did to me was cruel and made a mockery of the police’s authority. But he did not manage to tell that the deceased was the daughter he hated.

I was the stand-in who looked most like my husband's first love. He put me through countless plastic surgeries, both major and minor ones, until I became her exact likeness. But then, she came back from the dead. All it took was her saying, "I don't like anyone looking like me," and he sent me right back to the operating table once more. I begged him, telling him that my body couldn't handle it anymore. Alas, he only looked at me with irritation. "Seeing that cheap imitation of her face just disgusts me," he sneered. "No matter how close you come, you'll never be her." In the end, I died on that operating table. Yet, he went mad, trying desperately to recall what I once looked like.

Two years ago, as a graduate of Werewolf Medical School, I volunteered to go to the most remote and poorest pack, as it had always been my dream to help werewolf patients in need. I heard from my teacher that the werewolves in the Rogue Pack were the poorest and that their living conditions were the worst. Most of the werewolves there were old and weak, so I volunteered to go to that pack as soon as I graduated. After I arrived, I helped them build an infirmary and even set up a blood station. Every year, I led them in voluntary blood donations. But one time—right after I had taken a short break following a blood donation—they turned on me. They slandered me, calling me a selfish and heartless healer. Worse still, they accused me of faking illness, claiming I was lying comfortably in bed while patients were dying—refusing to lift a finger to save them. Not only that, they stormed into the infirmary, seized all my herbs and equipment, and completely trashed the place I had built for them with my own hands. Recalling the days I had spent day and night healing them—only to see my infirmary destroyed and my dream shattered—I let out a bitter smile. I picked up the phone and called the dean of my home pack. "I'm ready to return," I said. "I want to serve the patients in our own pack." Then, without a trace of regret, I left that place behind. However, after I gave up, the whole pack regretted it and begged me to return.

The day my mom was beaten up for being a mistress, I slammed the family crest into my dad’s face. I had been studying abroad, and on my return flight, I came across a video. The title read, [Richest Family’s Heirs Defend Their Mom and Beat Up Mistress.] In the video, my mother was wearing coarse linen clothes while my brothers surrounded her. They were punching and kicking her. They even tore her clothes and cussed her out as a shameless mistress. Her eyes were teary as she desperately tried to explain. However, she was only met with mocking laughter. A stranger in haute couture stood shielded behind them, and she sweetly said, “Alright, I know you’re doing this for me, but we don’t need to waste our time on ungrateful people.” The surrounding guests showered her with birthday wishes and praised her for her graciousness. “This is the grace befitting Mrs. Roth! Do some people really not own a mirror at home?” “A mistress dares to call herself Mrs. Roth? Doesn’t she know the entire Roth family was built on her assets? Which part of her looks like a lady?” Hearing them call her “Mrs. Roth,” I clenched my phone, and the screen reflected my icy expression. I had only been away from home for three years. How did I not know that I had acquired such a despicable “mother”?

    "This marriage has been fixed and it must hold."  That was the rigid statement of Charlotte's father.      A wedding day was supposed to be a lady's happiest day, but in the case of Charlotte, it was her saddest day. Her parents were about to force her to marry Ethan, a person known to be ruthless. Charlotte's marriage was a pivot of financial benefits for her family, but her happiness and career was at stake.     Will she bend to her parents' wishes? She was at the point of breaking ties what her parents when her aunty said the following words,     "Do you really want to let your parents down? I will teach you how to display an irk attitude, after you get married to him, and in a very short time, Ethan will divorce you." Is this a trap? Will her aunty show her the easiest way out of this ruthless marriage? Her entire hope lies on herself to display an irk attitude to a man who has started loving her.

I was born broken. My Alpha mother was the one who branded me. She said emotion was a sin. A weakness. Especially for a werewolf. Especially for an Alpha’s heir. The day we were born, she clamped emotion-suppressing collars around our necks. Mine and my twin sister's. The slightest flicker of emotion, and the collar flashed red. My mother would then push the button, injecting me with a diluted "silver solution" to suppress my feelings. But my sister Cassia's collar? Always a calm, steady blue. Even when she shattered Mom's precious moonstone, it just pulsed gently. And me? I’d just whisper, "Mom, the thunder scares me," and my collar would erupt in a violent red. Then came the sting of silver poison burning through my blood.. I used to argue. But Mom always said the same thing. "The data doesn't lie. Pain is a teacher. This is for your own good." After thousands of these injections, I started to believe it, too. That I was born out of control. The night of the alliance's Moon Goddess Festival, Mom was taking my sister to the rooftop party. Something scared me during the day. The collar flashed red, and my mother started the punishment. But this time, the collar malfunctioned. It shot a dose a thousand times stronger into my neck. I collapsed on the carpet, begging, "Mother, the collar... it hurts so much... help me." My collar was flashing a frantic red. My mother just looked down at me, drenched in a cold sweat, and pressed the button for the maximum dose. "You'd lose control like this just for attention? You're a lost cause." She turned, took my sister, and slammed the door. I couldn't help but think, Mom must be right. The collar is red. It doesn't really hurt. I'm just being dramatic, looking for pity again. I'm sorry, Mom. In my next life, I'll be the perfect daughter you always wanted.

His gun-roughened hands burned against my waist, every breath laced with the cold, unyielding possession that had made him the most feared Cosa Nostra Don in all of Sicily. A shrill ring sliced through the haze. He answered in guttural Sicilian. It was the dialect I’d learned years ago to fit into his world, so I caught every word. His consigliere was screaming down the line at him for filing a valid, legally binding marriage license with Sofia Lombardi, the woman who’d abandoned him when a bomb left him mute for seven years. Luca’s order was cold as a trigger pull. “Secure the original license in the family vault. Draw up a forged, null-and-void marriage license for Isa to keep her compliant.” In the eyes of the law, of his entire crew, I was nothing but his mistress. After seven years of laying down my life for him, I’d been reduced to nothing but his mistress. Another call flashed. Luca turned to me, the lie already shaping his mouth. “Family matters. The guards will see you home.” Without a word, I stepped out into the Palermo night, my hands shaking as I dialed his mother, Anna Vitali. “I’ll take your fifty million euros. I’ll leave Luca. For good.” Anna once said Luca and I were worlds apart. I had to admit she was right. This time, I want to leave with dignity.