Bound To The Alpha's Heart: His Silver-Eyed Luna

ai

acked with eleven others, blank faces, hollow eyes, and of course we're being sent to Redmoon. Twelve were

ct to be bought and used. They dress it up with words like "t

y goal-focused. Whatever it takes... I'm going. I'll fetch whatever it is Lysandra needs; I don't believe in this

up my spine and the vibration in

fuckin

n says run, it'

s into place: whatever this is, I'm already in it. And there's no dramatic last-minute escape. No heroic U-tur

trying to fill my lungs wit

The door swings wide, and cold air from the yard pierces through us. A sharp exhale leaves me when I see their f

s here. The ship is here. Our cap

; it refuses to give them the satisfaction. I have

gh, practiced line. Hands clamp at my

up at dawn. It was only a few hours away. I asked to go get my clothes, to explain whatever this madness was to

t had been planned. She nodded, I picked up the bag without a

Don't worry." Her voice w

s locked behind me. Click, clack, click. Lysandra's heels clicked as she walked away,

me pulls me out

e dragging feet to keep the others from screaming, and then

he mask on his forehead. His hands are folded across his chest, calm as a statue.

t at me. Not like the others who look through me; he looks a

ry part of him screams danger. His aura spills into his surroundi

g sun. We stare at each other for a long beat, like two animal

yes slide past me, cold and deliberate, as if

he wake up, scared to not have me there?

t think about him sleeping wrapped around Lysandra. I don't wonder if he's thinking about

ing in the direction of a spot on the shore. Two children stand there, haloed by the morning winter sun .. The boy, no more than eigh

ere staring like he's watching

is steps determined and the line of the shoulders strained under the black shirt. His smell lingers just for a heartbeat penet

r everything, but the tense low

voice low but enough for my straining ears to

hildren. "You can't really think to separate the kids from their mother. Don't you have a

r leftovers for these two children. T

adition is tradition. A dozen you asked for, a dozen was offered. We'

conversation is a knot of sound; no matter how I strain my ears, the words blur into w

to those kids, and still he stands there, insisting on keeping them as if

taking Liam and ripping h