Last Bloodline: The Alpha King's Forbidden Luna | Read Free Preview

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Chapter 1 — The Awakening Of The Moon Crescent

Solaia Elowen’s Point of View
There was a quiet, strange weight to the morning, as if the air itself held its breath.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it lingered there even before I opened my eyes — a faint sense that today would not be like all the others.
I stretched slowly, the silk sheets slipping against my skin, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My room was bright and warm, filled with soft pastels, neatly arranged furniture, and the light scent of jasmine from the vase on my dresser. I’d always believed that beauty and order made life feel more manageable, so I moved through my routine with the same care I did every day — dressing in a cream blouse and tailored trousers, brushing my light brown hair until it fell in smooth, loose waves over my shoulders.
As I fastened a delicate silver bracelet around my left wrist, my thumb brushed over the faint, pale crescent mark resting just below my palm. It looked like a tiny moon caught beneath my skin, something I’d carried since birth. I’d asked doctors about it years ago, and they’d only ever said it was harmless.
“Just a birthmark,” I murmured, pulling my sleeve down to cover it without giving it another thought.
By eight o’clock, I was seated at my usual corner table in Café Solace, my favorite spot in the city. The air smelled of roasted coffee and buttery pastries, and soft jazz played quietly in the background. A few minutes later, the chair across from me pulled out, and Gideon Asher sat down.
Gideon was my oldest and most trusted friend — steady, reliable, and someone I could always count on. We fell into easy conversation right away, talking about work, small daily annoyances, and the usual things that made up our ordinary lives. Outside the window, though, the sky was beginning to shift; what had been clear and bright earlier was turning a heavy, bruised gray, and the wind was starting to pick up.
“Looks like that storm they warned about is finally rolling in,” Gideon said, nodding toward the darkening clouds as he set a paper bag of my favorite almond cookies on the table. “Forecast says it might get rough later.”
I sipped my coffee and nodded. “I’ve driven through worse. Should be fine.”
“Still,” he said, his tone casual but warm with genuine concern, “take it slow on the way home, okay? The roads get slippery fast when it pours. Don’t rush.”
“I promise,” I smiled. “I’ll be careful.”
We finished our drinks and said our goodbyes. He waved as he headed toward his office, and I walked out to my car, thinking nothing more of it than just another ordinary day coming to an end.
But by the time I turned onto the main road, the weather had already changed completely. The sky opened up, and rain came down in thick, heavy sheets that hammered against the roof and windshield. The wipers worked frantically, but they could barely keep up, turning the world outside into nothing but streaks of gray and shadow. Streetlights flickered and died one by one, leaving the road dim and difficult to follow.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, focusing hard, when I felt it again — that faint, strange warmth under my sleeve, the same spot where the birthmark lay. It wasn’t painful, just different, like it was reacting to the electricity in the air. I brushed it off as nerves and kept driving, telling myself I was only a few more kilometers from home.
Then lightning flashed, bright and blinding, and in that split second of light, the road ahead looked… wrong. The asphalt seemed to blur, and for a heartbeat, the trees lining the shoulder looked taller, thicker, older than they should have been. The hum of the engine wavered, and the rain around the car seemed to bend, as if it were flowing around an invisible barrier. Before I could make sense of it, the smooth pavement beneath my tires vanished entirely.
My car lurched forward, dropping onto rough, uneven ground and thick mud. I slammed on the brakes, but the wheels skidded helplessly, sliding sideways into dense brush and low branches that scraped loudly against the metal frame. There was a sharp jolt, a heavy thud, and then everything went black.
The first thing I felt when I woke was a dull, throbbing ache in my head and shoulders. My side felt bruised, and my clothes were damp and torn. For a few seconds, I couldn’t remember what had happened — only the storm, the lightning, and the sudden loss of control.
I pushed myself upright, wincing, and looked around.
And froze.
I was no longer on the road.
All around me rose towering trees, their branches weaving together so tightly they blocked out most of the sky, letting through only a soft, silvery light. The air here smelled nothing like the city — no exhaust, no concrete, no distant hum of traffic. It was thick and earthy, rich with damp soil, pine, and the scent of wild, untouched land. The ground beneath me was soft with deep moss and layers of fallen leaves, and the forest stretched out in every direction, endless and completely unfamiliar.
This was not anywhere near my route.
I crawled out of the wrecked car, my legs shaking slightly. The rain had slowed to a fine mist, but the silence here was heavy and deep, like the forest itself was holding its breath. I fumbled in my bag for my phone, but the screen was dead — no signal, no battery, nothing.
I pulled back my sleeve to rub my wrist, and my breath caught.
The birthmark was no longer pale. It glowed with a faint, soft silver light, pulsing gently beneath my skin. As I stared, the mist around me swirled for a moment, and the small sounds of the woods — rustling leaves, distant birds — fell quiet, as if everything had suddenly turned its attention toward me.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice sounding small and swallowed up instantly by the stillness. “Is anyone there?”
No answer came. Only the soft sigh of wind through the branches.
I took a deep breath and straightened my back, brushing dirt and twigs from my clothes. I was independent; I could handle this — I just needed to find a way out, or find someone who could tell me where I was.
But before I could take another step, a strange feeling settled over me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my heart began to beat faster, not from fear yet, but from some deep, instinctive warning I couldn’t explain. Something was watching. Something was close.
And then I heard it.
From deep within the trees, a long, low howl rose — powerful, resonant, and carrying a weight that felt older than time itself. It wasn’t the cry of any ordinary animal; it was wild, commanding, and seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath my feet. In answer, the silver glow on my wrist brightened for just a heartbeat, as if it recognized the sound.
In the silence that followed, I heard the next thing — slow, heavy footsteps, moving through the underbrush without snapping a single twig, drawing closer with a calm, unhurried purpose.
I pressed my hand over my glowing mark, my eyes scanning the shadows. Whatever this place was, it was nothing like the world I’d left behind.

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Chapter 2 — The Alpha's First Command

Solaia Elowen’s Point of View
My feet felt rooted to the ground; every muscle tensed as the footsteps drew nearer. There was no rush, no sound of breaking branches or hurried movement — only a steady, measured rhythm that spoke of confidence and absolute control. The forest around me seemed to grow quieter, as if even the wind was holding its breath. Slowly, I began to back away, my hands raised slightly in a gesture meant to show I meant no harm. My heart hammered against my ribs, but beneath the rising fear, something else stirred — that faint warmth under my sleeve, growing warmer and brighter with every passing second. When I glanced down, the soft silver glow pulsed again, stronger now, as if it were reaching out to meet the presence drawing closer. I had the distinct, unsettling feeling that I was not just being watched — I was being circled and studied, though I had no idea by whom.
Then, from the shadow between two massive oak trees, he stepped into the faint, silvery light filtering through the leaves.
For a moment, my breath caught in my throat. He was tall, easily towering over most men I had ever seen, with broad shoulders and a firm, solid build that spoke of strength and endurance. His skin was a warm, deep tan, highlighting every sharp line of his face and making him look rugged and undeniably manly. His hair was dark, cut neatly but falling just enough to frame his jaw, and there was no trace of facial hair — just clean, striking features that were almost too perfect to look at. But what held my gaze most were his eyes: intense, pale, and so bright they seemed to shine like polished silver, holding a depth and sharpness that felt far more observant than any ordinary stranger’s. He moved with a calm, unhurried grace, no sign of panic or curiosity — just a quiet authority that made the air around him feel heavier, as if he belonged here more than anything else did. I had never seen anyone who looked so sure of himself, as if the entire world already knew his place.
When our gazes finally met, a strange jolt shot through me, sudden and fierce, starting right at my wrist and spreading like warmth through my veins. My heart skipped a beat, then began to race again, but this time it was not only fear. It was confusion — a strange, magnetic pull that made me want to stand my ground even as my mind screamed that I should run. There was something in his gaze that felt both dangerous and strangely familiar, like a thread I couldn’t quite see but could definitely feel. His attention shifted instantly, dropping from my face straight to my left wrist, where the silver glow was now bright enough to show clearly through the thin fabric of my blouse. For the first time, that unshakeable calm cracked — just a fraction. His silver eyes widened slightly, his jaw tightened, and his posture shifted, as if he had seen something he did not expect and could not immediately explain.
Before either of us could speak, a low, guttural snarl erupted from the bushes to my left. A large, shaggy wolf stepped out, its fur matted and its eyes burning bright, lips curled back to reveal long, sharp teeth. It coiled its body as if ready to spring, and I froze, my throat tightening around the scream that threatened to escape. But the man before me did not even flinch. He did not shout, and he did not reach for any weapon. He simply turned his head slightly toward the animal, his voice dropping to a low, firm command that carried clearly through the trees.
“Back.”
It was only one word, spoken without anger but with such certainty it felt like an order no one could ignore.
To my shock, the wolf’s growl died in its throat as if it had never been there at all. Its body shuddered, its hackles fell flat, and it lowered its head, ears flattening against its skull. Then it turned and retreated quickly into the shadows, its tail tucked between its legs as if it had just faced something far more dangerous than itself. I stared, wide-eyed and bewildered, wondering how a single man could command such respect from a wild beast. He must know this land well, I told myself, or perhaps he carried some kind of authority over these woods — but even that did not fully explain what I had just seen.
The moment the wolf was gone, his attention snapped back to me, and that strange, overwhelming sensation in my chest grew stronger still.
I felt pulled toward him, as if an invisible thread had wrapped around my ribs and was being held gently but firmly in his direction. My fear had not vanished — I was still fully aware I was lost, alone, and in a place I did not recognize — but it tangled itself up with something else: a sense of safety so profound it felt wrong, as if my own body was reacting to him before my mind could catch up. Why did I feel like I could trust someone who looked so distant and unreadable? I saw the same conflict in him, too, even if he tried hard to hide it. His nostrils flared slightly as he breathed in, his silver eyes darkening, and his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was forcing himself to stay exactly where he stood. There was confusion in his gaze, yes, but also a quiet wariness, as if I were the one who did not belong here.
He took one slow, deliberate step forward, and the air between us hummed with tension so thick I could almost reach out and touch it. His voice was deep, smooth, and cold — like polished stone, giving nothing away except the weight of his question.
“What are you?”
The words hung heavy between the trees, sharp and direct.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand a little straighter even as my knees felt weak beneath me. “I’m Solaia Elowen. I was driving home — there was a terrible storm, and I lost control of my car and veered off the road. I don’t know where I am. I didn’t mean to wander into private land or cause trouble.” My voice shook slightly, but I kept it steady, refusing to sound completely helpless even though I felt completely out of place. I watched his eyes narrow as he listened, his gaze drifting once more to my glowing wrist, then back to my face, searching for answers I did not yet have.
“Private land?” he repeated, his tone low and careful, as if choosing his words. “You have crossed more than just a property line. This place is not marked on any map, and it is not meant for strangers to find.”
As if in direct answer to his words, the silver light on my wrist suddenly flared brighter — intense, warm, and impossible to ignore. It pulsed once, twice, and for a split second, it seemed to glow even stronger in his presence. His breath hitched, just barely, and his control slipped another notch. He took another step closer, near enough now that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, near enough that the strange pull between us felt impossible to ignore. His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with disbelief and something darker beneath.
“Impossible…”
And then, before I could speak or move, his hand lifted, reaching slowly toward my wrist — toward the mark that seemed to hold the answer to everything.

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Chapter 3 — He Impossible Bond

Solaia Elowen’s Point of View
His hand lifted, moving slowly toward my wrist, and I froze in place. Every logical part of me screamed to pull back, to hide the strange mark that had suddenly come alive beneath my skin — but my body refused to obey. My heart, which had been hammering wildly only moments before, seemed to stutter, then settle into a strange, steady rhythm the closer his fingers came. The warmth from the crescent mark flared up, soft and spreading, traveling up my arm and through my chest like sunlight breaking through clouds.
I should have felt only fear. I was lost, alone in an unknown forest, standing before a stranger whose presence commanded every space he occupied. Yet there was something else tangled in that fear — a sense of calm, of familiarity, as if a part of me had been waiting for him without ever knowing it. His scent reached me then, earthy and crisp, like pine and rain and something warm and wild, and instead of making me feel more threatened, it grounded me. My breathing slowed, falling into a quiet sync with his, and the invisible pull between us tightened, as if a thread I could not see was drawing me toward him whether I wanted it to or not.
His fingers hovered just above the thin fabric covering my skin, and for a heartbeat, I thought he would touch me. But then he pulled his hand back sharply, as if he had felt something unexpected, something he did not want to acknowledge. Something flickered in his gaze — fast, sharp, and gone before I could name it — and his eyes darkened as they fixed once more on my wrist. He stared at it as if he were seeing something that did not belong in this world, something he could not explain. The air around him felt heavier, charged with a tension I could almost reach out and touch.
“What is this place?” I asked, my voice steady though my pulse still raced beneath my ribs. “And who are you? I’ve never seen land like this, never heard of any forest so far from the roads I know.”
His gaze remained fixed on me, searching and assessing, as if he were trying to read answers written on my face. “This is Bethel Territory,” he said, his tone low and controlled — cold, but not unkind. “It is not part of any map you have ever seen. It belongs to my people.” He paused, his eyes drifting once more to the faint silver glow seeping through my sleeve. “And you have crossed a boundary no outsider is meant to cross.”
I frowned, trying to make sense of his words. “I didn’t do it on purpose. The storm — it was like the road just… vanished. I had no idea I was entering anything private or forbidden.”
He studied me for a long moment, and his expression changed too fast for me to fully understand — one moment guarded, the next carrying a weight I could not place — though the way his hands curled into loose fists at his sides told me he was fighting something within himself.
Before he could speak again, a low, menacing growl rolled through the trees from my right — deeper and harsher than the sound from the first wolf. A large, dark shape moved in the underbrush, its ears flattened, lips pulled back to show sharp, glistening teeth. It held itself ready to lunge, and my breath caught in my throat.
But instead of stepping back, my body reacted before my mind could catch up — I found myself moving closer to him, my shoulder brushing lightly against his arm, seeking shelter in his presence as if it were the only safe thing in these strange woods.
At the touch, he took a quick side glance at me — brief, sharp, and unreadable, but heavy with something I could not name — before turning his attention fully toward the animal. He did not flinch, did not raise his voice, just spoke a single, sharp command that cut through the air like steel.
“Back.”
The growl died instantly. The shadow hesitated only a heartbeat before lowering its head and retreating quickly into the darkness, its tail tucked between its legs. I stared, wide-eyed and bewildered, wondering how one man could command such respect from a wild beast. When I looked up at him again, his eyes had darkened further, holding a mix of wariness and something else that felt far more complicated as they settled once more on me.
The warmth in my wrist flared once more, brighter this time, and the strange pull between us grew stronger. It felt as though something invisible was tying us together, something that hummed in time with my heartbeat. I saw his chest rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath, as if he were forcing himself to hold back words or actions he did not want to give in to.
“This… should not be happening,” he said finally, his voice quieter, rougher than before, as if each word cost him effort.
He paused, his gaze intense and searching, and then a colder, more distant edge returned to his tone, like he was building a wall between us. “You are not supposed to be here. Not in this territory, and certainly not… marked like this.”
I opened my mouth, needing answers more than ever now. “Do you know where the way out is? I was in my car, driving through the heavy rain, when everything blurred — the road disappeared, I lost control, and then it all went dark. I woke up here, alone.”
He only looked at me, his eyes revealing nothing clear yet shifting in ways that told me he was turning over every possible answer in his mind, weighing whether to give me the truth or only what I needed to hear. There was a long silence, and then he spoke again, his voice firm and final, leaving no room for argument.
“Come with me. You are not safe here. Not while you carry that mark, and not while you remain unprotected in these woods.”
I hesitated only a second. I had nowhere else to go, no sense of direction, no way to get back to the life I knew. As much as I did not understand him or this place, he was the only anchor I had found. I took one step forward, ready to follow.
But the moment my foot touched the ground, the forest around us shifted.
A soft rustle ran through the leaves — not from one direction, but from all around, quiet and deliberate. The wind carried new scents, unfamiliar and sharp, and I caught the faint sound of many footsteps moving through the trees as they drew closer. When I glanced up at him, his eyes narrowed sharply, and the faint tension in his features hardened into something alert and commanding, as he scanned the shadows.
Someone was coming. And whatever it was, my arrival had already been noticed.

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