Rejected Luna Returns with Secret Twins (Lysandra) novel Chapter 177

Rejected Luna Returns with Secret Twins

Chapter 177

I could feel his body trembling, his breathing becoming more rapid. His hands tightened in my hair, as if restraining some impulse, and he murmured my name: “Lysandra…” His voice held a note of pain, as if caught between desire and some deeper emotion.

When I finally pulled away, lips wet, breathing hard as I looked up at him, Tristan’s gaze nearly consumed me. He pulled me up, pushing me back onto the bed, his body covering mine. His hand wandered between my thighs, parting them, positioning himself to enter me.

In that moment, something tightened in my chest. A tear escaped, sliding down my cheek, glistening in the dim light.

Tristan froze. His gaze locked on my face, that single tear striking him, instantly cooling the desire in his eyes. He stared at me, lips pressed together, as if torn by some emotion.

He abruptly pulled away, standing up and turning his back to me.

I curled up on the bed, tears falling silently. I quickly pulled the covers over myself, shame and relief tangling together until I could barely think. Suffocating silence filled the room, broken only by Tristan’s heavy breathing.

After a long silence, he finally said without turning back to me, “I want your submission, but not your tears.”

I didn’t respond, my heart still racing, my mind in chaos. I felt relief, yet couldn’t ignore the persistent throb of arousal–still coursing through my body. Despite everything, my body still responded to his touch, which disturbed me deeply.

My fingers clutched the covers tightly, trying to suppress that shameful longing.

Tristan didn’t look at me again. “We’ll discuss terms tomorrow,” he said quietly before leaving the room, the door closing softly behind him.

I remained alone in the darkness, curled up on the bed, tears falling silently. My mind drifted to my children. What would Orion and Lyra think if they knew what their mother had almost done? The shame burned deeper.

Pull yourself together, I demanded silently. My parents were waiting. My children were waiting. And Alaric–my sick, vulnerable brother–he

needed me more than ever.

I forced myself to sit up, wiping tears from my face with shaking hands. The mirror on the wall reflected a woman I barely recognized–eyes red–rimmed, hair disheveled, lips swollen from unwanted kisses. I splashed cold water on my face from a nearby basin, willing the chill to numb the storm of emotions tearing through me.

Tomorrow we’ll discuss terms, Tristan had said. What new torment would he devise? What fresh degradation awaited me?

The hallway stretched before me as I slipped out of the room, my footsteps unnaturally loud in the silence.

Would Tristan really drive my parents from the pack? Force Alaric to leave when he was too weak to survive the journey? The thought sent fresh panic coursing through me. My brother needed specialized care only available in our pack hospital.

A low moan interrupted my thoughts. I turned toward the sound, noticing a door slightly ajar a few feet down the hallway. Inside, a figure hunched over the edge of a bed, hand pressed against his side.

Gamma Darius.

His face contorted with pain as he struggled to remove his blood–soaked shirt. The wound on his flank–the same one I’d inflicted during the battle–oozed dark blood that refused to clot properly.

Guilt twisted inside me. He’d only been protecting his Alpha, showing the same loyalty that my own Gamma had betrayed. I stepped closer without thinking, the door creaking as I pushed it wider.

Darius’s head snapped up, eyes widening in recognition. ‘You!”

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Chapter 177

I averted my eyes from his half–naked form. Put your shirt on.”

He fumbled with the garment, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. When he’d managed to cover himself, I stepped fully into the

room.

“It’s okay, Calm down,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the emotional hurricane still raging inside me.

“What are you doing here?” His voice held equal parts suspicion and pain.

“Sit down.”

“What?”

“I said sit down.” I moved toward the medical kit on his nightstand. “Let me treat your wound.”

Confusion flickered across his face. “Why would you do that?”

I didn’t answer immediately, busying myself with opening the kit and examining its contents. Darius sat cautiously on the edge of the bed, watching my every move.

“Turn your head,” I instructed, fingers gently tilting his chin to examine the wound on his neck. The jagged gashes from my claws looked angry and inflamed, refusing to heal despite his werewolf regeneration.

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