Lahat ng Kabanata ng He’s a Mafia, He’s a Werewolf, and He’s My Boss: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

LYRAHis mouth was still on mine when the hunger hit me sharp, needy, impossible to ignore. My body moved before my mind caught up, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging him closer until every breath we took mingled.Then he pulled back, his gaze falling to my chest. The shift was slow almost reverent and the heat that rushed through me felt like my body had been set under a warm spotlight. His eyes lingered, darkening with a hunger that curled low in my stomach. He didn’t just look; he studied, as if every inch of me was a secret he intended to learn by heart. The intensity of it made my thighs press together, a helpless response I couldn’t control.His hand rose, steady and certain, and cupped one breast. The warmth of his palm made my breath stutter. Before I could react, his mouth closed around the other, hot and wet, his tongue circling my nipple in slow, deliberate strokes that made my knees feel weak even though I was lying down. A sound tore from me sharp, surprised, almost b

MALAKIThe corner of my mouth lifts, slow and amused. The human can barely hold the gun steady. His fingers tremble so violently that the metal clicks against his wedding ring with every shake. Yet he still lifts the barrel to my forehead like he believes it will save him.I close the distance between us one measured step at a time. No rush. No fear. The cold muzzle presses between my brows, but my eyes stay locked on his. He tries to hold my gaze, but one second, two seconds his resolve crumbles, and his pupils dart nervously like a trapped animal.“Go on,” I murmur, voice low enough to crawl under his skin. “Shoot.”A shiver rips through him. His breath stutters, uneven. Sweat gathers at his temples, trails down to his jaw, then drips onto his shirt collar. The smell of fear curls in the air sharp, metallic, choking. It fills my lungs like a feast.If he understood who stood in front of him if he knew I’d watched empires crumble, hunted kings, and bathed in the blood of monsters old

LYRAMy chest heaved, ribs rattling with each frantic heartbeat. The sound was deafening, hammering in my ears, as if the walls themselves were vibrating with it. I tried to look away, to melt into the floor, but the low, steady cadence of his voice cut through the panic.“We’ll be attending a party tonight,” he said, voice smooth but sharp enough to slice through the room.A party? My stomach twisted. Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? Did he think he could just no. No, I couldn’t even think it properly. My jaw tightened, a surge of irritation sparking, but a whisper inside my mind scolded me. Not now. Not here.He rose from the chair with a quiet scrape of metal against wood, deliberate, precise. Each step was measured, echoing control, power, dominance. When he reached me, his finger lifted to lightly tap my forehead. “Any objections?”His eyes dark, storming, barely restrained held mine. I couldn’t look away, and the heat crawling up my neck told me this was more than a question

LYRAMalaki’s hand cut through the air before I even realized he’d moved. The table rattled violently under the force of his strike, glass exploding across the floor like scattered diamonds. The sharp crash carved through the music and through me cold, abrupt, paralyzing.He wasn’t just angry.He was unrestrained.His eyes locked on mine, glowing with a feral heat half-wolf, half-man, fully dangerous. There was a promise in that stare, something dark and familiar, and I should have known better than to push him. The room shrank around us, the crowd fading into a blur of shadows.Before I could take a single step back, his hands closed around me. My feet left the floor.He lifted me as if gravity meant nothing to him.My breath punched out of my chest as he set me on the table. His growl rumbled through the air, low and deep vibrating through the wood beneath me, through my ribs, through my bones. It wasn’t just a sound. It was a warning.“No… no, please…” The words scraped out of my t

LAURAMy brother practically dragged me out of the house, his grip firm, impatient, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me crumbling into myself anymore. Months had passed since Lyra’s death, but grief doesn’t obey calendars. It curls around you, cold and unrelenting, like a fog that won’t lift.Each morning was a mirror of the last: quiet, heavy, and empty. I hadn’t seen her body not truly. The funeral had been enough. The charred remains in that coffin didn’t look like the girl who had once laughed so loud it shook my walls. But the plane crash report was final. Lyra was gone. That was all anyone offered: a report, a coffin, silence.Losing her wasn’t just losing a friend it was losing a piece of myself I hadn’t realized was mine. She wasn’t blood, but she was closer than anyone I’d ever let in. She occupied spaces I hadn’t admitted were empty until now.Sometimes, I still catch myself picking up my phone to send her a meme, or a stupid complaint about my day, and then my fingers f