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Home / Werewolf / Wolf's Bane: Moonlit Forbidden / Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

Lahat ng Kabanata ng Wolf's Bane: Moonlit Forbidden: Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

225 Kabanata

No Retreat

Reyes’s teeth found his injured shoulder, the very spot where the poisoned arrow had once sunk deep. Triston let out a howl of pain as the bite tore into old wounds, his front leg buckling slightly. Blood bloomed fast and thick over his fur. The Nyxorian Alpha didn’t relent. He tore again, shaking his head like a predator trying to rip a limb from bone. Triston’s body slammed into the earth, a snarl of fury ripped from his throat. Reyes loomed, dominance momentarily flashing in his coal-black eyes. But he had underestimated the fire in his opponent. He stepped in for the final strike— And Triston surged. With a primal roar, the Elyrian Alpha twisted, hind legs digging into the dirt, and launched upward. His jaws closed around Reyes’s throat—not deep enough to kill, but enough to lift and slam him sideways. Reyes hit the ground hard. Triston followed, claws raking over his ribs, driving him back with a series of savage, precise bites. He was no longer fighting just to win. He was fig

Wounded

Triston stood rooted to the scorched ground, every muscle in his body taut with fury, yet perfectly controlled. His golden eyes, hard as tempered steel, never once left Reyes, locked onto him with the unblinking focus of a predator. The silence between them cracked with tension, the kind that tasted like blood before the first blow was even struck. His hatred wasn’t loud, it lived deep in his bones, forged from vengeance, and the cold truth of what had been taken from him. The wind swept through the battlefield, lifting strands of his hair, and for the briefest moment, he looked like the ghost of a war that had never ended. He turned slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, his voice was low, but it cut through the space between them with the precision of a blade honed over years of loss. "I came to end this.” He paused, letting the words hang between them like the prelude to judgment. Then, his eyes narrowed even further, his rage sharpening into pure resolve. “And I will.” T

Bloodlines

Ivone sat in the corner of the cold dungeon, her back pressed to the damp stone wall, knees tucked to her chest. The torches lining the corridor outside flickered wearily, casting long, flickering shadows through the bars of her cell. The silence was thick, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling or the distant shuffle of guards. But her mind wasn’t in the dungeon. It was in the library, lost in scrolls and ink and secrets far too heavy for parchment to bear. Annora Thorold, a princess of Elyria. The name lingered in her thoughts like smoke, but what had shaken her most was not the name itself, but the fact that it was written into Nyxorian history. Both kingdoms had always been fractured, tangled in blood and politics, their borders drawn more in war than peace. So why had an Elyrian royal been recorded in Nyxoria’s scrolls? And why had someone deliberately hidden the details of her death? She remembered the scroll’s edge, darkened by smudged ink. It had been

Authority

The castle gates thundered open as Reyes rode through, bloodied but unbowed. A dark stain had spread across his side where Triston's blade had met flesh. Despite the pain searing through his abdomen, his posture on the horse was rigid, unshaken, his jaw locked tight with fury.Dathan rode close beside him, shouting for the physicians as they dismounted. Servants scrambled through the courtyard, making way for the wounded Alpha. Reyes brushed off the helping hands that reached for him, striding forward with fire in his steps as he made his way to his chambers where the medics quickly set to work peeling off his armor and treating the knife wound at his side.He winced but said nothing, eyes burning—not from the pain, but from something far more dangerous.“Where is Ivone? Bring her to me,” he growled to the nearest guard. “Now.”The guard froze, hesitated and Reyes turned his head, slowly, his voice cutting sharper. “Did you not hear me?”The guard swallowed visibly and took a step for

Drawn To You

Reyes finally turned his head to her, that smirk lingering. “And here I was, thinking you’d cry over me when you saw the bandages.”She raised a brow. “I doubt I would have cried even if you were brought back with much worse injuries. Or dead..”"Look at that! Did you hear her speak, Reyes?!" Zina scoffed, “She’s a traitor. A spy. And you’re letting her stand here and—”“Zina,” Reyes cut in sharply, his voice firm, “leave.”“What?”“I need to speak with Ivone.”Zina's mouth opened, her eyes widening in disbelief. “But I—”“Now.” He didn’t yell. He didn’t snarl. But the authority in his voice made even the guards at the door stiffen.Zina hesitated, shooting one last poisonous glare at Ivone, then turned on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind her. Silence fell. Reyes turned back to Ivone, his expression unreadable now. Only the faintest glint of something—relief? regret? longing?—touched his eyes."Zina claims you’re a spy—sent by Triston," He said, his voice measured, b

Not Broken

The tent was thick with the scent of blood, herbs, and seething tension. Jaxon stood near the entrance, arms folded tightly across his chest, his eyes constantly drifting to the parted flap where he could just make out the distant silhouettes of the Nyxorian army. The low hum of soldiers preparing for the night beyond the canvas only made the silence inside the tent heavier.Triston sat rigid on the edge of his chair, jaw clenched, muscles coiled with tension as the physician worked on his shoulder. Blood had soaked through the torn fabric of his tunic, mixing with dirt and sweat. Reyes’ bite had reopened the half-healed wound, and the torn flesh throbbed beneath every pass of the physician’s cloth.Xaren sat on a crate at the far end of the tent, elbows on knees, watching the whole process in silence. He had said little since they returned from the clash. His face bore a grim expression, jaw tight with unspoken thoughts, but his eyes never left Triston. He was watching—not just as a

Time And Weaknesses

Triston's hands flexed into fists at his sides, the veins in his forearms taut, trembling with restrained power. Let him try. He didn’t care that his shoulder was still raw and aching, he didn’t care that his right hand hadn’t fully healed. Let the gods bear witness, he wouldn’t wait for his body to mend. He would ride out with the full weight of Elyria behind him. He would tear through Nyxoria like a reckoning. Reyes would be brought to his knees, and then to his grave. And only then would Triston breathe easy again. Revin glanced up from the makeshift war table, where maps and figures marked routes of attack. His eyes were calm, but wary. “He knows what she means to you." he said carefully, "That’s why he knows he can use her. He knows she’s your weakness.” “My only weakness,” he said softly. Triston didn’t look at him, but the air around him shifted—denser now, darker. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, his breathing deepened like a storm held barely in check, growing heavier,

Something Fractured

The torches burned low inside the Nyxorian war chamber, their flames flickering and sputtering as though uneasy with the weight of what the room held. The scent of smoke and old blood clung to the air—memories of past battles steeped into the very stone. Shadows danced restlessly across the cold walls, their movements echoing the tension that simmered beneath the surface. In the center of the room, a massive oak table stood like an altar to war, its surface dominated by a sprawling map of the borderlands. The parchment was yellowed and stained from use, its corners curled from age and contact with ash. Carved obsidian pieces—representing legions of soldiers, supply convoys, strategic strongholds—sat like silent sentinels across the map. Each was meticulously placed, their black sheen glinting in the low torchlight. Alpha Reyes stood at the head of the table, a living storm held barely in check. One hand braced against the wood, his fingers tense and bloodless from the pressure. The

Premonition

Dathan looked at him carefully. “And is she?” A long silence followed. “I don’t know,” Reyes murmured. “But she’s the only thing keeping me from slaughtering them all where they stand. The question is… will she be the reason I win this war—or the reason I lose it?” Dathan leaned forward, resting both hands on the table. “Then don’t let her distract you, Alpha. If she’s your weakness, make her your weapon.” “Triston is not here just for vengeance,” Reyes muttered. “He’s here for her. He’d burn every inch of Nyxoria to the ground just to get her back.” Dathan’s expression darkened, lips pressing into a grim line. “And that makes him dangerous.” “No,” Reyes said, stepping back from the table and lifting his goblet again. “It makes him predictable.” He took a long sip of wine, then set the goblet down with more force than necessary. “Men who fight for love are easy to corner. All you have to do is dangle the thing they care about in front of them and wait for them to fall into thei

Something Stolen

Ivone stood at the small writing table near the window, the afternoon sun casting a warm golden glow over the parchment spread before her. Scrolls lay open in scattered clusters, some ancient and curling at the edges, others newer, ink still fresh. Her quill scratched steadily across the surface of a page, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.Then the door burst open with a loud crack against the stone wall, jarring her from her thoughts but Ivone didn’t flinch. She barely looked up, only a brief glance, enough to see the familiar storm of jealousy and frustration that was Zina standing in the doorway, breathing heavily like she’d sprinted all the way across the castle.Ivone’s lips curved into a wry, unimpressed line as she turned back to her work, dipping the quill in ink with calm precision. “What now, Zina?” she asked dryly. “Here to accuse me of something else?”Her voice was smooth—quiet, but laced with the exhaustion of someone who had been dragged through too many games an

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