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Chapter Nineteen
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2025-08-29 15:12:17
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Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart Chapter Eighteen
AedanThe trees thinned, and ahead rose the first watch-terrace. Once solid, a bastion of safety—now dark smoke trailed upward, thin and acrid, like a wound that steamed instead of bleeding. Cassian raised his hand; the column halted without a word. Wind swept down from the mountains, carrying the scents of blood, scorched flesh, and corrupted magic. Not clean, not sharp—rotting, inward-curdled, as if power itself had spoiled.“Something happened,” I said, voice low, taut. “Nyra—stay behind me.”But she was already out of the saddle. Not retreating—closing the distance. Needing to see, to feel, to understand.Cassian knelt beside a soldier sprawled against the stone. The man still breathed, barely. A deep gash split his side, bite marks at his throat, his gaze blank on nothing.“They came from shadow,” he whispered. “Not came—slithered… slid… as if night itself broke upon us.”From the rubble to the left came a rumble, low and guttural. Then we saw them.Shadow-wolves. Nothing like an
Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart Chapter Seventeen
AedanThe night’s darkness had seeped deep into the walls of the Moon Garden, and I knew: there would be no peace until dawn. Cassian and I walked the northern courtyard, overseeing the preparations. Horses pawed nervously, wolves paced the enclosures. Nyra stood silent in the shadow of the inner gate, fingers resting on the moon-blessed pendant at her throat. Beyond the gate the host gathered. Torchlight flickered on armor, restless shadows danced. No chatter, no laughter. Everyone knew: this was no parade. This was the unknown.“Nyra!” I called, stepping out of the stable’s dim light, the dark mantle of battle heavy on my shoulders. “All are ready. Only you remain.”She nodded, her steps swift, steady. My fingers brushed her arm—no display, only reminder: we go together.Cassian was already in the saddle at the front, the commander’s mark gleaming at his shoulder. One sharp blast of the horn split the night. The gates opened. Nyra swung onto her horse, her cloak flowing like a shado
Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart Chapter Sixteen
AedanThe noise of the coronation faded into the stone walls of the palace, but the Moon Garden only truly woke then. The full moon hung above as a blazing silver disc; the water in the ritual pools mirrored the sky. At the center of the ancient circle I stood with the priestess, and when Nyra walked the moonlit path, low growls and howls rose from the trees around us—the greeting of the ancestors.That night she wore something simpler: black, belted with silver, a single strip of moonstone woven into her hair. Barefoot, she stopped before me. The priestess’s voice lifted.“Nyra… you have accepted the crown. But the pack also asks for a Luna.”Moonlight drew the shadows from the garden; every eye fixed on her.“Are you ready?” the priestess asked.“I am ready,” she answered.The priestess raised the Luna crystal. From the circle’s edge, wolves’ howls threaded together, and the stone pulsed before Nyra. When placed into her palm, and she lifted it toward the full moon, the shape of a w
Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart Chapter Fifteen
NyraDawn had barely crested the mountains, yet the palace was already waking. Soft footfalls slid between the stones, servants whispered, doors creaked—each sound purposeful, held in check. Night was behind us. The dream, the darkness, the terror—behind me. But morning brought me no peace.Only movement.I sat on the low bench before the window, wrapped in a cloak, legs tucked beneath me. Light skimmed the stone, the tapestries, the silk sheets. My face was pale but calm; my eyes red, yet alert. The warmth of Galena’s draught still pulsed in me—enough to keep the nightmare at bay, not the thoughts. Nothing could dam those. I could still feel my fingers on my belly: two separate rhythms. Certainty that they were there. Alive. Waiting for me. And that someone else was watching.A figure moved in the mirror: Aedan. He came quietly, barefoot, as always. He didn’t ask—set a cup of tea beside me and sat.“Did you sleep?” he asked softly.I shook my head.“I’m not tired. Just… heavy.”He la
Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart Chapter Fourteen
NyraAz éjszaka vastagon borult a királyi lakosztályra. A holdfény ezüst csíkokat húzott a kőpadlóra, a selyemdrapériák hangtalanul lebegtek a hajnali huzatban. Aedan békésen aludt mellettem, oldalról ölelt, a karja védőn pihent a pocakomon, amely egyre kerekedőbben rejtegette a két szívdobbanást – az ikreket, akik egyszerre áldás és prófécia.A testem megfeszült.Sötét árnyékok gyűltek a szemem alá, ahogy az álom elnyelt. Először csak a megszokott, hűvös, suttogó köd kúszott elő – de most nem lassan merültem. Az álom rám tépett.⸻Egyedül álltam egy ismeretlen erdőben.Sűrű, majdnem fekete köd tekeredett a fák köré, a lomb közt vörös holdvilág szivárgott át. A levegő ragacsos volt, mint vérbe áztatott lehelet. Mezítláb álltam a hideg, nyálkás talajon; vas, nedves avar és valami idegen szag lengte körül, ami nem tartozott sem az élők, sem a holtak világához.A távolból sírás szűrődött – két gyermeki hang, egymásba kapaszkodva. Előre indultam. Futottam volna, de a lábam nem mozdult. A
Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart Chapter Thirteen
Nyra The noise of the council had died long ago, yet it still hummed behind my ears as we walked the palace corridors. Every step, every whisper echoed inside me. The carved stone walls that usually meant safety now felt like cautious, watchful eyes. Our apartment door clicked shut. Cassian slipped in last and drew it closed behind him. The room’s soft light and the hearth’s orange glow promised warmth—but none of us let ourselves fall for the illusion of home. Slowly I took off my cloak and laid it carefully over the armchair by the window. My hand settled on my belly. The twins were still, and yet I felt it: they were listening. They always listened. Aedan moved to the fire without a word and set another log on the coals. The flames crackled to life, warmer light washed over the room, but the tension didn’t melt. Cassian kept to the wall—as always: neither center stage nor fully in the background, but watching. “I feel,” I said quietly, “as if time has turned around us. With ea
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