All Chapters of Fated Moon Wolves : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Anna POV: The scream I thought I was echoing into the night died in my throat as gravity vanished. For a heart beat there was nothing but the whistle of the wind and the terrifying open void beneath my heels. I accepted I was going to really die this time there wasn't much fight in me now. The world tilted; I opened my eyes to glance at the horrible beauty of the inn's glowing windows that streaked upwards like dying stars. This was the last images I'd ever glance at. I waited for the bone shattering impact, for darkness to finally claim me and for all of this to be finally over. No more suffering. But the air around us felt thick- soffocating even. It wasn't the ground that met me it was him. I felt every hard muscle underneath me. I'm going to die, I thought, my fingers clawing uselessly at the rough leather of his coat. I’m going to die attached to a lunatic. But as Silas twisted his body in mid-air, putting himself between me and the looming earth, a spark of something ancient

Anne Pov: ​The shackles weren’t just steel; they were etched with runes that hummed a low, discordant frequency, vibrating against my bones until my teeth ached. Every time I tried to reach for the spark of my magic, the iron bit back, grounding my power into the stone floor. There was nothing left in me. ​Across the cell, Silas was a slumped shadow against the wall. He was too still. I needed the psycho I’d met on the beach—the one who fascinated me and made me want to punch him. Instead, he seemed trapped in a trance, suppressed by whatever dark smoke he’d inhaled and whatever was in his chains. He just stared at me, his eyes alive inside a body that looked dead. ​"Don't fight it, little bird," a voice drifted from the gloom—smooth, melodic, and utterly devoid of warmth. It sent a chill down my spine. ​Isolde stepped into the torchlight, her robes sweeping over the filth of the dungeon floor without catching a single speck of dust. She looked young. Too young. A sickening feeli

Chapter 45: Silas POV The scent of salt and iron didn't belong in this dusty human tavern. It belonged to the shores of the Fae realm—specifically, the jagged cliffs where Draco’s hunters bled their prey. Beside me, Anne stiffened. She didn't have my tracking senses, but she wasn't stupid. She could feel the sudden drop in the room’s temperature, the way the ambient chatter of the human patrons instantly died out. *Hunters.* "Silas," she whispered, her fingers tightening against my palm. The playful defiance in her eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp panic. "Don't move," I commanded, my voice dropping into a register so low it was barely audible over the roaring of my own blood. My Fae vision locked onto the two figures standing in the doorway. They wore heavy, mud-caked cloaks, but beneath the fabric, I caught the unmistakable glint of spelled silver—blades forged specifically to tear through Fae flesh and bind a witch’s magic. They weren't looking at the bar. They we

Forty Seven: POV Anne: The forest spirits didn't just clear a path for us; they provided an escort. When the brush parted, it wasn't a horse or a carriage waiting for us. Standing in the dappled sunlight was a creature of absolute myth—a unicorn, its coat gleaming like spun starlight, its silver horn humming with a pure, ancient resonance. It inclined its head toward Lilly, who let out a joyful sob and rushed forward, burying her face in its silken mane. "Well," I murmured, glancing sideways at Silas, who was still slightly tender from the healing but standing tall. "I guess we're riding in style." Silas offered a rare, genuine smile, hoisting Lilly up onto the creature's back before mounting behind her and pulling me up into the space between them. The moment the unicorn leaped forward, the world blurred. The trees became streaks of green and gold, and the wind howled in our ears, carrying the distinct, dizzying sensation of traveling not ju

Chapter 49 For the first time in days, I didn’t wake up gasping for air. There was no phantom scent of damp earth or sulfur clogging my throat, no lingering echo of my mother’s cold voice vibrating in my skull, and no violent spike of adrenaline demanding that I jump out of bed and reach for a weapon. Instead, there was only the soft, warm filtering of morning sunlight through the log cabin window and the deep, grounding scent of pine and cedar embedded in the heavy linens. I rolled over, my arm instinctively sweeping across the mattress to find the solid, furnace-like warmth that had anchored me through the night. My fingers met only cold, empty sheets. A sharp prickle of my usual hyper-vigilance flared in my chest. I sat up quickly, pulling Silas’s oversized linen shirt tighter around my shoulders. The fabric hung low on my collarbone, swallowing my frame, but the lingering scent of him instantly dialed back the panic. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, I padded across the c