All Chapters of Fated Moon Wolves : Chapter 41 - Chapter 49

49 Chapters

Chapter 41

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

chapter 42

Anna POV: The world was gold. That was the first thing I remembered—the way the afternoon sun caught the stalks of the tall grass, turning the meadow into a sea of shimmering honey. I was sitting at my mother’s feet, the wild clover tickling my knees, and the air smelled of crushed mint and the sweet, heavy scent of coming rain. To a six-year-old, the world was a playground of secrets, and my mother was the keeper of them all. I wanted to know every single secret. What my mother didn't kno was the visions had started. My power grew and sometimes I could already guess the secret before she even told me. "Keep your head still, little bird," Mama whispered. Her voice was like the rustle of silk against stone—soft, but with an edge that commanded the wind to listen. Sometimes I thought she cared and sometimes I felt fear coming off of her in waves. I tried to sit like a statue, though a ladybug was currently making a daring trek across my knuckles. I watched its red shell move, wo

Forty Three

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 Forty four

Chapter 44: Silas POV I watched my little one sleep. The clam-shell bed glowed faintly under the pale morning light filtering through the single window. Every bone in my body ached, a brutal reminder of the forest floor, but I welcomed the pain. It kept me grounded. Ever since we arrived at this hidden safehouse, I’d made sure to sleep on the hard floor the second her breathing leveled out. Anna had terrible dreams—screaming, thrashing, reliving the hunters and the roots—and we had silently agreed that me just being near her kept the darkness at bay. I would do anything to see her smile now. I'd do anything to give her a shred of comfort. She was a creature who looked like she’d fallen straight from the sky, a half-starved wood witch who had never had a single soul take care of her. And my mate bond? It was turning into a feral thing, screaming at me to protect her, to provide for her, to tear the world apart so she could rest. I hadn’t told her about the bond yet. I had no ide

Forty Five

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 Six

Chapter 46: POV Anne The canopy above us felt less like a shelter and more like a cage. "Stay down, Lilly," Silas commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp as he shoved the little girl gently but firmly behind a thick outcrop of moss-covered rock. I didn't need to ask why. The air had turned foul, thick with the stench of rotting copper and old graves. Out from the dense thicket slithered Draco’s hunters. They weren’t human—not even close. These were the dark, twisted things of the deep Fae realms, creatures of ash and malice who hunted the fringes of our world. My stomach violently turned as I looked at them. Everyone knew the whispers. Everyone knew these demons literally fed on half-born children, consuming the innocent to gorge on their raw, unspent magic. Silas didn’t hesitate. He drew his blade, the steel catching a rare glint of sunlight through the leaves, and threw himself into the fray. He moved like a tempest, a devastating blur of lethal grace. I watched him parry

Forty Seven

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

Forty Eight

POV Silas: Chapter 48The cool breeze coming off the water carried the sharp, clean scent of pine and oncoming dusk, cutting through the heavy tension that had settled deep into my bones over the last three weeks. I stood at the edge of the wooden dock, the soles of my boots pressing against the damp, weathered planks as I watched the dark river lap rhythmically against the support posts. It was the first time since we crossed the border that I didn’t feel the phantom itch between my shoulder blades—the constant, exhausting paranoia that we were being actively hunted. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the air didn’t taste like copper and imminent bloodshed.We needed this. She needed this.I ran a heavy hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as a fierce, protective anger rolled through my chest. Anne had spent so long carrying the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders, burning her own spirit to ash just to keep everyone else warm and safe. The poor th

Chapter Forty Nine

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

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