All Chapters of Wolf's Bane: Moonlit Forbidden: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

She lifted a hand, her fingers brushing along his jaw, her thumb lightly trailing down to his lips. Her voice, when she found it, was barely a breath but she didn’t need it. Instead, she reached up, her fingers threading through the white strands of his hair until her hand found the back of his head. Her grip was firm, deliberate. And with that one motion, she pulled him down to her, answering him in the only way that mattered. Her lips found his again, eager and certain. There was no hesitation now. The kiss deepened, slow at first—achingly slow—before the heat behind it began to build. It was her response, her choice, her wordless promise: No regrets. She pressed herself closer to him, feeling the strength in his body above hers, the warmth of his breath, the way his hands trembled just barely as they found her sides. He groaned softly into the kiss, his control slipping, his wolf pacing just beneath the surface. He leaned into her touch, eyes closing briefly, and then met her gaze

With a sudden burst of speed, Triston broke through Reyes’ guard and drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, sending him staggering backward. Reyes regained his footing just in time to parry a wild swing aimed at his throat. They circled each other now, slower, both men bleeding, breathing hard. Reyes grinned, parrying a deadly strike aimed at his neck. "I've been quiet for so long, you must think I would let the murderer of my sister rest." “Your mistake,” Triston snarled, slamming Reyes back with a shield bash, “I would never let the murderer of my sister rest either!" Reyes staggered but didn’t fall. Blood trickled from his brow where Triston’s hilt had caught him earlier. He licked it away with a smirk. “Your sister?" Reyes chuckled with a furrowed brow. "Don't you mean your mate?" Triston didn’t reply. He charged and they clashed again. Steel rang again. Triston’s blade met Reyes' with such force that both men were forced apart. Dust swirled as they circled once more. Then

The sun had climbed high before beginning its slow, golden descent, casting long, angular shadows across the worn stone floor of Triston’s chamber. The light streamed in through the narrow arched windows, fractured by the mullioned glass and dappling the interior with shifting patterns of amber and gray. Outside, the muffled sounds of the castle stirred faintly — the distant neighing of the royal horses, the low murmur of servants as they walked the halls just outside his door — but within these walls, all had stilled.The room was quiet now. The flurry of motion from earlier had ebbed away, leaving only the ghost of urgency in its wake. The healers were gone, having done all they were needed to do. The scent of crushed herbs and pungent salves still lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of iron and sweat. Triston lay half-reclined against the furs piled behind him, the stiff linen of fresh bandages wound around his shoulder and arm a stark contrast to the dark tunic th

The gates of the Nyxorian castle opened slowly, their hinges groaning beneath the weight of war. Reyes rode through with a predator’s grace, his cloak stained with the dust of battle, the hilt of his sword still crusted with blood. The courtyard was quiet — not the silence of peace, but the kind that followed carnage. Only half the men who had marched out with him returned. The cost had been steep but the reward had been priceless. He dismounted and tossed his reins to a waiting servant without a glance. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he ascended the stone steps of the castle, taking them two at a time. The pain in his ribs from the fight with Triston was already fading, dulled by the satisfaction of knowing his plan had taken root. He walked upstairs with Dathan by his side, heading towards the veranda overlooking the inner courtyard. The Delta still bore a thin gash across his cheek, and his arm was in a sling, but he straightened when they came to a stop on the veranda. “

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Triston’s chamber, casting soft golden rays across the marble floor. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light, and a gentle breeze stirred the heavy velvet curtains, setting them into a slow, rhythmic sway. From beyond the thick stone walls, the distant hum of the castle awakening drifted in—clattering hooves in the courtyard, the occasional trill of birdsong just beyond the parapets. Ivone stirred on the edge of the bed, her limbs stiff from a night spent half-sitting, half-sleeping. Her head had rested near the crook of his arm for hours, listening to the faint cadence of his breath, fearful of every hitch in its rhythm. The silence now felt too still, too precise—like the calm before something breaks. Her brows creased as her lashes fluttered open. The warmth of his presence was gone. She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing only cool linen. The bed beside her was empty. Her heart stumbled and she pushed upright in on