Semua Bab Wolf's Bane: Moonlit Forbidden: Bab 161 - Bab 170

Reyes watched her go with something close to admiration. Not the fragile, starry-eyed kind but a fascination rooted in danger and unpredictability. She had come on her own. Walked straight into the belly of the wolf’s den, and looked his fury and Zina’s venom right in the eye. He stepped back from the balcony, the long folds of his cloak trailing behind him as he turned away from the drama still lingering below. The smile never left his face. So Triston had released her, then, for the antidote. And if that was true, Reyes thought, chest swelling with a dark kind of glee, then the game had only just begun. The towering doors of the Nyxorian throne room groaned open as Ivone stepped inside. The cavernous space swallowed her in silence, lit only by the flicker of torchlight and the pale shafts of morning sun slicing through the tall windows. Dark marble stretched beneath her feet, polished to a mirror's sheen, each footstep echoing like a drumbeat of defiance. At the far end, seated at

A heavy hush blanketed Triston’s chambers, the golden afternoon sun streaming through the windows doing little to chase away the cold that clung to the room. Triston lay propped up by pillows, still pale, though color had begun to return to his face. At his bedside, a low fire crackled in the hearth, and three men stood in uneasy silence—each with his own storm brewing behind his eyes. Xaren paced near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, eyes dark with unease. Revin leaned against the far wall, frowning as he absently tapped his fingers against the hilt of his blade. Jaxon, seated closest to Triston, was silent but watchful, his brow furrowed with concern. It was Xaren who broke the silence. “She’s been gone a whole day,” he said, his voice tight. “Not a word. Not a single sign. The guards on the eastern watch said the gates were opened sometime before dawn yesterday—and she’s not in the city.” “She left,” Revin added grimly. “On horseback, alone. Slipped past everyone.” Triston’s

Ivone stood at the edge of the balcony, hands resting on the cold stone rail, her eyes fixed on the jagged black spires of Nyxoria’s skyline. The wind pulled at her cloak, tugging strands of her hair loose from their braid, but she didn’t move. She hadn’t moved in hours. Behind her, the fire in the hearth had long since faded to embers. A tray of untouched food sat on the table, and fresh clothes—elegant but unfamiliar—lay folded neatly on the edge of the bed where a maid had left them earlier. She hadn’t changed, she hadn’t eaten, she hadn’t spoken to anyone since Reyes had dismissed her. The weight of her decision hung over her like a second skin, pressing into every breath. Then the door slammed open behind her with a bang loud enough to echo through the stone chamber. Ivone didn’t jump. She only closed her eyes and exhaled once through her nose, the weariness in her breath palpable. “I really do not want to deal with this,” she muttered. Zina stormed into the room like a fire w

Ivone narrowed her eyes as the heavy door thudded shut behind Zina, the echo of it ringing through the stone walls like the last note of an unfinished song. Silence followed, a heavy, deliberate kind that wrapped around the room like a thick cloak. For a moment, she didn’t move. Her arms remained folded tightly across her chest, her posture stiff with tension, but her expression had faded into something unreadable. It was the kind of look that masked far more than it revealed. Then, slowly, she turned. Full-on, unflinching. And her eyes locked with his but Reyes was already watching her. He stood near the hearth, one hand resting on the mantle above the fire place, the other arm fixed on his hip, his stance was composed but alert. His dark eyes were fixed on her, not with hostility, but with the careful curiosity of a man who’d thought he understood the world only to discover a corner of it still held secrets. His stare didn’t just linger, it searched. Like a wolf scenting something

Reyes remained silent, motionless at the window. But his shoulders were no longer relaxed, and his hand curled slightly against the stone. She could feel it then—that she’d struck the vein. Whatever power she thought he held in this place, whatever throne he sat on, whatever blood he’d spilled to wear that crown—it all meant less than the question gnawing at his bones. What are you to me? And for that, he needed her breathing, he needed her whole, he needed her here. And Ivone knew it. He studied her in silence for a long moment, the faint amusement that had once curled at the edge of his lips now slipping away like mist burned off by morning light. The room seemed to still around them, as if the very air was holding its breath. His eyes narrowed—not with rage, but with calculation, like a man measuring the weight of a blade in his hand before deciding how deeply to plunge it. “I already sent the antidote,” he said at last, his voice stripped of its earlier mocking lilt. It was