All Chapters of Wolf's Bane: Moonlit Forbidden: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Zina froze and Ivone didn’t waver. She stepped toward her with controlled fire in her eyes, every word laced with bitter truth. “I know you’ve been stealing my scent, Zina. Faking your bond with Reyes. Manipulating his wolf. And you know what’s worse?” Her voice dropped into a cold whisper. “What you share with him? It’s not love. It’s fraud. A fantasy you’ve built with desperation and deceit.”Zina’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fury trembled against the weight of Ivone’s certainty.Ivone tilted her head. “And don’t forget,” she added calmly, “I could end it all with one word. One truth told to the right ears—and your entire little fantasy burns to ash.”“You don’t scare me,” Zina spat, though her voice wavered. “Reyes would never believe you!”“You sure about that?” Ivone narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. “How much would you bet that he hasn’t already noticed that we have the same scent?”Zina’s breath caught. Her expression faltered—only for a second, but it was enough

But as his eyes swept past her—drawn not by her defiance, but by something behind her—his anger briefly gave way to curiosity and his gaze landed on the table. The edge of an old scroll had come unrolled amidst scattered papers and ink-stained notes. The parchment was worn, but what caught his attention was the seal—a broken wax crest he hadn’t seen in decades. A seal once belonging to the royal scribes of Nyxoria. “What’s this?” Reyes muttered, stepping around her. Ivone turned slowly as he reached for the scroll. “Don’t,” she said softly, but he was already pulling it toward him. The moment his eyes began scanning the faded ink, his face changed. The tightness in his jaw loosened, just slightly, and the fire that had burned behind his eyes moments before dulled into something sharper—less rage, more calculation. His hand hovered over the aged parchment, fingers twitching with restraint as he took in the words scrawled across the brittle surface. The tension in his shoulders still

Beneath the castle, deep within the twisting stone veins of the catacombs, the scent of damp earth and old death hung thick in the air. Their torches hissed and crackled, casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls as Reyes led the group forward with long, purposeful strides. A faint stiffness clung to his movements, the dull ache of the stab wound in his side, earned in yesterday’s brutal clash with Triston, biting deeper with every step. Blood had dried beneath the bandages, but the injury throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a burning reminder of just how close the battle had come. Behind him, Dathan followed closely, his brows drawn in confusion. He kept a wary eye on Reyes, noting the tension in the Alpha’s jaw and the subtle winces he failed to fully hide. Four elite guards flanked them, their armor muted, their footsteps careful, as if even the walls could be listening. None of them spoke. The silence down here didn’t like to be disturbed. “Reyes,” Dathan called

Triston remained as he was, eyes fixed ahead, not on the flames, nor on the fallen bodies littering the field, but on a single scene: a Nyxorian soldier stumbling as he tried to retreat, only to be caught and dragged down by two feral rogue omegas near a splintered supply cart. The man shrieked in agony. Then came the wet, choking gurgle of a crushed throat. Blood splashed against the side of a burnt-out wagon. Another flame erupted, this time near the edge of the Nyxorian barracks, illuminating the chaos in crimson light. Triston’s lips twitched—neither smile nor scowl—just the hint of something that flickered and vanished. Then, finally, he spoke. “No,” he said softly, but his voice carried like a blade across the line. “This isn’t our battle.” Xaren stiffened. “But Reyes—” “Let Reyes taste disarray,” Triston cut in, his eyes still never blinking. “Let him see what it’s like when control slips through your fingers. Let the madness he fostered turn back on him.” There was a paus

With a motion to the guards, Dathan exited the room, his boots echoing in the corridor beyond. The guards followed silently, leaving only Reyes, Ivone, and the wounded Revin bound in agony. The door shut with a deep, final thud, and silence stretched in the dim lantern glow—thick with pain, rage, and the promise of bloodshed to come. Reyes approached the bed, his steps unhurried. The dim lantern glow flickered across his face, casting shadows beneath his eyes—eyes that gleamed with possessive malice. He reached down and unfastened the gag from Ivone's mouth, tossing the cloth aside. She gasped for breath, then immediately turned her head away from him, loathing etched into every line of her face. But though the gag was gone, the shackles remained—iron cuffs binding her wrists, connected to a long chain bolted to the headboard. Reyes knelt beside her on the bed, his movements unhurried, almost tender—mockingly so. With two fingers, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, th