All Chapters of FROM SLAVE TO LUNA : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Serena.The world tilts. For a moment, I can’t breathe.Thorne’s words slice through the night like a blade, severing the fragile thread of hope Tristan had dangled before me.Tristan rises to his feet, face a mask of fury. “You’re lying,” he growls.Thorne just laughs, slow and cruel. “Am I?” He circles closer, predatory. “Go ahead. Ask him. Ask your precious Alpha Prince Tristan how he spent the night you almost died.”I don't want to. I don’t want to ask, because deep down, I already know.My throat tightens painfully. Still, I force the words out. "Tristan. Tell me he’s lying."The fire crackles between us, painting his face in harsh shadows.He says nothing, nothing at all. The silence is louder than any confession.Something inside me, something already frayed and fragile, finally snaps. I do not scream or sob. I just let the silence, colder than any winter surface between us.I take a step back. Then another. Tristan moves toward me, hand outstretched, desperation flashing

Serena.Sylvaine disappears into the manor before I can ask questions. That night, I barely sleep. My dreams are filled with red cloaks, flickering torches, and the hollow echo of a chant that won't leave my head.The next day, I return to the hidden library as soon as I find the chance. This time however, I make sure I’m not followed. The passage is exactly as I met it before. The door groans open, and the familiar scent of dust and old parchment wraps around me like a welcome.I go back to the book I was reading the day Thorne and General Vasquez barged in. The one with the gilded spine and wolf’s eye seal.The letters are still tucked inside, the edges are crinkled from age. My father’s handwriting, bold and precise, spills out in passionate pleas to Henry Sinclair. I hadn't seen this particular letter. It is hidden so well that it blends with the pages of the book.> “You know this wolf cannot be allowed to open the gate, Henry. There are forces beyond even our understanding. I d

Serena.The cold stone floor bites into my knees as we’re forced to kneel, wrists bound behind our backs with cords that hum faintly with magic. Thorne struggles beside me, his muscles straining against the enchanted ropes, but they only tighten in response.Athea stands before us like a queen before her court, red cloak flaring, hair wild, eyes glowing with unnatural fire.“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I whisper. “You were helping us.”Her gaze softens, barely. “I spared you for a little while longer.”Thorne growls. “You used us. You lied.”She sighs and steps closer, crouching so her face is level with mine. “No, cousin. I protected you. I delayed the Rite for you.”“Cousin?” I echo. “That wasn't just a part of your lies and deceit?Thorne stiffens. “What?”She tilts her head. “You never wondered why we looked alike?” Her fingers brush my cheek, almost tender. “We share blood, Serena. Our mothers were sisters. Daughters of Raelor.”The name strikes like thunder. “No,” I breathe

Serena.The veil pulses wider. It groans like something ancient is awakening. Light spills through it,not golden or pure, but twisted, fractured… like moonlight bled through broken glass.Then comes the voice. “Blood of my blood… anchor of my becoming…”Raelor.His whisper thickens, grows, expands until the entire chamber vibrates. It's not a voice,it’s a command, woven with seduction and doom.My body aches. My blood responds.I try to step back, but I can’t. I’m tethered. The air around me thickens, magic spinning in loops around my chest and limbs. Every breath draws the veil closer.I am the anchor and Raelor knows it.His next words aren’t in a language I know, but I understand them all the same. Visions bleed into my mind, me on a throne, me commanding fire and death, me watching my enemies crumble beneath my touch. I see a world reborn in my image.I see the war over, peace forced by fear.“Let me in,” he says, silk-wrapped and vile. “I’ll make you more than they ever let you b

Serena.There’s something off in the air today. It’s not the crispness of winter crawling over the manor’s stones or the stiff glances passed between servants. It’s deeper, like the walls themselves are bracing for impact.It begins when I step into the west courtyard with a tray of rare fruits meant for the council guests. The sun splits through the arches, and there he is standing tall like he belongs here, or anywhere.Kaelion Vey. The Queen’s nephew.Tall, dark-haired and dressed in a fitted onyx tunic threaded with silver. His face is sculpted and remote, like he was carved to be admired, not approached. But his eyes… his eyes are the color of moonlit frost.And they’re on me.“Careful,” Isabel whispers at my side as we arrange linens. “He’s trouble. Royal blood and Queen Aliyah’s favorite. If she finds out he’s sniffing around you…”I nod silently. But it’s already too late. He watches me like I’ve bewitched him.When I bow, he doesn’t nod. When I move, he follows, once, twice,