All Chapters of The Lycan Prince's Blood : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Back in NorthHill, the air is still.The entire pack is finally at peace, the air carries a tension that clings to the walls, to the people, to the soil itself. The battle ended days ago, but the aftermath feels like a slow suffocation. Warriors move like ghosts. Healers murmur to one another in hushed voices. Every sound echoes too loudly. Every silence lasts too long.And Theon... is a storm.He prowls through corridors, walks across training grounds, through every room in the packhouse. His footsteps are loud. His voice is nowhere. "Alpha" one of the guards try to report but Theon didn't give any answer, it felt like a time bomb around him.Like he’s barely holding himself together.He throws open another door. Empty.The scent is still there. Faint, but enough. He stands in the middle of her room, chest rising and falling like a man seconds from shifting. The sheets are untouched. Nothing is broken. Nothing is spilled.But the air reeks of something wrong. He doesn't understand h

Theon doesn't say anything when he steps back into the room. Not at first. He just closes the door behind him, quietly, and the silence that follows is heavier than the footsteps that brought him here.Lumina sits up slowly on the edge of the bed, her face pale, shoulders trembling from the effort. Her fingers are tangled in the sheets. She doesn’t meet his gaze yet. Her head is slightly bowed, like she’s preparing herself for something that won’t be forgiven.“I’m sorry,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.Theon doesn’t move. He watches her for a second longer, his arms still at his sides. There’s a stiffness in him that hasn't gone away since he carried her in. He still looks like a storm holding itself back.“For what?” he asks, flatly.She swallows. “For putting NorthHill in danger.”His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.“I gave Arwan the map,” she confesses, voice tighter now, like the words are cutting her throat on the way out. “The old map. The one with the

"Focus, Lumina."Bianca’s voice cuts through the quiet, sharp but patient. She stands a few feet away, arms folded, her eyes locked on Lumina with the kind of intensity that leaves no room for distraction.It’s been a month since the seal on Lumina’s powers broke. A month of aching, grinding transformation. Of sleepless nights, raw fingertips, and dizzying visions that came without warning. Theon had reinforced the pack’s borders. Deborah—who now answers to her real name, Bianca—had stayed close, guiding her through what she called the awakening. Training days blurred together in the eastern field behind the old barracks, far enough from the heart of NorthHill for privacy but close enough that Theon always found a reason to watch.Lumina grits her teeth and steadies her palm again. The stone in front of her is no bigger than her fist, but it might as well be a mountain. Sweat beads at her temples. Her hand shakes slightly.Bianca narrows her eyes. "You're too stiff. Stop thinking so h

Bianca’s boot lands firm against the ground, her knife already drawn, her magic already simmering under her skin. Beside her, Lumina walks slower, her eyes scanning the open field, her hand twitching toward the charm stone clipped to her belt. The others are gone, scattered to their corners of the battlefield. It’s just the two of them now. They can feel a familiar presence with the atmosphere full of magic, they know something has come for them.And the figures waiting ahead.Black robes. Pale faces. Eyes that don’t blink. The dark witches.Bianca stops walking. Lumina does too. They don’t speak at first. They just stand there, facing the group of six women cloaked in smoke, their feet not touching the ground.And in the center of them—Latifa.Her face is calm, even bored. The wind doesn’t touch her.“Well,” she says slowly, “if it isn’t the traitor.”Bianca doesn’t flinch. “You shouldn't have come.”“Oh, but I did,” Latifa replies, tilting her head. “Did you really think I’d sit bac

Theon’s mother, Nana, doesn’t wait for a signal. She’s already moving before the walls shake again.Smoke bleeds through the cracks in the distant sky. Screams and growls echo over the ridge. But here, inside the old eastern wing of the NorthHill packhouse, Nana’s voice is the only sound the pack members follow.“Stay close,” she says, her voice low but firm, one hand raised to guide, the other clutching the ancient key she hasn’t used in thirty years. “No talking. No stopping. If you hear anything, ignore it.”Behind her, a crowd of pack members—women, pups, elders—shuffle as quietly as they can through the narrow hallway. Fear hangs over them, thick and quiet like fog. No one dares cry. Even the youngest hold their breath.Nana doesn’t flinch. Her footsteps are steady, silent.She leads them past the old war chamber, through a narrow corridor long sealed with debris. Years ago, Theon had asked why this side of the estate remained untouched. She had given him a simple answer: some do