บททั้งหมดของ Bound By Magic And Moonlight: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Hazel's Point of ViewI sit at my desk, my elbows resting on either side of my laptop, fingers curled tightly around the warmth of my second cappuccino of the day. My eyes scan the screen in front of me, squinting slightly at the wall of conflicting information. I type "Lycan origin myths + werewolf distinction" into the search bar and hit enter. Dozens of articles pop up, each contradicting the last, some claiming Lycans are just another term for werewolves, others saying they’re older, stronger, nearly immortal. Some threads spiral into folklore and conspiracy theories. Others sound like the beginning of horror novels.I drag a hand down my face with a quiet sigh. It’s like trying to find truth in fog.I click on another link. More confusion. A forum of self proclaimed “paranormal experts” debating everything from moonstones to blood rituals to royal bloodlines. My eyes skim paragraph after paragraph but none of it helps. If anything, the internet is only adding to the unease curlin

Drake's Point of ViewThe late afternoon sun casts long shadows through the blinds of my office window, painting faint golden lines across my desk. But I barely notice them. My mind is elsewhere, racing, restless. It’s been a week since Aiden took off. A full seven days of silence. Seven days of unanswered calls, unread texts, and this heavy, gnawing guilt I can’t seem to shake off.I stare at my phone on the desk like it might change its mind and ring back. My thumb hesitates over his name one more time. Before I hit call again.It rings.Once.Twice.Again and again.No answer.The usual.I exhale hard through my nose and drop the phone onto the desk with a frustrated thud, raking a hand through my hair. The silence in the room feels louder than ever. My thoughts are a tangle of what ifs and should haves, looping in circles with no clear end.A knock at the door pulls me out of it.“Come in,” I call, straightening up in my chair just a little.Nicole and Abby walk in. Abby’s express

Aiden's Point of View The cheap motel room is dimly lit, the only illumination spilling in from the flickering neon sign outside the window. I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring blankly at the muted television playing some late night show I haven't been paying attention to. The stale scent of cigarettes clings to the walls, even though I don’t smoke. My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it at first, probably another call from Drake or Nicole, maybe even Mark. They’ve been relentless. I rub my eyes, the bags beneath them sore and heavy from yet another night of no sleep. I haven’t slept properly in over a week. Not since I walked away from it all. The phone buzzes again, this time followed by a soft chime. A different tone. A news alert. I lean over slowly and pick it up, unlocking the screen with a swipe of my thumb. “Breaking: Attack on Gray Mountain Pack —Several Injured, Beta Hospitalized.” The breath is knocked from my lungs. Gray Mountain. Abb

Aiden's Point of ViewThe night wraps around us like a thick cloak, and the woods press in with a silence that hums in my ears. I stand beside Drake and Mark at the edge of the forest, the scorched symbol at our feet, still faintly warm in the center. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. The air feels wrong. Charged. Watched.And then I feel it.A shift, subtle, like the wind pausing mid breath.Mark stiffens. “Did you feel that?”“Yeah,” I murmur, my eyes already scanning the treeline.Something's here.A flicker between the trees.Then I see it.Two burning red eyes pierce through the darkness from deep within the forest. They don’t blink. They don’t shift. They just stare. Fixed directly on us like twin embers floating in the black.And then it moves.Slowly, deliberately, it steps forward from between the trees. A hulking form, tall, broad shouldered, walking upright on two powerful legs. Its body is covered in dark, matted fur that seems to blend into the shadows

Hazel's Point of ViewThe bell over the café door chimes again, but I barely register it now. The hum of quiet conversation and clinking mugs creates a gentle cocoon around us. I rest my elbows on the wooden table, tracing the faint scratches etched into its surface, signs of time, of stories shared at this very table. Across from me, Valerie scrolls through her phone for a second before setting it aside, her gaze flicking to the counter.A moment later, the waitress returns balancing a small tray. “One caramel latte with a raspberry danish, and a cappuccino with a blueberry scone,” she says, placing the warm mugs and plates down in front of us with practiced grace.The cappuccino smells heavenly, bold espresso with a delicate dusting of cinnamon on the foam. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my skin. The blueberry scone is golden and flaky, with sugar crystals catching the light like tiny diamonds. Valerie’s danish looks equally divine, the raspberry fillin