All Chapters of SAVING ALPHA THORNE: THE MOONBOUND PACT: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ian's POVI padded back to the bed and perched on the edge like a king surveying the wreckage of a failed coup. My legs crossed with lazy elegance, spine slouched just enough to speak of dangerous comfort. My smile curled slowly – a poisonous bloom. Honeyed, laced with venom."Leave the door, Ashval," I whispered into our bond.He obeyed instantly, moving toward me without question."Ian, what did you do?" He asked, voice tight with disbelief. "Why are they just standing there? Why aren’t they running to Kaelric?""Oh, Ashval…" I purred, my eyes locked on Ryker and Maro, both frozen in place near the door. "I have the bastards right where they never thought I’d get them."I tilted my head and said sweetly, "I’m waiting, boys. The clock’s ticking."They shifted like children caught red-handed. Fingers twitching. Guilt written across every flicker of their eyes.Ryker snapped first."It doesn’t mean a damn thing!" he barked, stomping forward.I didn’t even blink. I smiled, studying my n

Thorne's POV [Present day - Varkhaal Pack] A splash. The ice-cold water slammed into my chest and face. I gasped, choking, lungs tightening as I jerked awake. The stench of mold, piss, and rusted iron clawed at my nose. Light burned in from the slit high on the wall – a cruel strip of sun that pierced the cell: blinding, indifferent. I lifted a trembling hand to my eyes, but it wasn’t fast enough. Pain bloomed behind my lids. Then I saw them. Two guards stood over me. Shadows with boots and breathing hate. The taller guard let the empty iron bucket clatter to the floor. His lip curled. “Well, well, well…” he drawled, his voice slick with mockery. “Look who we have here. It’s Wretch!” Outside the dungeon walls, noise roared – the clamor of a crowd thick with bloodlust. Shouting. Screaming. Drums pounding like war. My heart clenched. I didn’t know what was happening, only that it made my skin crawl. The people sounded hungry – for spectacle, for blood. I pressed mys

Ian's POV Morning came and went like a ghost through stone. Now, night reigned, cloaking DuskHowl in its coldest breath. I peered through the narrow window slit, watching the moon cast its pale glow over the arena’s towering spires and bloodstained sands. The light felt ancient, untouched by time. Beneath it, the war drums boomed – steady, thunderous, like the heartbeat of death itself. My own heart thudded in rhythm, wild and breathless. The moon was nearly full. The hour was close. The battle loomed. Outside, DuskHowl roared. The frenzied chants of thousands rose like smoke, thick and electric with bloodlust. Screeches and ululations tore through the air like jagged lightning. The entire castle trembled with anticipation. A cacophony of voices swelled – a savage chorus hungry for violence. I stepped away from the window. My chest heaved. My legs wouldn’t stop pacing, like I could outwalk the fear clinging to my bones. But it stayed. It always did. My heart pulsed with fir

Ian's POV My foot struck bone. Pain roared up my leg like wildfire, and I staggered back, biting down a scream. I had delivered the kick, but it felt like my own spine had shattered. That was the problem with not having Ashval inside me. I was weak, exposed, breakable. Lazhara’s body twisted midair and landed hard. She rolled like a broken puppet across the arena’s stone floor. A gasp rose from the crowd. Then silence. It was the kind of silence that didn’t breathe. I stood, chest rising and falling, blood thumping like war drums behind my eyes. I had never hated someone this much. Not Brenda. Not Vashti. Not even Kaelric. All I wanted was to kill Lazhara. And I would. I raised my head, eyes sweeping the sea of stunned faces watching from the stands above. The storm in me surged. Something inside me screamed to rise. To speak. I strode toward the edge of the pit, where the shadows of the torches couldn’t touch me, every step sparking like flint against steel. Then I turn

Thorne's POV Darius’s roar cracked like a whip through the hall. “For years after your mother’s death, I had the high matrons shape you. They were handpicked, tasked with softening your edges, breaking the wild in you, turning you into something... respectable. But you spat on all of it. Learned the blood arts behind my back. You rebel, you disobey, and now–” he thrust a trembling finger at Shanura’s bloodied form on the floor. “–you have shamed me before the kings. You interfered in a blood fight. In my pit!” He was no longer speaking. He was seething, his words boiling out of his mouth like venom, blistering the air around him. Shanura lay crumpled on the stone floor, hair matted with sweat, her breathing shallow. Still, her voice came – low, but steady. “I do not regret my actions, father. I take full responsibility.” Those words scorched him. Darius let out a guttural snarl and lashed her again. And again. The whip cracked through the air, slicing her back open in brut