Semua Bab Sold to the Devil : Bab 111 - Bab 120

The morning sun cast a pale golden hue through the tall, narrow windows of the estate's war room. But the light did nothing to warm the heavy atmosphere that cloaked the room like a suffocating fog. Around the oval-shaped table sat the most trusted members of Dante’s clan, each one marked by the fatigue and fury left in the wake of the previous night’s chaos.Dante stood at the head of the table, his dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Though his expression was controlled, the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers pressed into the edge of the table betrayed the storm brewing beneath his calm.Luka stood behind him, arms crossed, face unreadable. Mara leaned against the far wall, silent but ever-watchful. Celeste sat in her usual chair, posture perfectly upright. Beside her was Seraphina.Marcello sat farther down, staring into his teacup, his presence unusually subdued.Dante’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “We lost six people last n

The days trickled by like sand in an hourglass, the mansion’s grandeur growing quieter with each passing hour. Most of the staff had already been sent ahead to prepare the pack’s return, and the halls that once echoed with laughter and footsteps were now filled with a fragile kind of silence. It wasn’t peace—just the breath before something bigger.Emilia found herself wandering more than usual. She couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop thinking, and the walls of her room felt like they were closing in. So she roamed.She visited the eastern garden where the roses bloomed tall, blood red against the green, wild and unruly as if they refused to be tamed. She touched the petals absentmindedly, listening to the way the wind carried the estate’s secrets through the branches.Later, she found herself near the training grounds where Dante’s wolves were resting near the shade. Massive, thick-furred, and glowing faintly with something almost magical beneath their skins. She had seen them before,

The sun was a pale gold halo behind the trees when Dante stepped into the stone hall nestled at the center of the Bloodmoon territory. It was an ancient structure, carved directly into the hillside, where the leaders of the clan had met for generations. The circular table at its heart was rough-hewn, its surface scarred from years of strategy and memory.Already seated were the clan elders—five of them, each cloaked in dark wool and lined with silver insignia etched into the folds. Luka stood just behind Dante’s shoulder, silent but ever alert, while Mara leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed as she surveyed the room.Dante exhaled quietly and took his place at the table.“Alpha,” one of the elders, a narrow-faced woman named Solene, greeted. “You have returned.”“And not alone, from what we hear,” another added—a man called Corvin, whose hair had long since gone white but whose eyes were sharp as any young wolf’s.“She’s here,” Dante confirmed, voice low but unwavering.“Emili

The sky was still a pale, sleepy gray when Emilia stood at her window, watching the Bloodmoon clan's territory slowly awaken. From afar, smoke curled from kitchens, laughter echoed faintly in the crisp morning air, and the scent of sweet herbs drifted up toward her room. It was the day of the Moon Festival.Emilia hadn't slept well.For the past several days, she had spent every spare moment trying to talk sense into Alissa. Her younger sister had taken up residence in the guest quarters near the southern wing, away from Emilia and Dante. At first, Emilia had hoped she was simply confused—dazzled by Marcello’s promises or maybe overwhelmed by the strangeness of their new world.But she had been wrong.Alissa was resolute. Cold even.“Marcello believes in me,” she had said just yesterday, sitting beneath the hanging lanterns strung across the inner courtyard. “He’s not perfect, but he sees what I can become. You don’t.”“What you can become?” Emilia had whispered, hurt blooming in her

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft flicker of firelight against stone. Emilia lay still on the hard bed, her body aching, her head pounding. The last memory she could grasp was pain—sharp and searing—her body tearing itself apart during the ritual. The air had smelled of blood and incense. Screams. Fire. The Moon Festival.And then—her mother’s voice.Her breath caught as her eyes opened. She was alone in a dimly lit stone chamber. The walls were old, ancient even, etched with strange runes that pulsed faintly. She sat up quickly, regretting it instantly as a sharp pain stabbed through her ribs.None of this was familiar.She wasn’t in the Bloodmoon Clan.She wasn’t with Dante.Panic rose in her throat like bile.The door creaked open.Emilia’s spine stiffened.Lenora stepped in without a word, her robes sweeping behind her like a living shadow. She looked the same as before—ageless, severe, composed. Like someone who had long since discarded softness in ex