Semua Bab Sold to the Devil : Bab 141 - Bab 150

The wind howled outside the gathering hall, rattling the heavy wooden doors as snow drifted in thick sheets across the mountainous terrain. Inside, a fire roared in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls and illuminating the faces of gathered wolves.Dante sat at the head of the table, his shoulders tense, jaw set. The room was filled with the scent of other wolves—dominant, proud, unfamiliar. Across from him sat Gregor, Alpha of the Crescent Fang.Gregor was a broad, rugged man with iron-grey hair and eyes the color of storm clouds. He had the presence of someone who had spent decades commanding loyalty through force and honor alike.Dante gave a brief nod. “I didn’t expect you to agree so easily.”Gregor smirked, lifting his tankard. “You wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t serious. Victor has become a disease. He doesn’t care about blood ties or territory—only power. And he’s aligning himself with things that don’t belong in this world.”Dante’s eyes darkened. “Witch

The news came with the rising mist—soft footfalls and the scent of blood that tainted the wind.Marcello's body was found slumped over a stone by the stream bordering the eastern ridge. His skin, pale and swollen, was marred by the unmistakable glint of a silver wound at his ribs. Whoever had killed him hadn’t just wanted him dead—they’d wanted him erased. The cold river had tried to carry him away, but the weight of his sins had kept him close.When the guards dragged his corpse into the courtyard, silence fell like a funeral shroud.Celeste stood at the top of the stone steps, watching with unblinking eyes as they laid her son’s body down. His once-proud face was slack with death, lips parted slightly as if his final words had been stolen. The blood on his tunic had long since dried, but the accusation in his lifeless expression remained.She didn’t scream.Not at first.A whisper left her lips, barely audible: “Marcello…”Then, something inside her snapped.“No! No! No!” she shriek

The wind whispered through the dense trees as Emilia trudged beside Mochi, her feet sore and heavy, her body still aching from the transformation. Her clothes were torn, her hands scraped, but she barely noticed. The pain was dull compared to the storm inside her mind.They had escaped Lenora’s prison, survived the ambush, and now… now the silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken thoughts.They had made camp again by a rocky outcrop, far from the reach of any bloodthirsty clan. Emilia stared into the small fire, her thoughts tangled. She felt... different. Changed. As if her soul had been split open and reshaped. Lana, her wolf, was quiet for now, resting after the ordeal. But her presence still pulsed at the back of Emilia’s mind like a warm heartbeat.Mochi sat cross-legged across from her, munching on dried berries she had gathered. She glanced up, her luminous eyes thoughtful.“Are you going to return to the Blood Moon Clan?” she asked softly.Emilia didn’t answer righ

The council chamber trembled under the weight of ancient voices.A ring of torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows over the faces of the assembled elders—wolves who had once served under the great Alpha of old, now fractured and divided between two sons of the same blood. At the head of the long table sat Dante, arms crossed, jaw tight. On the opposite side, seated with arrogant ease, lounged Victor, every bit the predator dressed in diplomacy. Beside him stood Tristan, arms behind his back, observing everything with unreadable calm.A silence hung in the room—bloated and volatile.“We cannot afford this division,” said Elder Niko, voice firm but weary. “The witches circle. The Crescent Fang watches. And still, we bicker over which son deserves the crown?”Another elder, grizzled and sharp-eyed, leaned forward. “Victor has shown strength. He’s taken territory, led successful campaigns. He acts, while Dante hesitates.”Dante’s voice was cold steel. “He butchers

The scent of blood had barely left the battlefield when the news began to spread.Whispers at first—fleeting things carried on the wind and between trembling lips.Victor was dead.Dante had won.The victory echoed through the clans like a thunderclap. It rolled across the mountains, crossed rivers, and seeped into every corner of werewolf territory. Elders who had once claimed neutrality—or worse, backed Victor in hushed meetings—suddenly found themselves scrambling to rewrite their allegiance.But it was too late for that.Dante’s men had already moved.Swift and merciless, they swept through outposts and strongholds like a tide, dragging cowards from their hiding places. Elders were hauled from secret chambers, dragged by their collars through dirt and ash. Some tried to run. Some begged. None escaped.By dusk, they were all bound and kneeling in the heart of the Blood Moon Clan.A great circle had formed—hundreds of wolves gathered in silence, watching with wary eyes. Warriors sto