All Chapters of THE CURSE OF THE FIFTH MATE: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The sky was a smoldering red when they arrived at the mouth of the crater.Ash fell in soft drifts, whispering against Veyra's skin like the murmurs of the dead. The air was thick, pulsing with heat and power, and every breath felt like inhaling fire. Zarek stood beside her, his hand firm on the small of her back, though even he didn't try to talk her out of it.This was her burden. Her choice. Her fate.The Stone Blade waited at the heart of the mountain—an ancient weapon whispered of only in myth. Said to be forged in the fires of the first eclipse, it was the only thing that could sever a bond forged through corrupted magic. A bond like the one that still bound her to Nyros."The Trial of Flame cannot be undone," the Guardian warned. He was a creature of living magma, faceless, cloaked in steam, his voice like thunder rolling through stone. "Step into the fire, and you either emerge reborn... or not at all.""I understand," Veyra said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her li

The moon was wrong tonight.It bled across the sky like a wounded beast, staining the clouds a sickly crimson. Even the stars seemed to retreat from its angry glow, trembling behind veils of smoke and storm. The ground shivered underfoot, and Veyra knew—without doubt—that something had shattered in the world.A howl rose in the distance. It was not the song of a wolf. It was something older. Something fouler.The bond inside her heart twisted violently, a knot of thorns tearing through muscle and spirit. Veyra staggered against the oak outside the Nightveil compound, clutching her chest. Her breath came in short, broken gasps. The mark Nyros had branded into her soul—one she had tried so hard to resist—was burning again, brighter, crueler.Jon rushed to her side. "Veyra! What's wrong?"She could barely hear him. Pain drowned everything. Her mates were running toward her—Zarek, Zevi, Rune, Lioren—but their faces blurred, their voices falling into an endless, echoing void.Then she saw

The Blood Moon hung heavy over the world, a swollen orb of red that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat in Veyra's chest. It bathed the clearing in an eerie, carmine glow, casting the assembled wolves in shades of crimson and shadow. The trees whispered with an unnatural wind, bending low as if bowing to something ancient and unseen.Veyra stood at the center of it all, the stoneblade strapped against her back, its weight both a comfort and a burden. It pulsed in rhythm with the Moon above, as if recognizing the gravity of what was about to unfold. Around her, the members of the Moonfang and Nightveil packs—now united in a fragile alliance—gathered in solemn rows. Some wore ceremonial garb woven with black and silver threads; others came armored, prepared for war, their faces grim.The rites demanded stillness, silence. Veyra lifted her chin, feeling every gaze settle upon her. The air trembled with expectation, with fear. She could feel Nyros lurking beyond the veil, tugging at the

The air inside the ancient clearing was razor-thin with tension, crackling with old grudges and barely leashed fury. Banners of every color—faded, torn, mended—fluttered weakly in the wind, each one marking the arrival of another pack, another faction drawn together by necessity rather than loyalty.At the heart of it all, beneath the twisted branches of the Moonthorn Tree, Veyra stood with the stoneblade sheathed at her hip, her posture a blend of defiance and restraint. The sun had barely crested the horizon, but already, the summit buzzed with murmured threats and sharp, assessing gazes.She felt every eye on her—the awe, the fear, the suspicion.To some, she was salvation.To others, she was the curse given flesh.Zarek stood at her right, silent and deadly, his arms crossed, golden gaze daring anyone to take a step too close. Rune loomed just behind her, scowling at everyone equally, while Lioren and Zevi flanked her left, outwardly relaxed but alert, muscles tensed to strike at

Veyra closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath. The weight of the world had been pressing on her shoulders since the moment she had first learned of Nyros's dark ambitions. The knowledge of his growing power, the terrible army he was raising from the dead, was like a blade, always hovering above her head. Tonight, she had made a choice: to enter the mirror bond once more, to witness with her own eyes what Nyros was truly capable of.She had no illusions about the danger, no naive belief that her mind would remain untouched. But the urgency, the need to understand his movements, was too strong. If she stayed in the dark, she feared the cost would be even greater.As she sank into the bond, her body felt weightless, like a leaf drifting on the surface of a dark, endless sea. The familiar pull of the bond tightened around her. For a moment, she fought the sensation, but then she gave in, letting it pull her deeper into the shadows of the world Nyros had created.When the world came into