All Chapters of THE CURSE OF THE FIFTH MATE: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The morning mist curled low over the edges of Moonfang's forest, hiding the treeline like the breath of some ancient god. But nothing about the serenity of dawn could prepare Veyra for what they found carved into the old oak near her family's cottage."The White Wolf must die."The words were deep, gouged by claws or a blade, raw and red with sap. The bark bled as though the tree itself wept for the message it carried.Jon stood guard beside it, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw rigid. His usual calm was fractured. Elias, not far behind, examined the wound in the wood with a silence that spoke volumes. But it was Maelin's low gasp, hand trembling over her heart, that sent a ripple of dread through the group."They've marked her," she said softly. "The Order knows. Not just rumor, not suspicion. They know."Zarek appeared behind them without a sound, eyes like dark storms narrowing on the carved threat. His body went rigid, a fury simmering beneath the surface, barely contained. He

The first sensation was cold.Not the kind that crept in through the windows or settled in bones, but the sort that numbed the soul—the kind that whispered something had shifted. Something had broken. Veyra stirred, lashes fluttering against pale cheeks damp with sweat. Her breath stuttered. Her skin felt too tight, her body sore like she had run for miles without stopping. The world tilted when she tried to sit up.Then came the blood.A warm trickle slid from her nose, slipping down to her upper lip, and she tasted copper. Her hand trembled as she reached up to touch it, fingertips coming away stained crimson. A soft groan left her lips, one of disorientation and pain.She was alone.The room was still—too still. Shadows clung to the corners like memories, and a strange silence hung over the house like mourning. The fire in the hearth had long since gone out, but the ashes still smoked faintly. The ache in her chest wasn't just physical; it was something else, a tearing that hadn't

The forest was unusually still.Night had fallen like a velvet curtain over Moonfang territory, but there was no peace in the air tonight. The wind carried with it the tension of an unraveling world—the echoes of blood moons and whispered betrayals, of rites barely survived and secrets not yet spoken. Veyra felt it in her bones. Every step she took further from the war council meeting was like a splinter driving deeper into her chest.She didn't speak as Zevi led her away from the central clearing. He hadn't said much, either. Just a gentle touch to her wrist, a nod, and a look that said come with me—and she did.Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was foolish. But after everything that had happened—the lies, the rites, the pain—she needed silence. She needed something that wasn't thick with prophecy or the pressure of five tethered souls. And Zevi... Zevi had always been the softest of them all. Kind eyes, careful hands. A soul that wanted peace in a world built for war.They walked in si

The wind howled through the crags of the Eastern Ridge as Veyra climbed the narrow, winding path alone. The mountain loomed above her, jagged and ancient, its stone face scarred by time. Snow dusted the higher peaks, though it was still late autumn. The closer she drew to the summit, the colder the air became, each breath a puff of white against the twilight sky.Maelin's instructions had been clear: go alone, speak only when spoken to, and bring nothing but her true self.The cave mouth appeared suddenly, carved into the rock like a wound. Veyra paused at its edge, staring into the inky darkness. The ancient magic there curled around her like smoke—sour and sweet, warm and biting. Her wolf stirred uneasily, pacing in her mind.This place remembers things no one should.She stepped forward.The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the light vanished. Not dimmed. Vanished. The shadows swallowed her whole, and for a moment she was blind, stumbling with one hand against the damp wall.

The wind that carried them to Nightveil was bitter, slicing through the pine-covered hills like an unseen blade. Veyra stood atop the ridge, her cloak drawn tight against her shoulders as Zarek led her forward, past the wardstones that marked the entrance to his territory. Magic thrummed beneath the earth here—older than bone, older than blood. The moment she crossed the boundary, the ground seemed to breathe beneath her feet.She hadn't been told where they were going, only that it was no longer safe to remain where betrayal had bloomed like rot inside their own ranks. Zarek had come for her before dawn, wordless, with nothing but his pack's dark riders flanking them like shadows. No one had stopped them. No one dared.Nightveil wasn't like the other territories. It didn't boast wide open fields or stone towers. It rose out of the dark earth like a scar, jagged black mountains carved by ancient war. The stronghold itself was tucked deep into the cliffs—hidden from view, but impossibl