All Chapters of THE CURSE OF THE FIFTH MATE: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The night bled red.Above the trees of Nightveil, the moon rose not in her usual silver glory, but cloaked in a veil of crimson—the First Blood Moon. It was the first of three prophesied in Maelin's journal, a harbinger of war, death, and revelations too ancient for any living wolf to recall. The stars had vanished behind thick clouds, and the air hummed with a tension that made the hairs on Veyra's neck rise.She stood alone in her mother's sacred grove, the wind threading icy fingers through her hair. The trees encircled her like silent sentinels, tall and ancient, their leaves trembling not from the wind but from something deeper—something unspoken. At the heart of the grove lay a stone basin etched with runes only Maelin had understood. Tonight, Veyra would speak them.The veil between realms thinned under the Blood Moon. And Veyra, blood of the last sorceress and soul of the last white wolf, was the key to breaking through.She cut her palm without hesitation, letting her blood d

The clang of metal against metal echoed across the training grounds, sharp and incessant. Jon's sword sliced through the air with a brutal precision, each strike harder and more forceful than the last. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the blood from his split lip. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.The pain, the exhaustion, the relentless ache in his muscles—none of it mattered. Not now. Not when his failure was still a raw wound in his chest, an open scar that would never heal. Kael's betrayal had shattered something deep inside of him, and he was determined to fight through it. To push past the guilt that clung to his soul like a shadow, reminding him of his weakness, of his inability to protect his sister when it mattered most.Jon's sword arm trembled, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. His entire body screamed in protest, but he didn't hear it. His mind was elsewhere, drowning in the memories of that fateful night—the night he fai

The ruins near the Order's border stood like forgotten bones against the backdrop of a dying sun. Moss had crept over shattered columns, and wind whispered secrets through jagged archways. Most who passed by felt nothing but unease. But Lioren... he felt a pull. A heartbeat beneath the stone.He'd wandered deeper into the collapsed structure, a flickering torch casting trembling light over glyphs worn down by time. A soft vibration thrummed through the air, drawing him to a cracked pedestal half-swallowed by ivy. There, buried under rotted cloth and layers of dust, he found it—an ancient scroll sealed in blood-red wax. He didn't breathe as he broke the seal.The language was old, but Maelin's teachings had sharpened his mind. He read aloud in a whisper, lips trembling."To shield what is bonded, a soul must fracture and still remain whole. Pain must speak. Fear must answer. Memory must endure. This is the Blood Pact."He closed the scroll, his breath fogging in the cold ruin. This was

The rain began as a whisper—a hush that slid down stone and leaf, cloaking the fortress in gray. Veyra stood alone in the watchtower, wind curling fingers through her hair as the storm gathered over the mountains. From this height, the land stretched like a broken promise—smoke from the ruined village still ghosting the horizon.The battle was behind them, but not far enough. Not when her name still lingered in the elder's voice, spoken like a prophecy unraveling:She is the destruction foretold.Her hands trembled on the stone railing. She pressed her forehead to it, eyes closed. She could still feel the white wolf beneath her skin, burning silver, clawing at the seams of her humanity.A quiet set of footsteps broke through the rain's rhythm. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.Rune.She felt his presence before she heard his voice, warm and fierce behind her like the sun trying to pierce through stormclouds."You shouldn't be up here alone," he said."I had to get away," she

The weight of the world had become too heavy.Veyra stood in the center of her chambers, the moonlight slanting across the stone floor in silver beams, catching in the tangled fall of her hair and glinting against the tears already burning her lashes. The door had shut behind her, but it may as well have been the gates of a prison. Her spine, always so straight, had begun to curl under the pressure. The voices—accusations, prophecy, pain—they echoed still. Her heart ached from the inside out, a pulsing wound beneath her ribs.She didn't cry like a warrior. She didn't cry like a leader. She cried like a woman whose soul had been worn raw by too many battles—some fought with claws, others with silence. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor beside the hearth, her body folding in on itself as the sobs broke free.She tried to hold them in. She tried to be strong. But tonight, strength abandoned her. All the betrayals, all the weight of the curse, all the fear that pulsed through h