All Chapters of Mated To My Stepbrother : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

ASHTON'S POVThe predawn air in the courtyard bit like Silvermane teeth, sharp and cold. Ashton stood near the mounting block, the scent of frost, horse sweat, and damp stone thick in his nostrils. The sky was a bruised purple bleeding into grey at the eastern edge. Moonstone Keep loomed behind him, a hulking silhouette against the fading night, its ancient stones humming with the restless pulse of the pack. It wasn't a sound you heard with your ears; it was a vibration felt in the marrow, a discordant thrum of fear, anticipation, exhaustion, and a low-burning anger. Hundreds of hearts, hundreds of breaths, all tangled together in a knot of shared dread. Ten years ago, this pulse had been a steady drumbeat of security. Now, it felt like the frantic flutter of a trapped bird.Rylan materialized from the gloom near the stables, his silhouette solid and scarred against the lantern light. He moved with the quiet certainty of a predator, but the lines around his eyes were deeper in the gre

Novah's POVThe silence in the room was a heavy, living thing. Not peaceful. Not restful. It pressed in on Novah like damp wool, thick with the unspoken tension radiating from the stones of Moonstone Keep itself. She lay on the wide bed, staring at the intricate carvings on the ceiling beams – wolves chasing stags, moons in phases – details she hadn’t truly *seen* before. Ten years. Ten years stolen, leaving her a stranger in her own skin, in this fortress that hummed with a pulse she felt deep in her marrow.A pulse that was currently a discordant thrum of fear, grief, and a low-burning anger. It vibrated through the mattress, up her spine. *Finn’s pyre burns.* The thought surfaced, unbidden, sharp and cold. She didn’t know Finn. Not consciously. But the collective grief of the pack, sharp as a blade, sliced through the fog in her mind. She felt the echo of a young life extinguished, the raw agony of a mother’s loss emanating from the eastern quarter. It blended sickeningly with the

Novah's POVThe silence after the shattering crash was different. Thicker, charged. Porcelain dust hung in the weak morning light filtering through the heavy blue drapes, catching on motes like fractured stars. Novah stood amidst the wreckage of the tray, the bowl, the candlestick, her chest heaving. The raw power that had surged through her moments before still thrummed in her veins, a low, insistent vibration beneath her skin, like a plucked bass string. It wasn't just adrenaline; it was *her*. Her wolf, coiled and watchful, its fury momentarily sated by the act of destruction. Not against a person, but against the memory, the helplessness Nick represented.Meredith’s gasp echoed softly in the high-ceilinged room. The older woman stood frozen near the table, one hand still pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide, not just with fear now, but with a dawning, profound apprehension. Torin remained a silent monolith in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on Novah, assessing, unreadable. The sce

Novah's POVThe silence after Torin closed the door on Rylan’s report wasn’t truly silent. Not anymore. It was layered. The faint scrape of boots on stone down the corridor, a guard shifting position. The distant, rhythmic clang from the forge deep within the Keep’s belly, a heartbeat for the armoury. The mournful sigh of wind finding cracks in ancient masonry. And beneath it all, humming like live wires buried in the stone, the pack.Finn’s mother’s grief was a low, cold thrum now, a bruise settled deep. Doric’s defiance flared occasionally, like coals kicked in a dying fire. Fear – a sour, metallic tang on the edge of her perception – whispered through the bonds of those unsettled by Ashton’s absence, by Silas’s gathering shadow. Resentment, sharp and prickly, emanated from Thorne’s faction, a constant, watchful pressure against the Keep’s core stability. Torin’s presence was a granite outcrop in this psychic landscape, unmovable. Meredith’s warmth beside her, a hearth fire offering

Novah’s POV The stone walls of Moonstone Keep held the cold of the night long after dawn’s weak light filtered through the narrow window. Novah woke not to silence, but to the low, constant thrum beneath her skin. The *pack pulse*. It wasn’t just sound; it was texture, temperature, weight pressing against her consciousness even before her eyes opened.*Grief. Finn’s mother.* Cold and deep, like river stones smoothed by sorrow. She named it, felt its familiar drag. *Anchor.* Her own breath, slow and deliberate. In. Out. The rough weave of the blanket beneath her fingers. The faint scent of woodsmoke and damp stone. *Layer calm.**Anger. Doric.* A hot prickle against her nerves, a simmering ember. *Anger. Doric.* Acknowledge. *Anchor.* Breath. Blanket. *Layer calm.**Watchfulness. Thorne.* Cold spiders crawling across her awareness. Distant, focused. Judging. *Watchfulness. Thorne.* *Anchor.* Breath. Blanket. *Layer calm.*It was easier than last night. Still exhausting, a constant low