All Chapters of The Black Wolf : Chapter 31 - Chapter 39

Vireya's POV By the next morning, I felt stronger. The wounds had vanished, leaving behind only scars, a temporary reminder of pain. But even those, I knew, would soon fade.After dressing, I asked Siora to send a message to Zevarion. I needed to see him.“Tell him to meet me near the garden this evening,” I said, already feeling my pulse quicken at the thought.As the sun began to set, I made my way to the garden. The scent of lavender drifted in the breeze, mixing with the earthy fragrance of dusk. I stood beneath our tree, its branches rustling above me like a whispering secret. My fingers fidgeted, my breath shallow as I paced, quietly rehearsing the words I wanted to say.And then, I saw him.My heart skipped. The necklace pulsed at my throat, sharp and warning, like it sensed what I was about to do.The moment he reached me, the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.“I want you to make love to me.”He froze, his eyes widened, stunned.Honestly I froze too, th

Vireya POV“Are you alright?” he murmured against my ear, both of us tangled in the warmth of the sheets, our breaths still catching up to us.“Yes,” I whispered, feeling the soft brush of his skin against mine.To my surprise, the necklace hadn’t hurt me, not even once. But as I lay there, heart full to the brim with love, I could sense it, feeding on my emotions, growing stronger with every heartbeat faster than before.“I really want to say it, you know…” Zevarion said softly.I turned to him, smiling. “I love you, Zevarion.”He went quiet for a beat, his eyes searching mine. Then he smiled, slow and full of light. “I love you more, Vireya.”We whispered through the night, laughter spilling between us like lazy stardust. He kept checking to see if I was in pain, but I wasn’t. How could I be? He had treated me like I was something sacred.His voice, deep and rich, wove stories in the darkness, tales of his past, little moments of his soul, and somewhere in the warmth of his presence

Vireya's POV I cleaned myself as best I could.When we passed a waterfall, I asked the driver to stop. I stepped out, the cold spray hitting my skin, and I stood beneath the cascade, letting the freezing water wash away the blood, the guilt, though not nearly enough.By the time I returned to the carriage, I had changed into a fresh dress. My gaze drifted to the book again.It sat where Xareth had left it, untarnished by the magic that had turned everything else in Syrakai to stone. It was old. Older than anything I’d ever seen.The cover was wrapped in dark, cracked leather, etched with a strange symbol I didn’t recognize. A gold circle was embedded into the spine, and within it, a single quill rested delicate and ivory, as if plucked from something divine.Curiosity tugged at me. I reached for it. The moment my fingers brushed the surface, the book pulsed. A gentle hum, like a heartbeat, thrummed through my palm.I opened it, but it was bllank. Just one empty page stark white, glis

Zevarion's POV After tidying our little getaway tent, I walked back to the castle, and returned to my duties as best I could.But peace was fleeting. Nyra had resumed her endless attempts to summon me, especially when Xareth left the castle with Vireya. Ever since the day she ordered Vireya to be flogged, I’d made it clear I wanted nothing to do with her.I refused every invitation to her chamber, ignored every sweetly worded message. One night, she even sent guards to drag me from my quarters. I barely slipped away. After that, I stopped sleeping indoors altogether, camping in the woods and returning before dawn like a fugitive avoiding his queen.So when a servant approached me that morning, whispering, “Her Grace requests your presence,” I didn't even look up from my blade.“Tell her I’m busy,” I said flatly.By late evening, I was looking forward to seeing Vireya. She’d been carrying so much, haunted by the loss of Syrakai, the necklace, and Xareth’s control. I wanted to lift ev

Vireya's POV I knocked on the beautiful room, where he has called me the last time, I didn't wait for a response before pushing the door,Xareth was seated by the hearth, in a big couch, a goblet of wine in hand, his expression unreadable.He looked up, surprised. “Why are you here?”“I was bored,” I said softly.He studied me for a moment. His eyes flickered with something, suspicion, amusement, desire, maybe all three. Then he gestured to the seat beside him.“Sit.”I steadied my nerves and sat. He called for more wine. I took only a sip, enough to mask my nerves, and began talking. I told him stories. Tales Zevarion used to whisper to me under moonlight.At the end of each tale, Xareth scoffed. “Foolish stories,” he muttered.“I know,” I would say with a smile. “But here’s a better one…”And I kept talking. My voice warm and light, my laughter just loud enough. All while gently refilling his goblet, again and again.His words began to slur. His gaze turned heavy-lidded. The sharp