All Chapters of The Professor’s Mate: The Moonborn Legacy: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

ISABELLA’S POV Sunlight stabbed through the thin curtains and hit my eyelids like needles. I groaned and rolled onto my side, my stomach already churning before I even opened my eyes. My mouth tasted sour and metallic, my tongue felt thick against the roof of my mouth. Every muscle ached as though I’d run for days without stopping. I pressed a hand to my forehead, it was clammy and sweaty. The small cabin Dad had moved us to smelled of pine resin and old smoke from the hearth, it felt safe but foreign. At least there was no shaman’s herbs here and no low murmur of healing chants. Just quiet woods and the distant call of crows.I forced myself upright, the room tilted once then steadied. My nightshirt clung to my back. I swung my legs over the edge of the narrow bed and planted bare feet on the cold plank floor. The nausea rolled harder, sharp and insistent, but I swallowed the bile and stood up anyway.Dad was already moving in the main room. I heard the scrape of a wooden spoon aga

ISABELLA’S POV The ride to the shaman’s camp felt longer than before. The mare picked her way through mud softened by overnight rain and I clung to the saddle horn with knuckles white enough to ache. My stomach stayed mercifully quiet for once but every jolt sent a dull throb through my lower back. Dad rode beside me in silence. He hadn’t tried to talk me out of this visit, he knew better.We reached the clearing just as the sun slipped behind the western ridge. Smoke rose thin and gray from Mara’s hut. Wolves lifted heads from their resting places and watched us pass with flat yellow eyes. No howls greeted us, no welcome. Just the quiet acknowledgment of death already settled over the place.I slid from the saddle before Dad could offer a hand. My boots sank into the wet earth. I straightened my spine and walked toward the isolation tent at the far edge of camp . The canvas flap hung half-open. A single lantern burned inside casting long shadows across the ground.Kael waited just i

CALEB’S POV I found Father and Veron in the war room at first light. The shutters stood open and cold mountain air poured in carrying the sharp bite of pine and distant smoke. Father sat at the head of the table with maps spread before him while Veron lounged against the wall picking at his nails with a dagger. Both looked up when I entered. I didn’t bother closing the door behind me.“I’ve found her,” I said. “She’s at the Blackthorn peak. At the old den. Adrian has her holed up there with what’s left of their loyalists. And she’s carrying the mutt’s whelp.”Father’s brows lifted a fraction. “She’s pregnant. That complicates things.”“Complicates things?” I laughed short and harshly. “Hell, no it makes her slower, softer and easier to crack.” Veron pushed off the wall and sheathed the dagger with a soft click. “Sebastian got someone pregnant. How mature of him to do something nice for once in his pathetic life. He did something my other sons could not do. Don’t know if I should say

ISABELLA’S POV Five days dragged past like stones pulled through mud. I barely left the narrow cot in the infirmary room carved deep into the mountain. The air stayed cool and thick with the scent of crushed yarrow, pine resin, and the faint copper tang that never quite washed out of the bandages. A single lantern burned low on the shelf opposite me and cast long trembling shadows across the stone walls. Every flicker made me flinch because every flicker looked like movement from the man lying so still beside me.Dad’s chest rose and fell in slow measured rhythm. The healer Mara had stitched the worst of the gash across his ribs and slathered the wound with thick green salve that smelled like bitter mint. She came twice a day to change the dressing, press cool fingers to his pulse, and murmur the same words.“He’s stable. Strong heartbeat. Lungs clear. He’ll wake when his body’s ready.”I nodded each time. Said thank you. Watched her leave. Then sat right back down on the low stool b

ISABELLA’S POV Dad sat up in the cot for the first time without help on the twelfth morning. Sunlight slanted through the narrow window slit and caught the fresh scar across his ribs, turning the raised line silver-pink. He swung his legs over the side, bare feet touching cold stone, and pushed himself upright. His breath hitched once but he didn’t wince. Pride swelled in my chest so fast it hurt.I stood in the doorway with arms crossed and watched him test his balance. He took three careful steps toward the small table where a pitcher of water waited. His hand shook only a little when he poured.“You’re showing off,” I said.He glanced over his shoulder and gave the crooked half-smile that always meant trouble when I was small. “Had to make sure these legs still remember how to carry me. I can’t have my daughter dragging me around like a sack of grain.”I crossed the room in three strides and wrapped an arm around his waist anyway. He leaned into me just enough to let me know he ap