Todos los capítulos de CHASING HIS LUNA BACK: Capítulo 171 - Capítulo 180

Silas's point of viewI gave Aurelia every minute I could spare. I let the medics work slowly and gently, ignoring the itch in my joints that wanted us moving like a live thing. Her breaths were quick and shallow at first, then evened out beneath my palm. A line of sweat cooled on her temple. The medics murmured to each other, clipped and efficient—small human rituals that make chaos feel like something you can touch and rearrange.“Keep her warm,” I told the head medic. “No more heavy spells until she rests. Do not let anyone, I mean no one try or put pressure on her.” My voice was rough; I don’t think I’d ever sounded so much like a parent.They nodded and took her from my arms like she was something I might drop. When Aurelia’s eyelids closed, she clenched my hand for a second and then relaxed. That tiny squeeze felt like a promise I could keep.We were back on the move when Dalton’s mind-link cut through the chatter. Silas. Alpha King wants to see you. Now.It took me a second to

Silas's point of viewThe night air was cold enough to bite through skin, but I didn’t care. My only thought was to move forward to find Mara and end this before she could regroup. Aurelia had returned to the pack, and Dalton was there to guard her. That much was settled.I mind-linked Dalton before we left the last safe point.“Aurelia is returning to the pack. Make her path clear and stay near her while Damien is there. Protect her and the pups with your life.”His voice came steady in my head, laced with iron.“Always, Alpha. The Luna and the heirs are under my watch.”That was enough. I cut the link and faced the northern path.The forest ahead looked like it had been carved out by something ancient with massive black trees clawing at the sky, their branches twisted like bones. The wind carried a metallic tang. Magic. Cursed and wrong.“Keep your eyes open,” I ordered, voice low. “Witches are near.”Fenrir surfaced and sniffed the air beside me. “I can smell ash and herbs. Fresh.

Silas's point of viewI woke to the taste of copper and cold against my teeth. The world around me was bone-white and too close to a cell rimmed with silver, bars like pale ribs catching the torchlight. For a breath I laughed, the sound a ragged thing that surprised me. Captured and freed, captured and freed; it had become a rhythm I knew too well. This time felt different. The bars stung where they kissed my skin, leaving angry, smoking crescents. Whoever had made this prison had the kind of patience that makes cruelty tidy.Footsteps came, no clumsy boots, but the soft, precise tread of someone confident. She stepped into the doorway like a shadow drawn in a pale coat. White hair fell over shoulders that had the kind of strength you see in old trees. Eyes like mercury. The woman who introduced herself as Mara had the lithe grace of someone who moved in circles where men were crumbs and witches were queens.“You woke faster than I expected,” she said, as if we were classmates compari

Aurelia's point of viewThe moon hung like a coin above the pack house, cold and unforgiving. I stood at the lip of the warding circle with the best of Blackfang around me, warriors who had bled beside Silas, who knew the sound of fear when it wore armor but even their boots and blades felt too small against the tide that came toward us. The witches at the border had been a shadow at first, then a smear of torches, then a sea of hoods and hands. Draco had planned with a patience that smelled like rot; he had set claws everywhere and now he was pulling them in for the kill.I drew the edge of my thumb across the rune stitched into my palm and felt the small hum beneath the skin. The protection we’d sewn into the earth and the doors would hold for a time, but Mara’s coven had a way of bending time around a weakness until even a strong ward came apart like wet cloth. We did not have forever.“Formation,” I said, my voice made of steel and thread. “No magic unless I say. Weapons only. Clo

Silas's point of viewWe had meant to be ghosts of six shadows tucked into the rotten bones of dump, waiting for Mara’s coven to walk past like lambs to a dull harvest. Instead a sound, soft footstep on dry wood broke the waiting, a single mistake that unknotted the whole plan.Ronan, who’d been keeping watch at the loft, leaned down and hissed, “Movement... below.” He was a kid with too much bravado and not enough sense for his own good. He reached for his blade before the rest of us could tell him not to.Before I could crouch down to pull him back, one of my men, Soren had already lunged. He had the reflexes of someone who’d lived too many close nights; his sword blazed through the torchlight. The witch froze mid-step as the tip of steel kissed the air where her throat should have been. For a heartbeat I thought it was over.Then she didn’t die. She smiled, small and ridiculous and utterly awful, and the world shifted around us: the air went brittle and Soren’s muscles locked as if