All Chapters of CHASING HIS LUNA BACK: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Aurelia's point of viewI couldn’t hear the dungeon anymore. The sight was hurting me deeply. too much to see and consume while my heart remain on fire. Everything seemed distracting yet I coudn't take my mind off of it.Not the dripping water, not the grinding torches, not even Lara’s uneven breathing. Only the sound of my heartbeat, pounding like a war drum against my ribs.Everyone stared at me. Damien stood stiff and unreadable, arms crossed. Silas waited, jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might break. Dalton hovered near the door, eyes cast down, afraid that if he looked at me, he would see the decision forming in my blood.I stepped closer to the bars. Lara lay there, like a broken doll made of bone and bruises. Her hair tangled. Her eyes hollow. Blood dried at her nose and ears in thin, ugly streaks. She was exhausted from the internal battles with Draco. Poor thing never wnated to be a part of his scheming reality.Lara was not only my healer or friend. Not the girl who

Silas's point of viewA burning silence settled over the chamber after Aurelia collapsed into my arms. I held her the way a man holds his entire world, terrified to let even a whisper of her slip through his fingers. The journal still smoldered on the table, the blackened leather curling inward like it was trying to eat itself. Damien paced the room like a caged predator, but his eyes never left Aurelia.She breathed heavily. Her lashes trembled. Every instinct in me screamed to demand what she saw, who touched her mind, who dared to move through her past and future. But I swallowed it. She was shaking. That was enough.I moved her gently to the bed and tucked the blanket around her stomach.“You rest,” I murmured. My voice came out raw. “You are not lifting a single finger until you stop shaking.”Aurelia stared at me like I was saying something funny. “Draco will not wait because I am tired,” she whispered.I forced myself not to snap at her. Fear makes impatience look like authorit

Silas's point of viewThe strategy room smelled like iron and burnt parchment. Not the scent of battle yet, but the scent of inevitability. Dalton was spreading maps across the long oak table, his fingers trembling despite trying to hide it. Damien stood on the other side with his generals, every inch of him radiating the cold authority of a king who knew war far too well. To my left sat the witches who had sworn loyalty to Aurelia and to our fight: Elen and the survivors of Mara’s coven, stripped of their darkness, branded with silver sigils to mark their new allegiance.The war council was not loud. The loud rooms are the ones where people pretend. The dangerous rooms are the quiet ones.Dalton pushed three black markers onto the map. “Draco will not hit us in a single wave. He will hit us in three. Northern cliffs, west forest, and the main gate.”One of Damien’s generals scoffed under his breath. “You speak as if you know his mind.”Dalton stared at him with eyes that belonged to

Aurelia's point of viewThe night had fallen into an unnatural quiet, the kind that pressed on your ribs and made your lungs hesitate. I stood at the ridge overlooking Blackfang’s borders, the cracked land beneath my boots suddenly unfamiliar. Everything looked different after blood spilled on it. The bodies had been removed, the ground washed, and the air purified, yet I could still smell fear. Not mine, never mine but the pack’s. Fear lingered like a stain. A reminder that Draco was moving toward us, and that there would be no forgiveness for anyone caught in the crossfire.Silas and Damien were still inside the tent, finishing the last arrangements with Dalton and the witches. They thought I was resting. They were wrong. Rest was a luxury meant for the peaceful. I lost peace long before I learned how to shift. Long before I learned how to kill. I leaned on the stone barricade, letting the cold seep into my palms until my pulse calmed. Lilith stirred in the recess of my mind, her vo

Aurelia's point of viewThe world did not end with fire. It ended with the sound of footsteps.Boots, paws, talons, hooves... I could not tell anymore. The battlefield was not a field but an open scar in the land, a valley carved by centuries of war. I watched the army gather at the ridge as dawn crawled across the mountains. The first light hit the armor of the wolves, glinting off metal breastplates and silver blades. Witches gathered beside them, their cloaks stirring in cold wind, faces marked in ash sigils and moonlight ink. No one spoke. Even the earth seemed to hold its breath.Silas stood beside me, tall as a pillar carved from stone, his jaw set in the frightening stillness that I had only seen once before, the night he lost his eye. He glanced down at my belly for the briefest moment. The gesture was not tender; it was primal, a silent oath carved in blood: Our children will live.At the front of the formation stood Damien, his golden hair braided back, his eyes sharp and br