บททั้งหมดของ Thorns Of The Blood Moon: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 29

The mark appeared overnight.I didn’t feel it happen. There was no jolt of magic or scream in the dark or glowing runes crawling over my skin. Just silence. Soft. Patient.Like the castle had been waiting for me to let my guard down.When I woke, the candlelight in the annex was low and golden. A soft breeze stirred the loose parchment on the desk. I sat up slowly, muscles sore from having slept in a chair again. The rose the castle had given me days ago still sat in its dish—black petals unfurling slightly more each morning. Still impossibly alive.I pushed my sleeves up to wash my hands. My fingers were still faintly dusted with chalk, the tips of two marked with old ink.That’s when I saw it.At first, I thought it was a stain. A shadow from sleep or spellwork.But no.The mark was on my upper forearm—just below the inside of my elbow. Perfectly centered. Faintly luminescent.It was a sigil. Circular. Complex. Familiar.I had seen it carved into the stone of the vault, etched into

They arrived with the dawn.There was no announcement. No horns. No dramatic sweep of banners. Just a sleek, black-enamel carriage gliding up the mountain path, drawn by two silver-eyed horses that didn’t spook at the castle’s presence. A pair of mounted guards followed behind it, their armor etched with the understated elegance of High Council work—unornamented, but undeniably powerful. Everything about them was controlled, disciplined. Designed not to impress, but to remind.This wasn’t a delegation.It was an audit.And it had come for me.The envoy who stepped out of the carriage did so without hesitation. Her robes were violet so deep they almost looked black in the pale morning light. Her sleeves were embroidered with faint ward lines, the kind that didn’t glow unless triggered. Her dark hair was braided into a loop at the crown of her head, secured with a single obsidian pin.She didn’t bow.She didn’t look around.She walked straight through the castle gates with the authority

The castle didn’t sleep that night.It didn’t roar or groan or shatter windows like it had when I first arrived. This was subtler. More intimate.It pulsed.The walls hummed just beneath hearing. Doors swelled slightly in their frames. Hallways curved off course only to snap back the moment I looked too long. Candles flared higher than they should. Mirror glass refused to show my reflection in passing.It was like the castle was anxious.Or worse—angry.I tried to ignore it, focusing on the documents Nerisse had requested: leyline reports, anchor sketches, runework drafts. All neat. All meticulous. All real. I wanted to be prepared when she came with more questions.But I couldn’t concentrate.The ink in my pen vibrated faintly on the parchment.The mark on my arm was warm again.Not painful—just present. A quiet reminder that I was tethered to something larger than myself. Something that felt threatened.It took me a moment to realize why.Someone had made a move.-I found Mira in t

The castle led me to him.Not directly. It never did anything that plainly. But the halls felt... angled tonight. Doors that normally opened toward the vault now opened toward the southern corridor. Staircases I had walked a dozen times tilted just slightly toward the west wing.And the farther I walked, the heavier the air became.Not suffocating. Guiding.As if the castle was tired of whispering.It wanted me to see.I found Cassian in the old strategy hall. The room had fallen into disuse in recent decades, its long table now dusted with half-formed maps and glassless lanterns. He stood near the center, hands braced on either side of the table like he was still commanding troops. There were no soldiers. Just shadows.And secrets.He looked up when I entered. He didn’t look surprised.“Miss Ashwood,” he said smoothly, as if we’d merely crossed paths in a corridor. “Couldn’t sleep?”I walked in slowly, letting the door close behind me.“You met with Nerisse last night.”He didn’t ans

I woke to warmth.Not magic. Not heat from the wards or the castle's pulse beneath the stone.Him.Theron’s arm was draped around my waist, heavy and grounding. His chest pressed to my back, one leg tangled between mine. His breath moved against my shoulder in slow, even waves, each exhale stirring the fine hairs at my nape. Every part of me ached—but in the best, most delicious way. My body hummed with memory. With satisfaction. With something deeper I didn’t have a name for.I didn’t move. Not right away.I just let myself feel it.His hand flexed slightly in sleep, fingers curling at my stomach like he was anchoring himself to me. It should’ve made me feel possessive. Instead, it made me feel safe.I had never felt this before.Not just intimacy.Peace.The room was dim, filtered light slipping through the slats of the window. The castle hadn’t stirred yet. Not fully. Its silence wrapped around us like a blanket, and for a moment, I let myself believe it would last.That the storm