All Chapters of Shadows of a Journalist: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The night’s black cloak was ripped apart by the relentless fury of battle. Jagged bolts of flame erupted from crude bombs, igniting thick underbrush and sending towering infernos curling toward the darkened sky. The forest echoed with the sharp staccato of gunfire, rifles barking from concealed nests, punctuated now and then by the harsh crack of pistol shots in close quarters.Arrows with poisonous barbs sliced through the air with deadly intent, skewering flesh and lodging in bone. Warriors screamed, clutching wounded limbs, collapsing into the cold, unforgiving earth amid the chaos. The scent of blood, gunpowder, and burning wood created a suffocating haze that choked lungs and blurred vision.Selene fought at the edge of exhaustion, her body slick with sweat and blood. A jagged gash traced across her forearm, burning with each pulse of movement. Worse was the deep slash running along her thigh—a blade from a loyalist pack member that turned her legs to lead. She stumbled, pain rad

The safehouse was meant to be a sanctuary—a quiet refuge nestled deep within the forest, far from the chaos that consumed the war-torn lands. Yet for Lena, isolation bred its own kind of torment. The heavy silence wrapped around her like a shroud, each breath a battle against the growing storm in her mind.Her days blurred into long stretches of waiting, her fingers restless as they traced the curve of her belly—a fragile promise of life amidst the darkness. But beneath the weight of hope lurked a gnawing fear, one that prickled at the edges of her thoughts when night fell and shadows lengthened.Jeremy’s name haunted her dreams. She remembered his dark promises, the cold gleam behind his charm, and the unbearable weight of knowing what could have been if she had yielded. She whispered to herself, “I’m so glad I never gave in… I won’t be his.”But the fear lingered—what if he found her? What if the shadows that hunted their pack now crept toward her fragile sanctuary?One evening, as t

The war that had raged like a merciless tempest across the fractured lands finally slowed to a heartbeat—a fragile lull brought on by a belief more comforting than certain: Jeremy Rathbone was dead. His absence left a hollow echo through the pack, a silence thick with grief, relief, and the tentative hope of peace.For three months, life edged forward on this fragile promise.Beneath the safehouse, in the cold, shadowed basement where chains bit cruelly into flesh and dim light cast twisted shapes on stone walls, Jeremy’s captivity was a torment far beyond the battlefield. Travis had brought him here in a fury, his hands and heart relentlessly brutal.Each day was a trial of fire and shadow.Travis torched Jeremy’s body and spirit—not with flames of destruction but with calculated cruelty. Hunger, sleep deprivation, and the steady erasure of power in every bound moment.Words were sharpened like blades.“You will never rise,” Travis hissed one night, dragging a burning torch close to

Steam curled thick and warm in the modest safehouse bathroom, wrapping around Lena and Travis like a cloak woven from tenderness and heat. The patter of water against tile was a steady rhythm, a soothing hymn in the fragile sanctuary they had carved from the ruins of war.Lena stepped beneath the cascade, eyes closing as the warmth seeped into her aching muscles and soothed the ache that lingered from days of worry and sleepless nights. Travis joined her moments later, water trailing along his skin as he circled to cradle her from behind. His hands found the gentle swell of her belly, the precious life they nurtured both a promise and a symbol of hope amid darkness.Their lips met, slow and fierce, a long-suppressed hunger cracking the dam of restraint. Each touch was a feast of sensation, a ardent declaration of survival and desire. Fingers traced paths of fire along softened skin, hands exploring curves that told the story of shared trials and deepening bonds.Water washed over them,

The lingering darkness of the safehouse’s basement was heavy with cold and silence, but for Travis, it burned with a furious fire.He had known, long before the muffled sounds and restless movements pulled him from sleep, exactly what was happening to Lena.Jeremy’s insidious voice, slipping like poison into her dreams, seducing her—not with touch or presence, but with whispered shadows designed to unravel their bond.Travis’s fists clenched the worn wood of the stair railing as he descended the narrow steps to the depths where Jeremy languished, imprisoned but far from defeated.His voice was a low growl, cutting through the stale air like steel.“You stay out of her head, you sick fuck. She belongs to me.”Jeremy’s eyes flickered open, reflecting dull pain twisted with fury, the dark alpha’s pride still raw even in bondage.Travis stepped forward, unflinching. “You cannot take her. I am the son of the most powerful alpha of the The Dusk Hunters Pack. Lena is my mate. I have marked he