Todos los capítulos de Bound to the Enemy’s Bed: Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

Elaria’s scream echoed into silence.Her body hit the ground with a violent jolt, but this time the stone beneath her was colder than death. The air was wrong—still and heavy, yet thick with whispers, as though the walls themselves breathed. She tried to sit up, but the chains binding her wrists and ankles held fast, pulling her against a pillar carved from vertebrae taller than a castle spire.Her chest heaved. Her pulse thundered.“Draven…” she whispered, voice breaking.But the cavern around her was empty of him. No golden eyes. No protective snarl. No strong arms to shield her. Only the bone. Endless bone.The robed figure stood a few paces away, his presence filling the hollow silence. His face was still veiled by shadow, but she felt his gaze on her—probing, cold, unrelenting.“You feel it now,” he said softly, his voice sliding like oil into her ears. “The Gate sings to your blood.”Elaria shook her head, struggling against the restraints. They bit deeper, bone digging into ski

The cavern shouted, not just fell apart.Each pillar and ivory rib trembled and fractured, tumbling into the fury of swirling bone and darkness outside. What had been barriers was now nothing but emptiness: a cyclone of death, the Gate's storm itself awoke with rage.As rib-like shards ripped past them, screeching like arrows through the air, Draven's form coiled protectively over Elaria. As the ground swayed beneath them, his claws sunk into the bone floor to keep them both anchored.With his voice rumbling into her chest, he hissed, "Hold tight.”With her hands free, Elaria curled into his ripped flesh and grasped at him. Her fingers felt the heat of his blood, his heart thumping like a war drum. Instead, though, she felt a surge of vigor. She was no longer bound. Her wolf pressed against her skin, demanding release, demanding to fight.She lifted her chin. “Don’t shield me. I fight with you.”Draven’s gaze snapped to hers, golden eyes burning with pride and fear. For a breath, even

They fell.Not through air, but through a shroud of whispers that clawed at their skin and blood. They were drawn deeper by the lightless winds and layers of voices, yet the abyss had neither walls nor a bottom. Even their tie, which was the only thing holding them together, was stretched, with strands tearing as invisible hands attempted to pull it apart.Elaria clung to Draven’s hand with all her strength, nails biting his palm. They lost their wolf, their heat, and their feeling of themselves as the abyss drew them in like a malicious gravity. Her heart stumbled and her lungs scorched."Draven—" The whispers drowned out her voice.He snarled, forcing his golden eyes open against the crushing dark. “Don’t let go. No matter what you hear, Elaria. Don’t. Let. Go.”The void shivered, and suddenly there was ground. They slammed into it hard—bone, again, but not the dry husks of the storm above. This was wet, raw, living bone, pulsating faintly with each whisper.Elaria rolled, coughing

With a vicious wail that didn't belong to any natural night, the air broke apart. Elaria felt her heart thumping so violently that she was afraid it may explode from her throat. Shadows burst from the crags above, characters jumping, steel flashing, eyes shining with unnatural wrath. In one heartbeat, she and Draven were weaving over the rocky mountain pass, tension already scorching like a wire drawn too tight between them.The ambush.Before she could even scream, Draven's arm crashed into her waist, pushing her back against the pass's stone wall. His wolf aura flared so fiercely that it appeared to sear the air as his body descended before her like a barrier.“Stay behind me,” he growled, voice rough and edged in something primal. Not an order she wanted to obey, but in that instant she wasn’t a healer, wasn’t the Beta’s daughter trying to defy him—she was a woman staring at teeth and blades gleaming in the dark.The first of the attackers hit the ground hard, claws out, eyes wild.

The stronghold slept uneasily that night.Wounded wolves filled the healer’s hall, groaning beneath poultices and bandages, while the fires in the courtyard burned low, casting long, watchful shadows. Even the youngest pups, usually restless and untamable, clung close to their mothers’ sides as though sensing the danger pressing in on all of them.But Draven Kaelith did not sleep.He stood at the highest watchpoint of the fortress wall, cloak snapping against the cold night wind, golden eyes narrowed on the dark horizon. His wolf prowled just beneath his skin, restless, refusing to be silenced. It wanted to pace the halls. It wanted to circle the healer’s wing where Elaria Vayne was working through exhaustion, her small hands still steady despite the toll. It wanted her scent filling its lungs, her pulse under its palm, her presence close enough to guard with tooth and claw.The words he’d spoken to her in the courtyard still burned his tongue: You’re mine to protect.Dangerous words.