All Chapters of Bound to the Enemy’s Bed: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The first slant of dawn filtered through the thin shutters of Draven’s chamber, pale gold spilling across the tangled sheets. For the first time since her capture, since the endless battles of teeth and shadow, Elaria had slept deeply — cocooned against Draven’s warmth, his arm heavy around her waist, their breathing unconsciously synchronized.Yet peace, however fragile, never lingered in Kaelith’s stronghold.Elaria stirred first, blinking against the light, her gaze brushing over the harsh planes of Draven’s face as he slept beside her. In repose he looked younger, stripped of the endless burden of command. But the faint crease between his brows told her even in sleep he wrestled ghosts.Her heart twisted. She remembered every venomous oath she had spoken against him, every promise she had made to herself never to let him in. And yet — here she was, branded by his touch, warmed by his presence, and betraying her own walls.What does that make me? she wondered. What does that make u

The storm was no longer outside. The tie that had just seared itself into raw, unforgiving flesh was inside her veins, inside the hall, and it was right here.Elaria's body shook from the intimacy that had engulfed her and Draven, and her breath was still labored. His aroma left a deeper impact on her than any scar could, and his heat remained on her flesh. Her body responded in ways she could never deny as the sound of his roar continued to reverberate in her chest. However, another sound—low, methodical, serpentine—pierced the heated silence that ensued.Clapping.Slow, steady claps that broke the fragile aftermath apart like glass underfoot.“Well,” the voice drewled, sly laughter creeping through each word. “That was… touching.”Elaria froze. Every muscle, every instinct screamed as she turned toward the shattered threshold of the hall.Veylen stood there.He was here in the flesh, no longer operating through shadows or borrowed weapons, no longer concealed in whispers. Tall,

Blood.It was everywhere—soaking Elaria’s hands, running in thick rivers down Draven’s side, dripping to the broken stone beneath them. The aroma of it overpowered the herbal flavor that had always served as her fulcrum, filling her lungs with iron and fire. Elaria's healer's hands shook for the first time in her life, but it was out of fear rather than inexperience.She pressed closer to the wound and muttered, "No, no, no…" her voice cracking. Once blazing with rage and devotion, Draven's golden eyes flickered feebly, fighting to remain open. Each of his shallow gasps of breath dragged at her soul.Around them, the big hall was in disarray, with wolves dragging bodies away, groaning, and hobbling, and the storm rattling the remains of the broken doors, yet everything was blurry. Elaria saw none of it. There was only him.She insisted, "Stay with me," disregarding the fact that her voice shattered like fragile glass. Using what was left of her healer's gift, she pressed her finge

The fortress walls had always been carved from stone so thick they swallowed sound. Elaria had learned, in her weeks trapped here, that silence was not peace—it was simply the fortress’ nature. No matter how heated an argument or how loud a sparring match, the noise always seemed to sink into the stones, leaving only an echo.But tonight the stones did not hold it.Whispers vibrated through the castle. They gathered in hallway corners, slithered down hallways, and floated through stairwells. Elaria could sense the hum of disquiet everywhere she looked—wolves huddled together, talking softly, and frequently turning to stare at the Alpha's wing.Toward Draven.She had been reluctant to part from him. When she applied the final healing rune to his ribs, his skin was slick with perspiration, and his pulse was too shaky for her to touch. Her body, her eyes torn with spots, her hands shaking from fatigue, needed her as much as he did. Before she lost too much of herself and fell by his

The wolves did not scatter, but the torches in the courtyard burned lower. Every look turned suspicious as they remained in restless knots, their voices hissing like wind through parched leaves. Blood, smoke, and worse, expectation, were all in the air.Every time Elaria breathed, her chest constricted. The words echoed over and over in her skull:Tomorrow night, I claim the pit.She had to stop it. Somehow.Her palms stung where her nails had broken skin during the declaration, but she barely felt it. Under her skin, her wolf was pacing frantically in circles, her body a mass of fire and tremor. She felt lightheaded from anger and terror, but determination was a sharper edge that loomed above them both.Draven couldn’t fight tomorrow. He wouldn’t survive.She would also lose him if she allowed the law to take its course.She ignored the muttering and sidelong glances as she pushed through the crowd. With his big shoulders rigid and his face a storm, Marrik stopped her close to th