Todos os capítulos de Bound to the Enemy’s Bed: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

Dawn did not arrive without a fight.It sliced the night with a dreary, ruthless light, tearing through the keep like a sword. The world was left bare and the mountains huddled under veils of mist after the storm had broken. Kaelith Keep did not wake—it braced.Elaria felt it in every stone she walked across, in the weight of the air, in the silence of the pack as they gathered. No laughter echoed, no voices rose in casual greeting. Every wolf’s eyes were sharp, every breath held tight, as though the whole keep were a throat about to close.The Council Circle had been prepared.She had seen the circle used before: for blood oaths, for trials of dominance, for rituals old as the bones of the mountain itself. But never like this.Never for the Rite of Purity.The stone ring was blackened from generations of fire, its surface carved with runes so ancient even Kairis did not pretend to know them all. At its heart lay the pyre-pit, cold now, waiting.Waiting to be lit.Draven stood at her

The scent of perspiration and smoke permeated the room.Elaria sat on the furs' edge, her lips damaged by his frantic mouth and her hair tangled from his hold. With one hand laying over the slight rise and fall of her tummy as though to secure her to him, Draven laid next to her, eyes closed but not sleeping.They were not killed by the fire they had passed through, but the recollection of it lingered in their lungs like ash. Using her fingertips, she traced the jagged lines that were seared into his chest, each scar serving as a reminder of their shared experiences. He didn't flinch even though his skin was hot under her touch, fevered with anguish, and their bond was still strong. Rather, he grasped her hand and flattened her palm against his own heart.His voice was hoarse and raw as he whispered, "It still beats."She swallowed hard, leaning down until her lips brushed his collarbone. “For how long, if they decide what we are is corruption?”Her remarks were followed by a heavy si

The council chamber was transformed.At dawn, its wide circle had stood quiet, scarred from the last assembly’s fury. By mid-morning, it had transformed into an arena rather than a chamber of discourse. The benches creaked under their weight as wolves pressed in, councilors in their lofty seats, advisors around the periphery, emissaries from far-off packs crouched close, eyes shining like bloodthirsty monsters.The stone dais, with the tribunal's circle on top, situated at the center of the room. It demanded truth, or the appearance of it, and was wide, with ancient runes that glowed dimly in the lamplight.Even though her nails were digging crescents into her palms, Elaria sat with her back straight and her hands in her lap. Beside her, Draven was a shadow of storm and fury, his massive shoulders squared, yet she could still feel the strain in his body. Every breath he took carried the rasp of wounds not fully healed. His presence was defiance incarnate.The heavy clang of the ceremo

The tribunal doors thundered shut behind the herald’s staff, sealing the chamber once more in solemn firelight.Elaria felt her spine stiffen with each echo. If anything, the break had heightened the storm in the hall rather than lessening it. In their factions, councilors continued to whisper, their voices brittle with distrust, anticipation, and terror. The air itself was choked by the stench of anxiety, which hung like smoke.Draven sat tall beside her, his shoulders squared like stone despite the lingering wounds of his duel. Every breath he drew was measured, controlled. His entire body begged for restraint. However, Elaria, who was seated near enough to feel his pulse throbbing beneath the skin, was aware of how firmly that constraint was in place.The staff struck again, calling silence. Elder Maelen lifted his hand, his voice carrying across the chamber. “We reconvene the tribunal. Arguments shall continue. And let the council remember—law above fury, truth above ambition.”It

The chamber erupted the instant silence was no longer enforced.The council ignited like flint to tinder after the final echoes of Veylen's coerced testimony hung to the air like smoke. Sharp as claws, voices raised, cries overlapped, chairs scraped stone, and some jumped to their feet. The place was now a lair of wolves rather than a chamber of law, with each whiff of blood igniting the next.“Proof! She’s twisted proof!” one elder snarled, slamming a fist against the table. “This is sorcery!”“Or perhaps,” another snapped back, eyes flashing with hunger, “it is Rhovan who we should call traitor! Look at his hands! Look at the shadow he dragged in here under pretense of truth!”Draven stood at her shoulder, his jaw locked, his shoulders taut, every muscle pulled toward violence—held only by her steadying touch against his wrist—while Elaria sat in the storm's eye, her palms flat against the stone table, her breath slow but her pulse thundering. Half the council roared for judgment, t