บททั้งหมดของ BLOODBOUND: The Wolf, The King and The Killer: บทที่ 101 - บทที่ 110

Killian's POV I woke up earlier than usual, long before the rest of the house stirred. The silence of dawn wrapped around me like a cloak, pressing heavy and sharp, and I knew today wouldn’t be one of those easy days I could push through without thinking. The company party loomed over us all, but my instincts told me there was more to worry about than wine glasses and polished speeches. My gut rarely failed me, and this morning, it screamed of foul play. I rolled out of bed, stretched, and padded over to the desk in my room. The small lamp on it flickered weakly when I turned it on, casting shadows across the wood. I reached for the notepad hidden in the false bottom of the drawer, pulled it out, and grabbed a pen. Messages couldn’t be sent openly—not when eyes lingered on everything I did—so I wrote in ciphers, the kind only two or three people alive could understand. Short, clipped, disguised as nonsense. *Ravens circle the south. Nets must be stronger. The hound hides bones whe

Colt's POV The box sat on the table like a silent dare. I had been expecting it since last night, when the messenger whispered through the door that a delivery would arrive before dawn. He didn’t linger—just left the words hanging in the air, along with the certainty that if I opened the door too quickly, I’d find no one there. And now here it was. A plain, square container, brown tape running along the edges, no markings except the small insignia on the corner—a wolf’s head drawn in faint ink, eyes glaring upward. It was subtle enough that no one without knowledge would notice it, but to me it was the signal I had been waiting for. I closed the door to my chambers, twisted the lock until it clicked, and walked to the table. My fingers hovered over the box for a second, savoring the anticipation. Then I tore into the tape, ripping it back, piece by piece, until the lid loosened. Inside lay the suit. Black, sharp, pressed with precision. The material wasn’t just expensive—it wa

Third person POV The underground halls shook with tension as the masked men pushed Valeric toward freedom. His steps were deliberate, his broad shoulders cutting through the torchlight, every movement carrying the authority of a man who had been caged too long. Chains no longer bound him, and the air of confinement seemed to shatter around him as the intruders guided him upward. The mission had gone smoothly so far. Too smoothly. Silent bodies of guards lay sprawled in the corners, their eyes closed in eternal stillness, gas still clinging faintly to the air. The corridors were silent but for the soft scuff of boots and the muted clink of weapons. The leader of the masked men raised a hand, signaling the others to slow. Something wasn’t right. His instincts screamed caution as they neared the exit toward the outer grounds. The air felt heavier, charged, as though danger lurked just beyond the stone walls. They reached the wide corridor that connected the underground passage to t

Rhett's POV The ballroom shimmered under the weight of crystal chandeliers and gold lined walls. The hum of conversation, laughter, and the clink of glasses filled every corner. On the surface, it was a picture of elegance and celebration. But I knew better. Underneath the suits and gowns, behind the false smiles and polished gestures, there were shadows. The kind of shadows that carried daggers under their sleeves and poison on their tongues. I leaned against the tall glass of the balcony door for a moment, scanning the room with my eyes rather than my posture. Applause echoed from the far corner where a violinist finished a piece, the strings vibrating the air, but my attention was elsewhere. Nikolai was standing not too far from me, pretending to mingle with a group of executives. He looked relaxed to anyone else, but I caught the quick flick of his gaze across the room, the slight shift in his stance. He was watching. Waiting. Just as I was. I caught his eye and gave a small

Third person POV The music from the ballroom carried faintly down the hall, muffled by the heavy walls and the constant hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and laughter. Declan walked slowly at first, blending into the rhythm of guests who drifted toward the drinks table or the corridors. He felt the eyes of the guard Nikolai had assigned to him lingering too close behind. The man tried to be subtle, but Declan had already marked his presence. His jaw tightened, his face composed into something calm, even charming, but inside, his thoughts churned darkly. He stepped toward the left corridor, muttering something about needing to freshen up, and the guard followed. Declan’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. The ballroom was noisy enough, full of distractions and performances, which gave him the opening he needed. The guard’s footsteps were steady behind him until they reached the corner leading to the guest restrooms. Declan slowed, turning slightly. “I need privacy,” Declan said e