All Chapters of BLOODBOUND: The Wolf, The King and The Killer: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Killian's POV I had just finished locking Varrick back into his cell, slamming the iron door shut so hard the clang echoed down the dim corridor. He groaned on the other side, half-conscious and broken, but I didn’t spare him another glance. He wasn’t my concern right now. My concern was the hospital, and Nikolai. I wiped the sweat off my brow, breathing out slowly as I left the dungeon behind. My boots thudded heavily against the concrete floor as I made my way up the stairs, past the guards who avoided my eyes. They’d heard enough screaming and bone-crunching to know better than to ask questions. Rhett had ordered me to keep Varrick breathing and bleeding answers, but right now, I needed to step out, to breathe something other than iron and despair. The drive to the hospital was quick but heavy. The night pressed down on the city like a shroud, and my thoughts churned the entire way. Kade’s death, Azar’s murder, Zev nearly cut to pieces. Everything was happening too fast, too clo

Colt's POV I shoved my hands into my pockets as I walked down the dimly lit hallway toward Declan’s quarters. The place was quieter than usual, like even the walls knew I was pissed. My boots echoed against the wooden floor, each step heavier than the last, carrying the weight of everything I’d been swallowing these past weeks. Rhett. Killian. Nikolai. All of it. I hated the way it sat inside me, like fire smoldering low but constant. I wasn’t the type to whine—not to anyone. I’d always been the one to grit my teeth, push through, keep proving myself even when the odds were stacked against me. But tonight, I couldn’t. Not anymore. Tonight, I needed someone to hear me out before I burned the whole damn place down. Declan. He was the only one I could stand to talk to, even if half the time he gave me nothing but silence or those calm, unreadable looks that made me feel like he knew more than he let on. I reached the door, rapped my knuckles against it once, then pushed it open witho

Third person POV The morning air outside the hospital carried the faint chill of early dawn, the kind that wrapped itself around the skin and made everything feel sharp, new, and slightly unforgiving. The sun had barely risen, painting the sky in streaks of pale gold and muted violet. Inside the hospital, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting their sterile glow on the freshly polished floors. Nurses moved briskly through the corridors, murmuring instructions and pushing carts of supplies, while doctors made their early rounds. Down the east wing, the door to Nikolai’s private ward swung open, and he sat perched on the edge of the hospital bed. His expression was a mixture of impatience and relief. He had already changed out of the hospital gown into dark jeans and a crisp white shirt, clothes that Killian had sent ahead of time. The fabric stretched comfortably across his shoulders, reminding him he was no longer a patient but a man ready to step back into his life. His arm wa

Third person POV The hospital at night carried a strange stillness, the kind that was almost suffocating when paired with the beeping machines and muted hum of fluorescent lights. Zev had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours, his body weak, stitched and bandaged after the ambush that had nearly cost him his life. His throat was dry, his limbs heavy, but his mind never fully allowed him to rest. Shadows lingered in every corner of the ward, and paranoia gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. He knew better than most that danger did not vanish simply because he was lying in a hospital bed. A faint sound brought him from the haze of half-sleep—so soft that at first he thought he imagined it. The shift of weight on a tile, the faint brush of fabric against metal. His eyes opened slowly, and though his body begged him to stay still, his instincts screamed otherwise. The faint light from the monitor reflected off something metallic near the door. A silhouette slipped inside—

Rhett's POV The corridor was suffocating, full of shadows, heavy with whispers I couldn’t silence. Killian’s words still rang in my head, but I shoved them aside as I gripped the door handle to Declan’s ward and pushed my way back inside. The room smelled of disinfectant and blood, that bitter combination that made my stomach tighten. Declan was half propped up on his pillows, eyes heavy-lidded but alert the moment they caught mine. He tried to straighten, tried to look less fragile than he was, but I wasn’t fooled. I crossed the room in three strides, my chest still burning with anger. I sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You’re not staying here,” I said immediately, not bothering with a preamble. Declan frowned, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re being discharged today. Now.” My grip on his hand tightened as if to anchor him to the words. “This place isn’t safe. The assassin got in once, killed a doctor,