All Chapters of BLOODBOUND: The Wolf, The King and The Killer: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Declan's POVThe ride from the hospital to Rhett’s mansion had felt like a blur, a restless storm in my chest the whole way. My body still ached from the wounds, the slash on my thigh throbbing every time the car hit a bump, but what gnawed at me more was the suffocating way Rhett had demanded my discharge. He hadn’t given me a choice, hadn’t given the doctors room to breathe, and I hadn’t been able to fight him off, not when he was so determined to keep me under his watch.Now, back in the mansion, I moved through the familiar hallways like a ghost. The polished wood, the expensive artwork, the carefully arranged furniture—it all screamed of Rhett’s power, his control, but to me, it was just another cage. A gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.The first thing I did was head upstairs to my room. I shed the hospital clothes, stripped down, and stood under the shower until the water ran pink around the drain. The heat stung my stitches, but I welcomed it. It reminded me I was still aliv

Killan's POV I could still feel the weight of Rhett’s silence when Nikolai and I left his study. He hadn’t said much after dismissing us, but I knew his mind was tangled in more threads than he let on. That was Rhett—always carrying everything, always deciding on his own shoulders, and rarely asking for help. But being his beta, I knew when something was eating him alive. The man looked strong, yes, but I could read the hesitation behind his eyes when Declan’s name came up. He didn’t want to admit it, but Declan was the storm at the center of everything right now. Nikolai walked beside me, his hands tucked in his pockets, his expression a little softer than usual. The halls of the mansion were quiet at that hour, the only sounds were the muffled footsteps of guards switching patrols outside. For a moment, I thought we’d walk in silence, but Nikolai finally broke it. “You were a little hard on him, Killian.” His tone wasn’t accusing, but thoughtful, almost defensive of Rhett. “He’s

Nikolai's POV I woke up earlier than usual, my phone buzzing on the nightstand before the sun had even managed to rise. My first instinct was to throw it across the room, but I knew exactly what the alert was for—reminders, meetings, endless planning notes I had scribbled down to keep myself sane. The company’s annual celebration was less than two weeks away, and everything rested on my shoulders this year. Killian had already claimed responsibility for the pack’s gala night, which meant I was left with the corporate side of things. And between the two, trust me, mine was the bigger headache. Dragging myself out of bed, I scrubbed a hand down my face and went straight for the shower. The hot water loosened the stiffness in my muscles, but it didn’t wash away the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. As soon as I stepped out, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the latest messages. Vendors, contractors, entertainers, caterers—every one of them wanted to confirm last-minut

Killian's POV Cont'd “You fight like someone with something to prove,” I growled, striking hard enough to make him drop to one knee. Declan looked up at me, smirk still plastered across his face. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I just like seeing that look on your face when I nearly cut you.” I pressed forward, but instead of striking him, I stepped back, lowering my blade. “Not bad. For a half-broken man.” He rose slowly, sliding his knife back into its sheath, chest heaving with exertion. “And not bad for a Beta who lets his emotions get the better of him.” I bristled, but didn’t take the bait. Around us, the warriors clapped and cheered, impressed with the display. Declan wiped the sweat from his brow, meeting my gaze steadily. “You’re holding back,” I said flatly. He shrugged. “So are you.” The tension hung there, sharp as a drawn blade, before I finally exhaled and sheathed my weapon. “Don’t push yourself too far, Declan. You might heal fast, but if you break again, Rhett won’t be

Third person POV Red had never been a man of patience, but tonight his every move was deliberate. He had a job to do—two, actually—and failure was not an option. The promise of payment was heavy enough to keep his mind sharp, but this wasn’t just about money. It was about reputation. When you were a southern assassin, the only thing more valuable than your life was your credibility. A single slip, one botched assignment, and you weren’t feared anymore—you were hunted. He sat on the edge of the old oak desk in the abandoned warehouse that had become his temporary base. The moonlight seeped through the cracked windows, illuminating maps scattered across the surface. One was a layout of the hospital, detailed to the last corridor and stairwell, stolen from a construction archive. Another was a blueprint of the pack’s training grounds, annotated with his own notes from weeks of surveillance. At the center lay a single photograph: Zev. Pale, eyes sunken but sharp with resilience, strap