All Chapters of STOLEN BY THE MATE I DIDN'T WANT: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

“Do you feel that?”Mira’s whisper barely carried over the rustle of leaves, but Aldric heard it clearly. He stopped at once, lifting a hand for the others to halt. The forest around them seemed to breathe slowly, heavily, and anciently. Even the insects had gone silent, as though the land itself was holding its breath.Kael frowned, scanning the shadows between the trees, his hand drifting instinctively toward the hilt of his blade. “Feel what?”Mira closed her eyes, fingers tightening around her staff as faint runes along the wood pulsed dimly. “The bond,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s shifting. Stretching.”Aldric’s gaze snapped toward the forbidden forest ahead. The air there shimmered faintly, warped by unseen pressure, like heat rising off stone. “Liora,” he said quietly. “She’s reaching out.”As if summoned by his words, a low, thunderous growl rolled through the trees.Not close but not distant either.It vibrated through Kael’s chest, rattling his ribs. His breath caught.

The corridor was empty.That, more than anything, told Liora how badly Selene had miscalculated.Stone stretched ahead of her in long, torch-lit silence, the air cool against her skin as she stepped out of the cell that had been meant to hold her indefinitely. The door stood open behind her, the melted lock still faintly warm, stone warped as if softened by breath rather than force.Each footstep echoed too loudly in her ears.She forced herself to slow.Panic led to mistakes. Rage led to recklessness. And Selene had counted on both.Liora had learned through pain, through loss, through blood that control mattered more than speed.Silver shifted against her chest, warm and solid, his small fingers fisting in the fabric of her tunic as if he sensed the danger even now. His heartbeat was steady. Anchoring. Real.“I’ve got you,” she whispered, lowering her head just enough to brush her lips against his hair. The scent of him-milk and moonlight—cut through the cold stone and iron air of t

The palace was no longer a palace.It was a battlefield.Stone pillars lay shattered, the ceiling gaping in jagged tears, sunlight stabbing through like knives. Dust and ash swirled in the air, making every breath a struggle. The wards that had once defined Selene’s power were gone, obliterated by the bond between Liora and Draven.Selene stood in the center of the destruction, eyes flashing with fury and disbelief. Her hands sparked with fractured magic, runes hovering in the air like angry ghosts.“You think this,” she hissed, voice slicing through the chaos, “is yours? You think a bond—two weak mortals tied to an infant—can undo centuries of control?”Liora tightened her hold on Silver, feeling the pulse of Draven’s presence through the bond. Every heartbeat, every surge of energy, reminded her that they were connected. That they were not alone.“It is ours,” Liora said, voice steady despite the tremor of adrenaline coursing through her veins. “And we will protect what is ours—what

Power never vanished.It lingered.It clung to the council chamber long after the bows were given and the murmured vows of loyalty faded into stone and dust. The air itself felt altered, heavier somehow, as though the walls remembered what had been unleashed within them. Hairline fractures still traced the marble floor, subtle reminders that authority had been taken, not granted.The kingdom had not rejected Selene.It had survived her.And survival bred questions far more dangerous than rebellion ever could.Liora felt it the moment she stepped beyond the chamber doors.Not hostility.Not devotion.Calculation.Eyes followed her, some open, some hidden behind lowered lashes. Whispers slid through the corridors like cautious smoke, not loud enough to challenge, not quiet enough to dismiss. Names were weighed. Alliances reconsidered. Futures quietly rearranged.She did not turn.She was already learning the first, cruel lesson of rule: reacting gave others power. Listening took it away

The first sign was silence.Not the natural quiet of night settling over a tired city, but the wrong kind—the absence of expected noise. No late tavern laughter drifting up the streets. No clatter of carts returning home. No distant arguments bleeding through thin walls. Even the guards’ boots along the outer walls sounded muted, swallowed by stone and fog, as if the city itself were afraid to make a sound.It was the kind of quiet that came before something broke.Draven felt it long before anyone spoke of it.He stood at the eastern watchtower, one hand resting on the cold stone parapet, eyes fixed on the dark horizon beyond the city walls. His wolf paced beneath his skin, restless, hackles raised, senses stretched thin. The wind carried too little—no rot, no fire, no living movement. No birds stirred in the trees. No insects sang. Only the faint, metallic tang of disturbed magic clung to the air, sharp enough to scrape the inside of his lungs when he breathed.Predators knew this s