The Fated Series のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

The FortressJack did not run with her—he carried her.His arms were iron bands as he strode through Green Briar’s woods, not toward the pack house she’d escaped but toward the black spine of the ridge. There, half-swallowed by rock, the old fortress rose—new floodlights stapled to ancient stone, cameras winking red in their housings like patient eyes. The gate yawned open for him. Sentinels stood two-by-two along the wall-walk, rifles slung and silver knives at their hips. The smell of wolfsbane hung in the air like a warning and a dare.Evandra fought to keep her breathing even. The shift back had left her shaking, and the snapped leg sent a hot, nauseating throb up her thigh with every step Jack took. She set her jaw against it, counting lights, counting turns, cataloging faces. Remember. Map it. Use it.They crossed a first courtyard—tarps and crates stacked in disciplined rows—and a second, narrower one where wolves in human skin drilled in silence, eyes forward. Her stomach turn

Silver BulletThe fortress rose ahead of them like a scar in the earth—stone and steel laced with floodlights, barbed wire gleaming under the pale moon.Tristan, Osiris, Lefu, and Balor stood shoulder to shoulder before the gate, the air thick with the scent of warriors behind them. Hundreds of wolves shifted restlessly, rifles gleaming, blades strapped tight. Breath steamed into the cold night, the growl of engines from armored vehicles thrumming like a second heartbeat.There would be no turning back. Not now.“She’s in there,” Tristan said, his voice low but certain. His eyes were fixed on the walls, where shadows of snipers prowled like vultures. “I can feel her.”The others nodded. Their Luna’s scent had been on the bag Rowan found. Her trail led here, without question. Whatever trap awaited, they had to spring it.The gate groaned open, slow and deliberate, revealing a figure striding onto the lawn.Jack.His blond hair caught the moonlight, his smile arrogant and cold. His wolf

Break, Bind, BreatheFor a heartbeat after Jack fell, the world forgot to move.Tristan’s arms closed around Evandra with a force that made his own bones ache. She was all heat and tremble, slick with foul water, breath tearing at her throat. Thorne raked at the cage of his ribs—mine, alive, hold her, keep her—and Tristan obeyed until the first truth fought its way through the fog: the fortress was still howling around them, and Jalen was bleeding out against the wall.“Stay with me.” Tristan eased Evandra upright, hands quick over her scalp and the cut splitting her lip anew. Her pupils tracked him—a good sign. Her right shin was splinted by torn sheet and a bent bar, tight and ugly but effective. He had the savage, irrational urge to lift her and never set her down again.“Jalen,” she rasped, turning, wobbling on her good leg. “We can’t leave him.”“I know.” Tristan’s voice snapped back into command even as his thumb brushed mud from her cheek. “Look at me. Can you stand?”She wobbl

The Weight of the ThroneThe battlefield went still.Bodies shifted uneasily in the ruined courtyard, the echoes of war fading into silence. Evandra stood in the center, Alpha power still humming like wildfire in her veins. The fog of it rolled outward, binding every wolf who had just tried to kill her. She could feel them through the link now—confusion, grief, pain, but above all, submission.Her chest heaved. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing because she wanted to, or because the Alpha magic commanded her to keep standing.Around her, her mates watched with a mixture of awe and dread. Osiris’s fists were still bloody. Lefu’s eyes darted between her and the kneeling wolves. Tristan’s jaw clenched tight, his wolf pacing behind his eyes.And Balor—still somewhere with the medics—was out of sight.The Green Briar wolves remained kneeling, the chorus of “Alpha” ringing in her ears even after they fell silent.Evandra’s hands trembled. She didn’t want this throne. She hadn’t asked for

Blood and the PromiseThe triage field smelled like iron and rain.Tents flapped beneath floodlights, canvas snapping in the wind as if the night itself had nerves. Wolves—some in fur, some limping on two legs—moved in gray streams between cots and tables slick with antiseptic. Someone cried out and was quieted. Someone laughed—shock, relief, or madness—then sobbed. The earth was a churned, muddy bruise underfoot where boot, paw, and stretcher had tracked the story of the battle across it.Evandra pushed through the slit of the largest medic tent and tasted panic on her tongue.“Where?” she asked the first healer she saw, a woman with silvering hair and forearms smeared with poultice. “Balor Tackett. Crescent Alpha.”The healer’s gaze cut to Evandra’s throat and then her eyes; she must have seen enough in both to point without asking rank. “End row, third cot. We’ve got him on binders for the silver.”Evandra’s stomach dropped from her ribs to her ankles. She didn’t thank the woman. S