Lahat ng Kabanata ng Marked By Moonfire: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

The compound buzzed with unease the morning after the rogue attack. Wolves moved with taut muscles, sharpening blades with too much force, conversations cut off when Nova passed, and the air itself seemed brittle, charged with tension.Every stare felt like a dagger in her back. Whispers curled in her wake: They came because of her. She drew them here. Nova wanted to scream that it wasn’t true—that the rogues had no master, that she hadn’t called them—but in a pack this tightly knit, suspicion was as binding as chains.Kilian’s glare silenced the worst of it, but even his authority couldn’t erase the lingering doubt. Not even an Alpha could strip fear from a heart once it had rooted there.By dusk, the compound felt suffocating. Nova slipped into the forest, dagger at her hip, inhaling the cooler, sharper air. Each rustle, each flicker of shadow made her pulse spike, reminding her of the night before—the chaos, the teeth, the bond that had throbbed between her and Kilian.She sank aga

Sleep betrayed her again that night.She stood in a circle of standing stones, the air so cold it sliced through her skin. The moon hung directly overhead, bleeding silver light that pooled at her feet. It should have been beautiful, but the light felt too heavy, like molten metal pressing her into the earth.The stones hummed with whispers—some ancient, some painfully familiar. They wound around her like threads of smoke, each one shaping itself into a voice she almost recognized.Nova.She spun, heart pounding. The light thickened around her, twisting into chains that slithered across her wrists, her throat, her chest. She struggled, jerking against the bonds, but the harder she fought, the tighter they pulled. The silver scorched her skin, searing deep until she cried out.The whispers grew louder. She thought she heard Lyra’s voice telling her to fight for her own, Ezra’s sharp command—Don’t falter again—and Kilian’s low growl, a promise and a warning tangled together. The words o

The morning after the council, the compound felt heavier, as though the weight of too many unspoken truths pressed down on every wall, every roof, every tree. Nova moved through the yard, her steps measured, still replaying every word she had overheard, every accusation thrown at Kilian. The air smelled of damp pine and smoke from the previous night’s fires, but even that could not ground her thoughts.She almost didn’t notice the girl until she heard the laugh.It was sharp, bright, and yet hollow, like glass struck too hard. Naira stood with a group of young wolves near the training ring, her beauty impossible to ignore—long dark hair braided back from her face, golden eyes flashing in the morning sun, posture graceful but edged with pride. Even the wind seemed to favor her, catching the threads of her tunic embroidered with silver, making her look untouchable.Nova felt the stares ripple through the yard. Not at Naira. At her. The outsider, the Hunter who didn’t belong, who had ste

The clang of steel rang through the training yard, echoing sharply against stone walls. Sweat gleamed on the backs of warriors as they clashed, wood splintering, fists landing with bruising force. The air was thick with the smell of dust and iron, a scent that clung to their skin and lungs, of wolves pushing themselves beyond their limits.Nova watched from the edge of the ring, her heart beating faster with each blow. Normally, sparring had rhythm — a dance of instinct and control — but today every movement faltered. Blades slipped. Strikes landed slower than they should. The harmony of the fight was broken, replaced by something raw and uneasy.One warrior, broad-shouldered and confident, stumbled mid-swing and fell to his knees, breathing raggedly. His armor clanked softly as he hit the ground, the sound sharp in the tense air. His partner froze, uncertain, until Kilian’s voice cut through the tension like steel.

The sound of fists striking flesh rang sharp across the training yard, each blow cutting through the air like a drumbeat of violence. A sharp grunt followed, then the heavy thud of a body hitting dirt. Kilian’s jaw tightened as he watched the warrior struggle to rise, his limbs trembling as though they carried far more weight than they should.Around them, the air was thick with sweat and dust, the scent of iron mingling with tension. The other fighters paused, breathing ragged, eyes fixed on the scene as if expecting something unnatural to unfold.“Again,” Kilian ordered, his voice low but carrying steel.The man staggered to his feet, sweat stinging his eyes, his breath ragged and loud. He raised his fists, charged—and collapsed to his knees before reaching his opponent. His armor scraped the earth.Murmurs rippled through the circle of onlookers. Kilian’s