All Chapters of CHASING MONSTERS: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Sophie’s POVSamuel’s Alpha office smelled like rage.He stood behind his desk, fists clenched against the wood so hard it creaked. His eyes were sharp, golden, furious, not at me, not really, but at the one who should’ve protected me.“The Wolf King has lost his damn mind,” he growled. “He defiled the mate bond. He will answer for it.”I sat stiffly in the chair across from him, arms wrapped around myself. My back still throbbed from Lucian’s whip. My wrists ached from cuffs. The mate mark on my neck burned like a phantom brand. My head hurt from the shock that Jax was my uncle. I felt sick.“He wasn’t himself,” I whispered. “The witch, Mama Delphine, used a spell on him. On all of us.”Samuel snorted. “That may be true, but a King who can be taken so easily? Unacceptable.”He stood upright, pacing, breath sharp like a man deciding between war and murder.“My pack will break from the Wolf Nation if we must. I’ll not have my wolves bow to a corrupted throne.”I swallowed, heart tight.

(Shiloh’s POV) The window latch gave after a good swear and a firmer shove with the hilt of the knife I’d “found” in Beta Ronan’s drawer. (Who keeps a knife next to clean socks? Wolves. Wolves do.) The courtyard below was too quiet. Too still. In the distance, something lurched past the torchlight, sallow, wrong, like a nightmare someone forgot to put back in the ground. My skin prickled. “I am not dying in a wolf castle because I got distracted by shoulders,” I told myself, because honesty is a virtue and Beta Shoulders had been… a problem. An embarrassing, traitorous, body-heat-related problem. I slid one leg over the sill, checked the drop, and froze at a noise I couldn’t unhear: that wet click of teeth and the shuffle-drag of feet that weren’t supposed to move anymore. Nope. I pulled back inside, shut the window, and braced the chair under the handle. Then I paced, testing the weight of the knife, scanning for a second exit I already knew didn’t exist. The sounds of the unde

(Pandora’s POV)I had settled in Evergreen. Job, place to stay, somewhere to lay my head. Evergreen was that kind of small town. Ten conversations going at once, all of them about you if you didn’t watch it. I kept my head down, baggy tee, ponytail, no eyeliner, the opposite of the girl I used to be. Invisible was safer.“Morning, Pandora,” Mr. Hollis called from the counter at the Farm n Feed, counting worms like they were coins. “Stock pellets came in.”“Got it.” I slid past the display of saddle soap and twine. The store smelled like hay and dog biscuits. They bought their feed and forgot my face. I went straight to work, kept my head down and stayed quiet.It would’ve worked better if Ethan didn’t keep smiling at me like a fool.Local farmer who had a glint in his eye every time he saw me. He was in the back, loading grain into a truck bed, forearms roped hard from real work, hair curling where the cap couldn’t tame it. Wholesome small town boy: clean shirt, mud-caked boots, eyes

Ronan’s POV Shiloh was still in my arms when morning broke. Her back was pressed to my chest, her hair a mess against my jaw, and my hand was splayed over her stomach like I was terrified she’d slip through the mattress and vanish. Because I was terrified. I gripped tighter, desperate not to lose her to the morning. I’d held her like this the whole night, wide awake, listening to her breathe, convinced that if I let go, she’d be gone and I’d wake up alone, and this would all be a fever dream from too much undead and not enough sleep. A cold ache pressed against my chest; nothing I’d bled or battled could rival it. Her fingers traced my forearm where it wrapped around her. “You’re awake,” she murmured. “You’re here,” I murmured back, like that was some kind of miracle. She snorted and twisted to face me. Her eyes were soft. “You’re such a wolf.” “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.” “It’s not,” she whispered, brushing her thumb across my mouth. “It’s just… clingy.” I preten

Fintan, Amara, and I took ten of the King’s elite and pushed through the mire toward Delphine’s ruin. The fog didn’t drift; it waited. Roots gripped boots. The air had the stink of old sin.“Wards up,” Amara said, voice low. A ring of pale light opened around us, thin as a breath.Fintan scanned the water. “They’re awake.”“Good,” I muttered. “Saves us the trouble of knocking.”The first corpse rose twenty paces ahead, river-bloated, eyes filmed, a hunter’s knife still lodged in its ribs. It didn’t stagger like the others we’d fought. It stopped, studied us, then tilted its head to listen to something we couldn’t hear.Amara’s jaw clenched. “She’s directing them.”“Then we cut the radio,” I said.“On your mark, Beta,” growled Tarl—oldest of our ten, scarred to the bone, the kind who grinned at bad odds.“On mine,” I answered, but the swamp answered first.Five more bodies climbed out of the mud. Two wore Wolf Nation pauldrons. I knew those faces. Men lost years ago on southern patrols