บททั้งหมดของ CHASING MONSTERS: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Cold stone pressed against Sophie’s cheek as her eyes flickered open. Damp, the air smelled of rust and moss, thick with the bite of iron chains. The dungeon walls wept condensation, and shadows curled in the corners like living things. Her body ached, bruises layered over bruises, but she was alive. Alive meant she had failed to die on the battlefield, and that meant she was now a hostage of the Wolf Nation. A heavy clank echoed down the corridor. Guards, two of them, broad and brutal, hauled her upright with rough hands and dragged her toward a set of doors carved into blackened oak. Their claws scraped faintly even in human form, and Sophie kept her spine straight despite the agony in her chest. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. The doors opened to a vaulted chamber lit by firelight that danced against towering stone pillars. The court of the Wolf King. A hundred eyes burned into her, yellow and gold and blood-red, wolves gathered in human skins, snarli

Time became meaningless in the dungeon. Sophie lay shackled against stone, weak, drifting in and out of fever. Sometimes she shivered violently, sometimes she burned as though her skin had been set alight. Her throat was raw from thirst, and her stomach hollow from hunger. William never returned. The Wolf King did not summon her. Days bled into nights, or nights into days, she couldn’t tell anymore. When the guards finally came for her, she was too weak to resist. They hauled her to her feet, dragging her through torchlit corridors, up into chambers where water steamed in bronze basins. Rough hands scrubbed her skin, combed out her hair, and clothed her in a simple but clean gown. By the time they led her into the grand chamber, Sophie’s fever still lingered, her body trembling despite her rigid posture. William was waiting there, standing like a sentinel beside the throne. His expression gave nothing away, though his eyes flicked to hers with a spark of something, recognition, may

The barracks breathed differently at night, shallow, the way a wounded animal breathes. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I drifted, the battlefield rose up under my feet: mud slick with blood, wolves howling like the wind had found a throat, Johnny’s last laugh folding into static. I got up, padded the corridor in bare feet, flinching each time my ribs scraped the bandages.That’s when I heard them.“…weakness,” Lucian said, voice like a blade sliding out of its sheath. “That girl was too soft. If she’d been stronger, she’d not have been taken.”My jaw clenched. He was talking about Sophie. Of course he was.“She’s not weak,” Jax snapped back. “She’s stronger than any of us.”“Do not forget your place,” Lucian hissed. “She bears my name. She shamed it, just like her whore mother.”I leaned into the cold wood of the war room door, palms sweating. The air on this side of the oak felt thinner, like the building was holding its breath.“If Sophie is alive,” Jax said, voice dropping into somet

The chamber they’d given me was large, but not luxurious, stone walls, iron-banded windows, and a heavy door barred on the outside. Guards stood there always, their shadows cutting across the crack under the door. Freedom was a word for someone else.This morning, though, I wasn’t alone.Two young women bustled nervously around the room, their hands fluttering over the wardrobe that had appeared overnight. Silks, velvets, and gauzy gowns were hung neatly in rows—every color under the sun—but not a single pair of pants or boots in sight.I stared at the dresses. My throat tightened. “What do you expect me to do with this?”The shorter of the two maids, a blonde girl with quick hands and even quicker words, froze mid-fold. She shot me a wide-eyed look, then darted her gaze to the taller one, as if silently asking permission to speak.The taller maid, dark-haired, sharp-featured, quieter, nodded ever so slightly.The blonde swallowed. “They’re for you, my lady.”“My lady?” The title taste

The fever had left me weak but alive. By the time it broke, I felt like I’d crawled through fire and come out scorched. Betsy and Agatha fussed over me, preparing a steaming bath in the corner of the chamber.I sank into the water, letting the heat work through the stiffness in my limbs. For the first time since the battlefield, the stink of blood and sickness washed from me. I emerged trembling but cleaner, a towel wrapped tight around me.On the bed lay something unfamiliar. Pants. A cropped top. Roughly stitched but functional.Betsy smiled shyly. “We made them from gowns. Thought you might like them better.”I pulled them on. The pants fit snugly, freeing my legs. The top was another matter—cut high enough to bare my midriff, brushing just beneath the swell of my breasts. My face heated. Too skimpy, too bold. And yet… I looked into the polished bronze mirror and couldn’t deny the truth. It suited me more than silks ever had.“It’s indecent,” Agatha muttered.Betsy grinned. “It’s pe