All Chapters of CHASING MONSTERS: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The next day, the door creaked open on its heavy hinges, breaking the monotony of my confinement. A plain, older woman entered. Her hair, streaked liberally with gray, was drawn into a severe bun. She carried a satchel at her side, her posture rigid with the steadiness of someone who had weathered too many nights, too many patients, too many secrets.“This is Maera,” Betsy whispered, hurrying to my side as if to reassure me. “A healer.”Maera gave me a brief, no-nonsense nod, her eyes appraising me the way a smith might weigh the strength of tempered steel. “Your uncle Samuel sent me,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument. “He thinks it time someone looked at you properly.”Samuel. The knot of isolation in my chest eased, just slightly. He hadn’t forgotten me.Maera dropped her satchel onto her lap and pulled a stool close to my bed. Her face was lined and plain, her mouth set in a firm, unyielding line, but there was something underneath it—an edge of begrudging kindness, as

Veronica lounged across a velvet divan. Her ladies-in-waiting hovered nervously nearby, clutching embroidery they pretended to work on. The consort’s laughter was brittle, like glass ready to cut.“That bitch hunter,” Veronica drawled, one perfectly manicured finger tracing the rim of her goblet. “Shackles removed. By the King himself. Can you imagine? Our mighty lord playing savior to a filthy little hunter.”Her ladies exchanged uneasy glances. Only one dared speak—Lysa, the youngest, barely more than a girl, her dark eyes wide with naive loyalty. “Surely, my lady, you wouldn’t worry over her,” Lysa said timidly. “You are… well, you are the most beautiful of us all. The King could never look at a horrible hunter when he has you.”Veronica stilled. Then a smile spread across her lips—slow, indulgent, dangerous. “Ah,” she purred. “Yes. I am the most beautiful. The jewel of the King’s court. The envy of every wolf.” She leaned back, lifting her chin so her throat caught the glow of the

Something was wrong.The feeling struck me as I stood on the battlements, the wind lashing my hair. My wolf stirred, restless, growling low in my chest. I’d lived long enough—three centuries, by human reckoning—to know not to ignore that instinct. The air seemed sharper, acrid. Beneath pine and rain, I caught the faintest edge of… death.Without thought, I moved. My boots thundered down the stairwell, each step heavier, faster, until I was no longer walking but barreling through the corridors. Guards posted at the servants’ floor looked startled as I bore down upon them, their hands tightening on their spears.I didn’t stop.The scent grew stronger as I passed two young maids—Betsy and Agatha—carrying a tray, the faint aroma of tea still rising from it. They froze, faces pale, their eyes wide with fear. I smelled it then: bitter, metallic, wrong.I roared and shouldered through the door.The scene before me tore something deep inside.Ronan, my Beta, staggered on his knees, blood runn

The barracks had never felt so empty.Not because there weren’t bodies around—hunters trained day and night, the clang of steel and barked orders a constant background hum—but because no one wanted me anymore. Penelope was gone, ripped away in the chaos of the Wolf King’s ambush. My so-called partner in crime, my echo, my shield against the Shilohs and Sophies of the world. Dead. Just like that.Nina and Marco? They’d left too, vanishing into some quiet life after discovering Nina was pregnant. Lucky her, safe behind walls instead of waiting to be gutted by wolves. Kofi and Gideon? Gone chasing voodoo ghosts in some swamp, not a word back. The squad was shrinking, and the air hummed with tension.And me? Pandora Brightwell, the beauty of Wildbourne Academy, reduced to an afterthought.I still had my face. My body. My bloodline. Those things had always been enough. But lately, whenever I flipped my hair or leaned just right, no one cared. No one looked. Shiloh openly sneered. Old man H

I woke to the familiar ache of having been too stubborn to stay in bed. The poison still licked at my veins—duller now, like banked coals—but every time I stood too fast the world tilted and the healers hissed at me like broody hens. I ignored them. The King needed a Beta, not a patient.Across the hall, Sophie breathed in ragged waves. Fever had peeled the color from her cheeks, yet the set of her mouth stayed stubborn. Maera claimed the worst spikes had passed. “The poison fades,” she said, “but the other fire rises.” She meant the first shift.“Shifting with no pack is cruelty,” I told Maera.“Then make sure she’s not alone,” the old healer shot back, not looking up from her bowl of crushed willow bark.I spent another hour there, watching the pulse jump at Sophie’s throat, listening for the small sounds that meant she still fought. When the sun cleared the mountain ridge, I pushed to my feet and made for the Kings private office.The King was already there—of course he was—standin