All Chapters of CHASING MONSTERS: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The swamp was all breath and silence, as if it held its tongue the moment Kofi and Gideon set foot on its sodden earth. Cypress roots curled like claws, and charms of bone and nail swayed from branches, whispering in the stale air. Mist clung low to the ground, crawling around their boots like a living thing.Gideon spat into the mud, trying to look braver than he felt. “Cursed place,” he muttered. “Nothing but rot.”Kofi puffed his cigar, the ember flaring in the gloom. His voice was calm, measured, though his eyes flicked left and right. “Rot keep secrets,” he said. “Best you mind yours.”The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. Even Gideon, who scoffed at superstition, found himself watching the shadows between the trees. The swamp seemed to breathe with them, watching, listening.And then the hut appeared.It loomed from the mist as if the swamp had grown tired of their trespassing and spat up its guardian. Crooked stilts kept it half-submerged in the black water, windows

Base used to hum with energy. Boots thudding in the yard, sparring matches breaking into laughter, the kind of camaraderie that made you forget for a moment that our work was blood and shadows.Now it felt hollow. Training schedules went through the motions. Guns were cleaned, blades sharpened, but the spark was gone. And Lucian—Lucian’s madness seeped into everything like smoke you couldn’t scrub out.I walked in, the echo of prison walls still clinging to me, and stopped short. The air was so thick it felt like pushing through fog.Jax and Lucian were locked in a meeting, their voices muffled but sharp. Jax’s obsession with Sophie made him restless, twitching like a hound on a too-tight chain. Lucian’s obsession was worse. He wanted bloodlines. He wanted to twist fate itself.At one of the battered tables, Kofi sat smoking, Gideon slouched beside him, a couple of the other hunters gathered like strays around a fire.“So you went to the swamps,” one of the rookies said. “What’d you f

The carriage jolted over the cobbled road as the spires of the castle loomed on the horizon, pale gold in the late afternoon light. Home.The King sat back in his seat, broad shoulders filling the corner, eyes half-hooded as he watched the countryside roll past the window. He had enjoyed the tour of the packs — the feasts, the simple laughter, the calloused hands that clasped his with loyalty and trust. It reminded him of a time before crowns and thrones, when he had been hidden with the mages, living like an ordinary wolf cub. Life had been simple then. Honest. Hard, but real.And yet, even surrounded by his people these past weeks, he had felt… homesick. For what, he couldn’t say. A hunger that had nothing to do with food or duty.Beside him, Veronica’s voice swelled again, tugging him out of his reverie.“…and of course when we return, the court will expect a proper reception. A ball, perhaps. I could wear the emerald silk — no, the crimson — the one that makes the ladies squirm wi

The chamber was still and heavy, the kind of stillness that came only when the voices of Veronica and Arnold were absent. No perfume, no smug remarks — only stone, torchlight, and Ronan waiting across the long table.The King let the silence breathe a moment before he spoke. “At least we can speak plainly,” he said.Ronan inclined his head, ever steady. “As it should be, Majesty.”The King leaned back in his chair, the weight of weeks pressing on his shoulders. “Fill me in. Everything I’ve missed while I’ve been paraded through taverns and halls.”Ronan began with the packs — defenses, border patrols, disputes smoothed over, soldiers shifted where they were needed most. Then came whispers of the mages.“They’ve seen something,” Ronan said carefully, “though as always they speak in riddles. A one-eyed woman in a swamp. They would not say if she is friend or foe. Only that she watches. That she matters.”The King’s eyes narrowed. “The mages toy with us. They throw bones into the fire an

The morning light spilled across the forest like a veil of silver, catching in the branches and dancing on the water. Sophie padded along the shallows of the river in her wolf form, her paws cutting neat ripples in the current. She felt alive here — stronger, sharper, every sense aflame.Behind her, the wolves of Samuel’s pack fanned out, a silent guard, their breath misting in the cool dawn. They didn’t question her when she led the run. Some looked at her with awe, others with wary curiosity, but none denied the power that shimmered in her wake.She stepped deeper into the stream, icy water curling around her legs. That was when it happened again — without warning, without thought. Frost bloomed across the surface, lacing outward in jagged patterns. The river hardened beneath her paws, glass-smooth and shimmering in the sunlight.The wolves halted, ears pricked. Sophie froze too, staring down at the miracle and the curse of it.She shifted back, breathless, water dripping from her d