บททั้งหมดของ W.I.L.D.: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 68

The Blood Moon nursery looked more like a storm zone than a child’s room. Blankets were scattered, a tower of blocks had been demolished into rubble, and Kael—Jax’s spitting image, down to the stubborn little scowl—was standing proudly on top of the toy chest like he’d just conquered a mountain.“Kael, get down,” Tora warned, hands on her hips.He grinned, eyes flashing faintly gold. “No.”Before Jax could bark his voice, Liora laughed, clapping her tiny hands. Unlike her brother, she looked almost ethereal—Tora’s wavy hair and her father’s ice-blue eyes, but lit from within by something older, wilder. “He’s the king of the box!” she declared with toddler authority.“Not for long,” Jax muttered, striding forward.But before he could lift Kael down, both children stilled. Their eyes glazed—not in sleepiness, but with something ancient. The tem

Three days had passed since the training games, but the laughter that had filled the clearing that morning had long since dulled to an ache in Gunner’s chest.Cheyenne had brushed it off, of course. “I just overdid it,” she’d said, waving away his concern as she pulled her braid tighter. “You try sparring against a dragon with a fireball addiction and see if you don’t black out.”But Gunner wasn’t buying it.He’d felt it through their bond — the quiet thrum of fatigue that pulsed beneath her heartbeat. The flickers of nausea she tried to hide. The moments when her fire dimmed, then sputtered back to life. She didn’t even realize she was fading. He did. And it scared him.Now, sitting across from her at breakfast in the packhouse kitchen, he watched her pick at her toast like it was some kind of adversary. Her hair fell in soft waves, barely catching the morning light. Her eyes were sharp bu

The great hall of the human’s community building was alive with sound—laughter, deep voices, and the faint hum of dominance rippling through the air like static before a storm. Every Alpha from all the territories had gathered at Cheyenne’s invitation. The long oak table stretched nearly the length of the hall, carved with sigils of every allied pack—symbols of loyalty, strength, and the uneasy peace Cheyenne had fought so hard to keep.She stood just behind Gunner’s chair, a quiet presence amid the rowdy energy of wolf leaders who didn’t know how to be still. Her gaze swept over them—Alpha Kade of Silverpine Pack, smug as ever; Alpha Rhys of Crimson Hollow, with his trademark smirk; Alpha Darin of Frostfang, who’d already started a bet on who would get into a growl-match first. It was chaos, barely leashed. But it was her kind of chaos.Well… usually.Gunner rapped his knuckles against the table. &

The first thing she remembered was the sound.Not voices, not chains—just the low hum of the stone around her. The dungeon walls breathed. They moved, almost imperceptibly, like the heartbeat of something ancient and cruel. Every inhale filled her lungs with damp, iron-tinted air. Every exhale sent a sharp pain through the cracked ribs pressing against her bruised heart.She’d lost track of time long ago. Days bled into nights, nights into something worse. The torches burned with a greenish flame that never went out. Her wrists had forgotten what it felt like not to ache. Her tongue was dry, lips split, throat raw from screaming into the void that answered back with laughter.They wanted her to beg.She never did.When they came, they came quietly—robes whispering, boots echoing faintly against stone. Each one reeked of old blood and smoke, their eyes glinting with something inhuman. They didn’t call her by a