Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Mate, His Enemy: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

SAPHRA'S POV I wake up on fire.Not the slow, feverish warmth of illness but a living blaze under my skin, like my blood has turned molten and is searching for a way out. Every breath scrapes my lungs raw. The sheets feel wrong against me, too rough, too heavy, as if my skin no longer fits the shape it’s in.I gasp and try to sit up.Pain explodes through my spine.I scream.The sound tears out of me, sharp and animal, and the instant it does, something inside me answers. My wolf surges awake in panic, slamming against the cage of my ribs, claws scraping from the inside. She’s not rising with purpose. She’s thrashing.....feral....terrified.“No....no, stop,” I choke, clutching at my chest as heat coils tighter, tighter and tighter.I’ve shifted before. This is nothing like that. This is being ripped open.My vision blurs. The room around me swims. I feel too large for my own bones, like something inside me is stretching them apart, testing the seams. My fingers curl, nails digging in

LUCIEN’S POV The fever does not break. It lingers, stubborn and unyielding. Two more days stretch into something that feels less like time and more like endurance, a siege measured not in hours or sunrises, but in the heat beneath my palm and the hitch in her breathing when the pain spikes. I do not leave the bed. I do not leave her. Time loses its shape. The world narrows to the rise and fall of her chest, the faint tremor that runs through her when the fever surges, the way the bond tightens like a wire drawn too far every time her temperature climbs. My awareness stretches outward only far enough to register danger, only far enough to know when I must pull her back. I cancel everything. Council meetings are dismissed without explanation. Patrol reviews go unanswered. Sentencing hearings are postponed indefinitely. Strategic decisions that should require my seal and command pile up like unanswered challenges. Messages arrive hourly, sometimes carried by trembling servants, s

SAPHRA'S POV The fever breaks quietly. There is no dramatic moment, no sudden gasp or jolt of relief. It simply… loosens. Like fingers unclenching from my spine one by one. I wake to stillness instead of fire, to warmth that is merely warmth and not a threat. My skin no longer feels stretched too tight over bone. My wolf, which has been pacing and clawing for days, finally settles with a low, wary calm. I breathe in. And for the first time in days, it doesn’t hurt. Lucien feels it before I fully understand it myself. I know because his body shifts behind me, tension easing in a way that is unmistakable. The iron band of vigilance that has wrapped him since the fever began slackens. His breathing changes. Slows. “You’re steady,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. I test it carefully. I flex my fingers. Roll my shoulders an inch. The pain does not return. No surge of heat. No violent backlash. I am free. The realization lands with unexpected weight. Lucien goes still.

SAPHRA'S POV Lucien’s chambers are quiet in the way only powerful rooms ever are. The door closes behind me with a soft, final sound that echoes too loudly in my chest. The air smells faintly of parchment and ink, steel and something unmistakably him. Firelight flickers along the walls, casting long shadows that stretch and shrink. Lucien sits at his desk, shoulders squared, posture immaculate, eyes fixed on the documents spread before him. His dark hair falls forward slightly as he reads, brows drawn in concentration. He doesn’t look up when I enter. I move forward, each step measured and careful. The tray feels heavier than it should, like it knows what it carries. My grip is steady despite the thunder of my heart. I have carried this moment inside me for years. I will not falter now. I set the tray on the table beside his desk with deliberate precision. Porcelain barely makes a sound against polished wood. The bottle of wine catches the firelight, deep red, almost black. Luci

SAPHRA'S POV Lucien roars. The sound is not human. It tears through the chamber like a physical force, rattling the walls, shuddering through the floor, vibrating straight through my bones. The candles gutter violently in their sconces, flames bowing away from him as if afraid. Dust rains down from the ceiling in a fine gray veil. My ears ring, sharp and piercing, as though the sound has lodged itself inside my skull and refuses to leave. “Why are you doing this?” The words slams into me but I do not flinch. I do not step back. Instead, I lift my chin. Fear coils tight in my chest, cold and sharp, squeezing my lungs until every breath burns. My heart hammers hard enough to hurt, each beat echoing in my ears. But defiance locks my spine in place. I refuse to let him see me fold. I refuse to give him that victory. His eyes burn gold and wild, fractured, and furious. The bond thrums violently between us, stretched tight like a wire about to snap, vibrating with too much tension,