บททั้งหมดของ Blood And Desire: บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

“Sit,” Leander said simply when every eye had focused on him.Chairs scraped again as the men obeyed. Leander leaned forward slightly, voice carrying effortlessly to the back of the room.“We have news from Dravonia,” he said. “And it concerns every man in this room.”Skye’s spine stiffened. He kept his face impassive, but his pulse kicked up a notch. Leander’s gaze flicked once to Skye—brief, unreadable—before returning to the assembled Betas and Deltas.“As most of us has come to know, Winter now has a son. An heir. A boy who could make him falter,” Leander continued. A low murmur rippled through the room—surprise, speculation, unease. Leander raised one hand. The sound died instantly. “That means Winter is vulnerable,” he said. “And vulnerability creates opportunity.”Skye felt the weight of every gaze in the room shift toward him, subtle but unmistakable. Leander turned his head just enough to meet Skye’s eyes.“And that is why you are here, Skye,” he said quietly. “Because you ca

Skye stepped outside, the heavy oak door of the hall closing behind him with a dull thud that echoed in the crisp morning air. Far across the training grounds he could hear the familiar rhythm of Deltas at work, grunts of effort, sharp shouts of command, the metallic ring of practice swords clashing, the thud of boots and shields. The sounds carried on the wind, steady and relentless, a heartbeat the castle never quite silenced.He strolled closer, hands loose at his sides, the irritation from the morning still simmering beneath his skin. The training field stretched wide before him, packed earth churned into dust by hundreds of boots. On the raised platform at the center stood Leander, cloak thrown back over his shoulders, emerald tunic catching the light, talking intently to one of the Beta commanders. Both men were bent over a parchment laid out on a rough wooden table, fingers tracing lines, heads close together. Skye could only guess it was a map: the way their hands moved, the wa

Winter had had his bath and was getting dressed when a knock came to his door. Before he could respond, the heavy oak swung inward without permission. Winter, with his back to the door, paused for only a heartbeat. His fingers stilled on the last clasp of his black tunic, shoulders rising once in a long, controlled exhale. He already knew who it was.August took only one step into the room, boots silent on the thick rug. His voice was calm and devoid of all emotion. “The internal council demands to know your plans with the child borne to you.”The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Winter finished fastening the clasp, slow, deliberate, then turned his head to the side so he could see August out the corner of his eyes. The Lycan’s storm-gray eyes met August’s without warmth, without surprise. He studied his Beta for several long seconds, the silence stretching thin between them. His voice dropped low and dangerous, each syllable edged like a blade drawn slowly across wh

It was midnight and the castle had gone to sleep. Torches in the corridors had burned down to stubs, leaving only faint orange flickers that barely reached the corners. The wind outside howled low against the stone, carrying the distant scent of pine and coming snow.Jada moved like a ghost, cloak pulled tight, hood up, soft boots silent on the flagstones. She had rounded the castle and reached the back, nearing the narrow stone staircase that descended into the dungeon entrance. The bag she carried, hidden beneath her coat, was small but heavy: dried bread, a flask of clean water, a few strips of dried meat, and the carefully measured healing herbs she had begged from the physician earlier.She was almost at the arched doorway when a hand clamped over her mouth. Hard. The other arm locked around her waist and slammed her back against the cold wall. Her breath exploded out in a muffled gasp; the bag slipped from beneath her coat and hit the ground with a soft thud. She thrashed once,

The iron door groaned open on rusted hinges. A single candle stub burned on the floor, its flame trembling in the draft that followed them inside. The cell smelled of damp stone, old blood, and despair. Zoe stepped in first, boots silent on the filthy straw. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and then she froze.River lay slumped against the far wall like something discarded. His shirt had been torn open at the chest and shoulder; deep, half-scabbed gashes crisscrossed his ribs and collarbone, some still weeping sluggishly. One arm hung at an unnatural angle, swollen and purple. His face, once sharp and handsome, was unrecognizable: both eyes blackened and nearly swollen shut, the left cheek split open in a ragged line, lips cracked and crusted with dried blood. His dark hair hung in filthy clumps across his forehead, matted with sweat and worse. He was breathing, barely. Shallow, wet rasps that sounded painful even from across the cell.Zoe’s breath caught audibly. Her hands, still r