My little fierce mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

JAKE’S POVThe horn hadn’t even died before I knew it—something was wrong.The kind of wrong that sinks its claws into your bones before your mind can form the thought.Whitecliff was chaos. Voices, boots, the thrum of orders cracking through the air. But all I could hear—beneath the alarms, beneath Marcus shouting commands—was silence. Her silence.The bond felt… wrong.Muted. Not broken, not whole. Like a wire humming under the weight of something heavy.I tore through the halls before anyone could stop me.My wolf was screaming, wild, primal, ancient. Find her. Find her now.The scent hit me first when I reached her door.Lavender. Sleeproot. Silver dust.A cocktail of witch sedatives so potent it could drop a raging alpha in seconds.The door wasn’t broken.That was the first knife.No fight. No claw marks. No blood.Just absence.Her bed was still warm.Her robe on the chair.The necklace I’d given her—the one she never took off—was on the floor, the chain snapped like it had be

ELLA’S POVThe day was too beautiful to be real.That’s how I knew it was dangerous.The sky was a pale, deceitful blue, the kind that begged you to look up and forget everything that ever hurt you. The air was honey-sweet with the smell of white roses and sun-warmed citrus leaves. A thin mist drifted over the lawns of Moonlit Pack’s estate, glittering like powdered glass.It shouldn’t have felt like a prison.But beauty, I was learning, was just another weapon here.They let me dress. That was new. A flowing white dress, soft enough to almost trick me into comfort. My hair was brushed until it shone like water. No ropes, no runes, no visible guards — only two witches in gray, standing silent near the gates.Duke waited at the center of the courtyard, framed by the garden like he belonged to it.He always looked like he belonged.He was dressed in black again — always black — but in sunlight, the color looked more like molten shadow, drinking light instead of reflecting it. His sleeve

JAKE'S POV The night was alive with whispers.The kind that crawl under the skin and settle in your bones—the murmurs of soldiers who’ve seen too much and slept too little. The air outside the war tent carried the stench of smoke, metal, and regret. Every gust of wind rattled the tent’s frame, echoing like the heartbeat of something ancient and wrathful.I sat alone at the center table, the map stretched wide before me, edges weighed down by daggers. Candles burned low, their wax pooling like spilled marrow. Every shadow flickered against the parchment, shifting like ghosts of the men we’d lost.Marcus stood by the entrance, arms folded, watching me in that quiet way of his—the way a man does when he knows words won’t reach you. He’d stopped trying to convince me hours ago, but his silence was heavy enough to do the job.“You need to rest,” he finally muttered, voice rough from smoke and fatigue.I didn’t look up. My eyes traced the red ink circling the east ridge. “Rest is for the l

JAKE'S POV The world doesn’t end with sound.It ends with silence—a deep, marrow-sick silence that feels like someone has pressed their palm over the mouth of the universe.I know the moment it happens because every instinct in me stops breathing.Ella’s breath hitches.Her fingers twitch inside the chains of light, and all the hairs on my arms rise like something inside the air is reversing direction. Marcus is saying something behind me—orders, curses, warnings—but his voice folds in on itself, swallowed by a pressure I can’t see, only feel.It’s like the air is thick water and someone just waded in from a different world.Ella’s eyes go wide.Not glowing, not blazing, not possessed—Breaking.“Jake,” she whispers, barely sound, barely breath. “It’s starting.”“What is—”Then the silence hits.Not emptiness.Not absence.A crushing, rippling, suffocating silence that sweeps across the tent like a slow-motion tidal wave.My knees buckle.Marcus hits the ground with a strangled noise

JAKE'S POV The moment I hit Duke, the storm explodes.Lightning slams down so close it burns the air between us. The sky cracks open like a ribcage. The world becomes white fire, mud, teeth, and rage.My shoulder collides with his chest — hard enough to break bone in any normal wolf, but Duke isn’t normal. He absorbs the hit like he’s made of steel and old gods. His fingers curl into the front of my shirt, and he smiles as we crash through the fallen tent poles.“Still impulsive,” he murmurs, tone smooth as poison.I snarl and swing my blade.He dodges — barely.The edge scrapes his jaw, drawing a thin line of blood.Good.He wipes it with his thumb and looks at the red smear like it’s a precious gift.Then he lunges.We collide again—harder, louder, our bodies tearing through debris. My ribs scream. My vision blurs. But I don’t stop. I can't. Every time I blink, I see Ella chained, gasping, the bond screaming inside her skin like it's trying to tear her apart.Duke laughs when he fe