Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bound in Silver Flames: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

The night wrapped around them like a cloak, cool and sharp, but she barely noticed. Kalen stood a few feet away, on the same side of the river, the moonlight catching the edges of his features, the glint of his eyes sharp and intense. There was no barrier between them, no river or distance to hide behind, just the quiet, silver-lit forest and the press of tension that made her pulse quicken. Veyla stirred beneath her skin, restless, flicking along her nerves like silver fire. She tried to steady her breathing, to calm the heat radiating from her wolf—but the closer he was, the harder it became. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to run, to claim space, but part of her wanted the opposite: to close the distance, to feel the undeniable pull between them. “I don’t know why you’re here,” she said quietly, her voice steady even as her chest tightened. He inclined his head slightly, eyes never leaving hers. “Neither do I,” he said softly. “Maybe… curiosity.” Curiosity. A simple

Morning arrived sharp and clear, sunlight cutting through the early mist like blades. Kalen stood near the edge of the training grounds, watching as the Summit came to life. Warriors and alphas moved with practiced precision, but beneath the surface, the undercurrent of tension was palpable. Today’s agenda was clear: one-on-one meetings between packs seeking to start, continue, or renegotiate alliances, treaties, and deals. Rowan was beside him, already checking lists and schedules, and Kalen’s wolf stirred faintly, coiled and alert, sensing the subtle energies in the air. But it wasn’t the politics that tugged at him most. His thoughts kept drifting back to last night—Eira, by the river, the heat in her pulse, the calm challenge in her voice. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He could feel the wolf pressing against restraint, impatient, insistent. She’s ours. She’s ours to watch. We wait, Kalen said sharply, forcing the coil of instinct back under control. The Su

The morning air carried the faint bite of mountain wind, cool against Kalen’s skin as he stepped into the reserved meeting lounge the Ironshade delegation had been given. Warriors and advisers filtered in and out, the quiet hum of preparation buzzing beneath the surface like distant thunder. Breakfast sat mostly untouched before him—a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast—but Kalen had managed only a few bites. His wolf paced beneath his skin, restless and alert, still wound tight from last night by the river and the sight of Eira Thornwind disappearing into the trees this morning. Rowan dropped into the seat beside him with a steaming mug of coffee, giving him a sideways look that was equal parts amusement and irritation. “You’re staring at that plate like it insulted your ancestors.” Kalen didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked once before he forced himself to speak. “I’m fine.” “That’s usually what you say when you absolutely are not fine,” Rowan replied, blowing across his mug. “W

The corridor leading from the Ironshade guest wing toward the Summit hall was wide and filled with the low hum of movement—guards shifting into positions, pack representatives crossing paths, aides hurrying with folders and tablets. Every scent, every energy, felt sharper than usual, almost painfully defined. But none of it held Kalen’s focus. His mind—and wolf—were already locked on the presence hovering on the far side of the building. Eira. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep walking, boots striking a steady rhythm against polished stone tiles. Rowan walked beside him, quietly reviewing the morning schedule from a tablet. “You’ll be meeting with Silverpine first,” Rowan said. “They want to revisit the resource agreement. Again.” Kalen nodded stiffly, though it was barely an acknowledgment. His wolf pressed hard against the inside of his skin, claws raking for release—not in anger, but in restless, feral need. He inhaled slowly. And there it was. Her scent. Not

The Crescent Fang meeting chamber had always felt large to her—wide stone walls, high windows spilling sunlight, a round table meant to symbolize equality between packs. But as Ironshade entered, as Kalen took his seat directly across from her, the room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too aware. Her wolf pressed beneath her skin, restless, pacing. Not now, Eira warned silently. But Veyla only rumbled, a low, ancient hum. He is close. Her father greeted Kalen with a formal nod, his tone deceptively calm. “Alpha Draven. Ironshade’s presence is always noted.” Kalen dipped his head in return, expression neutral but eyes sharp—too sharp. They flicked to her for a fraction of a heartbeat. It was brief, controlled, but enough to send heat rushing up her spine. Her father noticed. Of course he did. The opening formalities passed quickly—territorial updates, trade paths, the stability of the eastern border, and Ironshade’s proposed patrol collaboration. They spoke efficiently, direct