บททั้งหมดของ Bound in Silver Flames: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The room emptied slowly, each Crescent Fang delegate moving with the stiff politeness of people tiptoeing around a live wire. Kalen remained seated, posture rigid, jaw locked, every muscle in his body held taut. It wasn’t the politics that had his wolf pressing claws against his skin. It wasn’t even Alpha Thornwind’s blunt suggestion—spoken with the calm of a man throwing a lit match into a forest. “Perhaps future bonds should be considered strategically… between our packs.” A calm statement with heavy consequences. A statement aimed directly at him and at Eira. But what truly clawed at him was the moment she met his eyes after her father’s words—defiant, fierce, wounded, and something else he couldn’t quite name. Something that reached straight into his chest. The oak doors closed with a soft thud behind the last adviser. Only Ironshade remained. Rowan watching him carefully. A handful of their high-ranking officers shifting uncomfortably, scenting the tension. Kalen finally

The forest was almost silent, save for the soft whisper of wind through the pines and the steady rhythm of her boots against the mossy earth. Eira pushed herself harder, needing the movement, needing to burn off the tension that had coiled in her chest since the day’s Summit meetings. Sleep was impossible—not with her mind racing, not with Kalen’s presence lingering like a phantom at the edges of her thoughts. The moon hung high, casting silver light across the trail. She slowed briefly at a bend in the path, glancing around. The forest was empty—or so she thought. “Eira.” The voice was soft, familiar, and her chest tightened at the sound. She turned sharply, heart hammering, and there he was: Kalen Draven, standing just ahead on the path, framed in moonlight, still in his Alpha poise, still utterly magnetic. She froze. “You… shouldn’t be out here,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, though her pulse betrayed her. “Neither should you,” he replied quietly, his gaze flickin

The forest was quiet now, only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant whisper of the river breaking the stillness. Eira slowed her run, letting her breath settle, though her chest still beat faster than it should. Her thoughts were tangled, circling back to him—Kalen Draven. His presence lingered, the memory of his voice, the intensity in his eyes, and that low, deliberate growl of his wolf pressing against him, even in restraint. Mate. The word had reverberated through her senses, subtle, almost a whisper, but impossible to ignore. Her own wolf stirred, coiling beneath her skin, silver fire flaring in response. Veyla was impatient, insistent, aware of every pulse, every heartbeat he had left behind. Eira clenched her fists, forcing the fire down, reminding herself of control, of duty, of everything she had trained to uphold. And yet… she couldn’t ignore the thread between them, the undeniable pull that had started forming the moment they met eyes in the forest, weeks ago. And n

Morning light leaked through the tall lodge windows, soft and annoyingly cheerful. Eira sat at the long dining table in Crescent Fang’s private quarters, pushing a fork through her breakfast without actually eating. Her wolf paced restlessly beneath her skin—silent, but alert. Watching. Waiting. She hated how easily she could guess what it was waiting for. Or rather, who. “Okay,” Lyra said, sliding into the chair beside her with a mug of coffee and an expression far too observant for this early in the day. “You’re either sick, guilty, or thinking about a man. And considering you’ve never been sick a day in your life and you looked downright serene after last night’s Council mess, I’m going with option three.” Eira groaned, dropping her forehead onto her arms. “I hate you.” Lyra snorted. “You love me and you know it. Now tell me whose fault it is that you’re stabbing perfectly innocent eggs.” Eira sat up, cheeks heating in a way she despised. “It’s not— I mean, nothing happened.”

The training grounds rang with the sharp rhythm of bodies striking earth, the thud of fists against pads, and the crisp snap of commands cutting through the morning air. Kalen welcomed the noise—the physicality, the discipline, the structure. It helped rein in the chaos inside him. Well… almost. He pivoted, driving his forearm into Rowan’s guard. Rowan absorbed the blow with a grunt, feet shifting over the dirt as he countered with a calculated strike. Kalen blocked it cleanly, though the distraction was obvious. Rowan lowered his hands, eyes narrowing. “You’re thinking about her again.” Kalen exhaled, flexing his fingers. “I’m thinking about the Summit.” “Your wolf’s pacing,” Rowan replied. “It’s not the Summit.” Kalen didn’t answer because he didn’t have to. His wolf was pacing—restless, focused, hyper-aware of the direction of the Crescent Fang halls even from across the grounds. The silver thread between him and Eira felt tighter today, pulsing under his skin like a second h