All Chapters of The Lullaby of Wolfbane: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I sleep for maybe an hour.Not the deep kind of sleep, just a thin, twitchy drift where every sound becomes a threat and every shadow in my dream has claws. When I finally wake, it’s because my wolf shifts under my ribs like she’s irritated with me for being unconscious at all.The room is still dark blue with pre dawn.Tessa is curled into her blankets, face scrunched like she’s trying to hide from the capital by sheer willpower. Briar is sitting upright again, because of course she is, eyes fixed on the window like she’s counting the seconds until sunrise. Her gaze snaps to me the moment I move. “You’re alive,” she says quietly. I sit up, hair a mess, throat dry. “Unfortunately.” Briar’s expression doesn’t soften. “You’re reckless.” I rub my face. My skin still remembers Adrian’s hands guiding me through shadow corridors. It makes my stomach flip in a way I refuse to examine. “Yes

The letter sits in my bag like it’s alive. Not because paper can breathe, because my mother can make anything feel like a threat even when she signs it neatly with a dash and a name. Tessa is on her bed hugging a pillow so tightly the corners fold in. Briar stands near the door, head angled toward the hallway like she’s listening for the next bad thing to pick our room. I try to sit. I try to breathe normally. But my wolf is awake now, and everything in my body feels… turned up. Like someone adjusted the world from muted to sharp overnight. My thoughts keep circling the same three hooks: The King’s decree. My birthday, three days away. And Mary’s handwriting. A knock hits the door. Briar opens it immediately, like she’s been waiting for someone to give her a reason. A clinic aide stands there with a clipboa

Tessa slips back into our room after curfew like she’s trying not to disturb the air itself. Her cheeks are flushed from rushing, her curls half loose, her eyes too bright in the wrong way, overlit, like she spent hours smiling on command and forgot how to stop. Briar is upright in bed instantly. “Well?” Tessa shuts the door softly. “It was…” She swallows. “A lot.” She gives us the clean version, Prince Liam’s careful kindness, Prince Nate’s practiced charm, attendants asking questions that weren’t questions so much as measurements. She keeps her voice steady, but her scent doesn’t. It’s threaded with nerves. When she finally trails off, she looks at me like she’s waiting for me to judge her for going. Instead, I just reach across and squeeze her hand. “You did what you had to do.” Tessa’s shoulders sag with relief. Briar mutters, “And now they’ll keep yanking your chain with ‘ne

I wake up before the sun and immediately know something is different. Not in a dreamy, wow the world is beautiful way. In a my body has been replaced overnight way.The dark isn’t really dark. It has layers now, shapes inside it, edges, soft movements where the curtains breathe with the draft. I can hear Tessa’s slow exhale from across the room like it’s close to my ear. I can hear the building too: wood settling, distant boots on stone, a door closing somewhere far down the corridor.And the smells. I’ve never understood people who described scent like it was a language. It always sounded dramatic. Now it feels like the only language.Tessa smells like warm soap and sleep and that sweet honey gold note that belongs to her wolf. The room smells like paper, fabric, dust, and faintly, metal from the hinges.I lift my hand and stare at it in the dim. Even my skin looks sharper. More real. My wolf stretches inside me, not sleepy, alert, almost pleased

The room should feel safe. It smells like him, pine, smoke, clean steel and the door is shut and the guards are outside and Melody is gone to do whatever doctors do after they drop a life altering bomb and say good luck like it’s a normal prescription.But safety doesn’t stop the burning. It just means no one can see how badly I’m losing my mind. I’m still half on Adrian’s lap, half on the bed, knees tucked against his hips. He’s propped against the headboard like a man trying to convince his own body that this is fine.It isn’t fine. Not for me. Not for him.Because the heat isn’t just heat, it’s a pull. A demand. A voice in my blood saying touch him, touch him, closer, closer, claim, claim.And the worst part is, it works. Every time my skin meets his, the fire backs off like it’s afraid of him.My cheek presses to the side of his throat and I breathe him in, shameless. I can feel his pulse under my lips. I can hear it. I can count it.