Semua Bab The Lullaby of Wolfbane: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Melody doesn’t celebrate. Not Rowan in silver. Not Mary bound. Not the fact that we dragged the truth out of the man who built this nightmare. She takes what we got and turns it into action so fast it’s almost frightening. “Dawnmilk first,” she says, already moving down the corridor. “Wolfsage second. We flush her lungs, we stabilize her pulse, then we start undoing the binders.” I fall into step beside her, Lia a shadow at my other shoulder. Nate follows a pace behind, one arm still in a sling, his gait stiff with pain he refuses to admit exists. Logan is gone again, coordinating sweeps with the King’s guards now that the King finally understands this isn’t rumor, it’s infiltration. The Queen’s wing looks like a fortress. Two inner circle guards at the door, Melody’s clinic guards inside the hall, and the King himself planted near the frame like he’s daring death to try again. Liam is there too, eyes too bright, holding a cup he won’t let anyone else touch. When we approach, th

The canal district smells like damp stone and old secrets. Even in wolf form, even moving fast and hard through shadowed lanes, the city changes here, pess perfume, more rot and river silt, more iron in the air like the ground remembers every body it ever swallowed. Under the arches, the world is colder. Quieter. And watched. My paws skid slightly on slick stone as we slow near the drainage mouth. Lia signals with a sharp tilt of her head, shift here. We tuck into the shelter of a broken service alcove where the shadows gather thick. I shift first this time, bones snapping, breath punching out of me, then the others follow in tight sequence: Lia smooth and controlled, Nate with a visible hitch he tries to hide, and Adrian… Adrian shifts like he’s forcing his body to behave. He’s better, healing has knit him back together fast but he’s still bandaged under his clothes, still raw in places that don’t show. The moment he’s human again, he’s at my side. No hesitation. His hand f

Melody’s hands are stained with herbs and determination. The Queen lies propped against pillows, breathing rough but present, her chest rising without that terrifying stutter that used to steal the air mid inhale. Liam stays at her bedside like a guard dog, eyes too bright, refusing to let anyone else touch a cup, a cloth, a spoon. The King stands at the foot of the bed, silent, so controlled it looks like violence. When Melody finally steps back, she doesn’t smile. She just nods once. “Stable,” she says. “For now.” The King’s shoulders drop a fraction, and I see how close he was to breaking. His gaze cuts to me. Sharp, searching. To Adrian, bloodied sleeve, jaw clenched, too upright. “You’re both injured,” he says, like it’s an accusation to the universe. Adrian’s voice stays flat. “We’re alive.” The King’s jaw flexes. “That seems to be in question lately.” Lia appears in the doorway, expression composed and lethal. “The courier is contained.” The King’s eyes narr

The east wing corridor still reeks of oils and fear when Lia reads the note. “North gate,” she says, voice quiet and lethal. “Wolves massing outside the capital.” For a second, my mind refuses to compute it, because we’ve spent the last hours fighting inside walls, inside rooms, inside breaths. But Rowan Kane never fought only where you were looking. Nate swallows, face pale under the scrapes. “They were waiting for the Queen’s death signal. And now they’re moving anyway.” Logan’s eyes go hard. “Because he’s in cuffs.” Adrian’s hand closes around mine, tight enough to hurt, careful anyway. His gaze is fixed on the corridor like he can see the gate through stone. “They’re forcing an open attack,” he says, voice rough. “No more subtlety.” Lia’s eyes flick to the sealed hatch and the captured infiltrators being hauled away. “We just cut off his inner hand. This is his outer fist.” My wolf rises under my skin, pacing. Fight or run. Protect or hunt. It doesn’t care about polit

The run from the north wall to the dungeon feels like sprinting through a body that’s trying to hold itself together. Stone corridors. Torchlight. The sharp, metallic bite of silver in the air. Every corner guarded. Every door barred. The palace isn’t pretending anymore, it’s bracing for impact. Adrian stays beside me the whole way, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine every few steps like he’s checking I’m still real. He’s still healing, his scent says so, that faint edge of knitted flesh and stubborn pain, but his pace never falters. Neither does his focus. We hit the stairwell down and shift mid descent, bones snapping, fur bursting, the world sharpening into scent and vibration. The dungeon breathes cold up at us, damp stone and old fear and something new: oil, masked wolves, too clean, too deliberate. “They’re here,” I growl through clenched teeth. Adrian’s wolf answers with a low, vibrating rumble that makes the stairwell feel smaller. We take the last steps in a