All Chapters of One Night,One Claim: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The day of the full moon dawned with a bite in the air, the sky a vast, cloudless blue that promised the night would be bright, merciless, and wild.Elara spent the morning in the healing lodge with Liora, sorting bundles of dried herbs and filling small clay jars with salves for claw wounds, broken bones, and silver burns. Her hands moved steadily, but her body betrayed her at every turn skin flushed and hypersensitive, breasts aching with a deep, heavy fullness, nipples dark and leaking tiny drops that soaked through her soft cotton bra. Between her thighs, juices gathered constantly, dampening her panties until she had to excuse herself twice to change them.Liora noticed, of course. The older woman's sharp eyes missed nothing. "The moon rides you hard this cycle," she said gently, pressing a small blue vial into Elara's hand. "Lavender and valerian oil. Rub it on your inner thighs and lower back when the need becomes too much. It won't stop the craving, but it will take the sharp ed

The white feather dipped in blood had been the spark. Now the entire forest burned with war.Kai stood on the riverbank at midnight, massive black wolf with silver markings, eyes glowing as he watched Ronan’s main force mass on the opposite shore. Hundreds of wolves Silverfang regulars mixed with rogue mercenaries and two smaller allied packs shifted restlessly in the moonlight, fur rippling, fangs bared.Ronan himself stood at the front in human form, tall and blond, coat open to reveal scarred chest, ice blue eyes fixed on Kai across the water.The river roared between them deep, fast, warded with ancient runes that glowed faintly blue under the moon.Thorne flanked Kai’s left, gray wolf tense and ready. Seline’s black form ghosted on the right. Jaren and his young warriors held the bridges farther down, claws digging into earth.Ronan’s voice carried over the water, magically amplified.“Last chance, Blackthorn. Yield the female and the heir. End this without more blood.”Kai shifted to

The days after the battle carried the weight of survival a fragile, precious thing that tasted like blood and smoke.Blackthorn pack healed in layers. The great hall echoed with low conversations, the sharp scent of healing herbs, and the occasional groan of pain as wolves shifted to speed mending. Scouts returned from patrols with quiet reports no Silverfang movement yet, but tracks circling far out, testing the new wards. The Evergreen Coven’s vines had spread like living armor along the riverbank and northern ridge thick, thorny, pulsing with faint violet light that hummed when touched.Elara barely left the healing lodge. Liora had made the apprenticeship official with a simple ritual sage smoke curling around them, a braid of moonbloom and wolfbane tied around their wrists, a promise spoken under the stars. Elara’s days blurred into grinding roots, brewing tonics, stitching gashes, and soothing fevered wolves with cool cloths and quiet words.She discovered gifts she hadn’t known s

Silverfang CampThe high plateau had become a cauldron of dark energy.Thick black smoke curled from Varak’s ritual fires day and night, carrying the stench of burning bone and spilled blood. The ground around the warlock’s tents was scarred with circles of salt and blood, the soil cracked and barren where the magic had drunk deep. Wolves gave the area a wide berth, hackles raised even in human form.Ronan stood on the ridge at dusk, watching Varak complete the final binding.The warlock knelt in the center of the largest circle, a bowl of fresh hearts still steaming before him. His acolytes chanted in a tongue that hurt the ears, voices rising and falling like a heartbeat.Varak plunged his hands into the bowl, blood coating his arms to the elbows.The air shimmered.A wave of power rolled outward, knocking lesser wolves to their knees.Varak rose, eyes blazing crimson.“It is done,” he rasped, holding up the vial. Black liquid swirled inside, threaded with veins of red light. “One drop on t

The hours before the full assaultThe high plateau had become a place of fevered, desperate preparation a cauldron of blood and shadow that seemed to swallow light itself.Varak’s blood circle dominated the center of camp forty feet across now, etched deep into the stone with salt, ash, and the dried blood of twenty rogues and four captured Blackthorn scouts. The hearts had been placed at the cardinal points and the midpoints, still faintly steaming when the ritual began at dusk. The warlock’s acolytes eight silent figures in hooded black moved in perfect synchronization, their chants a low, unending drone that set every wolf’s nerves on edge, making the younger ones whimper in their sleep and the older ones grip their weapons tighter.Ronan stood at the edge of the circle, coat open to the biting wind, arms crossed, face carved from stone.His lieutenants gathered close Kael, his most trusted, scarred and steady with a limp from an old Blackthorn blade Tor, older and always cautious, br