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103. Waves of Fate
Last Updated:
2025-01-14 01:26:24
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[RUELLE]The coldness of the water is the first thing I feel, a biting chill that seeps into my bones, numbing every part of me. The weight of it presses down, making it impossible to tell which way is up. My limbs thrash, but the water drags me down, its icy grip tightening around my chest. For a long time, it’s just the water—an endless, suffocating struggle against the darkness.Then, a force stirs within me. Kara. My wolf. Her spirit rises, lending me the strength I desperately need. With her urging, I push through the heavy currents, my lungs burning as I break the surface.Gasping for air, I blink rapidly, my eyes stinging with salt. The world is chaos. Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the tumultuous waves, and the ship I was on—once a vessel of hope—tilts precariously, the Cursed Gulf hungrily pulling it under. The air vibrates with thunder, each clap shaking the very water around me.I struggle to stay afloat, coughing and spluttering, trying to make sense of the
Last Updated : 2025-01-14Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 105. The Ghosts of Thornhall
[ELARA]The castle of Thornhall never gets warm or less... quiet. No fire, no laughter, no passing seasons can melt the chill that creeps through its blackened stone halls. Outside, the winds howl and the trees shed their leaves, but inside, it remains an unchanging tomb, where the air feels too still, too aware.The blue roses that snake their way up the jagged walls bloom and wither in cycles, but their petals never touch the ground. They vanish midair, leaving nothing behind but the faint, cloying scent of decay. It’s a scent that lingers, even when there are no roses in sight.But that’s not the most sinister thing about this place. The true menace of Thornhall reveals itself in the night. That’s when the walls begin their unholy symphony, whispering in a language that is neither human nor beast. Serpentine—hisses and sighs that slither through the shadows. Clarice, the steward’s wife, swears they’re the voices of the dead, trapped here since their final, brutal breaths.And ther
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[ELARA]Thornhall has become a theater, and Magnus its star performer. To the lords who visit every month for his feasts, he’s the epitome of charm—a prince who smiles easily, dances with grace, and entertains his guests with music and laughter. It’s a clever mask, one I can’t decide if he wears for them or for himself.But when the wine runs dry, and the music fades to nothing, the whispers creep in again. War brews in Caelondor, the unrest growing louder with every passing week. The King’s cruelty has spilled past the castle walls, stoking rebellion among both peasants and nobles. And now, with Magnus in exile, his name has become a rallying cry.He must have been named heir. What else could ignite this fire? The King has no other children. The throne will fall to Magnus, whether he wants it or not.These thoughts circle endlessly, the rumors tightening around us like a noose. And though Magnus has yet to speak a single word of it to me, I know what he’s doing. The quiet conversatio
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[ELARA]The vampire arrives at dusk. And I’m the one sent down to the courtyard to welcome him. Yes, that’s right. A few hours ago, Alistair came to me and informed me that it would be my duty to do that. When I asked if Magnus would be present too, he just shrugged—something I’ve never seen him do. Another meeting with a lord then, one of scheming and treachery. Or maybe he's just too afraid to get close. He doesn't trust himself—his control. Creed always wins, always takes over. That's the kind of wolf he is—arrogant, dominant, deadly. And Lila? She's a temptress, built to break him apart piece by piece, unraveling him until he's raw. She'll make sure Creed drives Magnus to the edge of his mind, until the Burn is unbearable. If we so much as brush against each other... it'll end in fucking disaster. The kind where sweat slicks bare skin, bodies tangled, mouths bruising—hot, messy, inevitable.And my skin itches to be touched. I can barely hold myself back from caressing my arms. T
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[ELARA]I tug at the loose pearl string around my neck, playing with a single pearl absentmindedly between my fingers as Lady Brook talks. She’s lounging on the chaise, feasting on a painted bowl of black grapes. I think she might be speaking about tomorrow’s gathering, or of the newest fashion in Qaiven, or of the honey wine gifted by Lord Kilmartin. Her words don’t reach me because I already have a lot on my mind. A longing sigh leaves my lip as I adjust the soft feather pillow under my head and roll over on the bed. My mother’s bright eyes stare back at me from the portrait. They’re so green, so beautiful. Her smile is gentle, as if telling me that everything will be alright. And that I will feel happy again. Magnus only saw the portrait once, maybe only for a couple of seconds, and yet he was able to replicate it so well. In fact, he has done more justice to her features than the original painter from my pack. Now it is framed and hung on the painted stone wall in my chamber. I
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[ELARA]On any other night, I would have been cautious, wary of the vampire’s seductive pull, the way he ensnares his prey, just as mentioned in the passage. But tonight, the Burn eclipses reason, and every brush of Valen’s touch sets me alight, leaving me aching, craving.And he looks prepared to give me all I demand and more. Valen doesn’t need further assurance. His lips drag slowly from the curve of my shoulder, up my neck, to finally halt at my earlobe, nibbling it gently. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the sensation consumes me completely. I’m gasping, my breath shaky as I struggle to find something to do with my own hands, while his left arm snakes around the front of my waist, pressing my back against his hard body. The sound of his breath in my ear is maddening. It’s fast, irregular. A lot more intense than what breathing should sound like. He pauses from my ear, returning to press kisses to my shoulder only to push the sleeve of my shift down my arm with his teeth.
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[ELARA]Valen moves easily, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he is left in little more than a linen shirt, loose at the collar, and dark trousers that sit low on his hips. The candlelight casts long shadows over the ridges of his body, tracing over sharp angles and defined muscle, a reminder of what he is—what he can do—something I only had a glimpse of minutes ago. I watch, trying not to. Trying not to compare. And yet, I cannot stop myself from thinking of another man in another bed.Back in Caelondor, when Magnus cared, our chambers had been connected by a hidden passageway. I would slip through in the dead of night, and he would let me in without a word. He would wait for me to come. It was the place where I felt most safe. I would curl into the warmth of him, listening to his steady breaths. In those moments, I could almost pretend that our marriage was more than duty.I remember the way he would shed his royal armor piece by piece, leaving himself bare in ways he n
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[ELARA]I find myself on the shore of the Cursed Gulf yet again. The sky above me is the colour of flames—golden, orange, streaks of yellow and black, the world tilted on its axis in my perspective. My feet are hidden beneath the sand, but I don’t panic. Yet, I still wonder. Why am I back here again? My dreams haven’t been plagued by the Soulkeeper in months. Not since Valen taught me how to stop acknowledging its presence. I know I didn’t sleep with poison beneath my pillow last night.And I still am here, trapped in this nightmare. This is not real, I tell myself, willingly for this to fade, for me to wake. But it doesn’t happen. I suppose I will have to endure. And so I do. The boiling water of the sea lashes on the shore with each wave until it freezes, a cold mist enveloping me. This time when the Soulkeeper comes on his cog, his face isn’t hidden. No, the hood is drawn back, and staring right into my soul is the one red eye of Valen Blackbane. And despite everything I know a
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Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 123. The Winter Bard
[ELARA]The bard is not the same man today.Had no one told me it was him—and had I not watched him so closely the night before—I might’ve sworn it was someone else entirely.I suppose madness does that. Warps a person from the inside out. Just last night, he was dressed in fine silks, the very picture of elegance and confidence—charming enough to rival Magnus at his most dazzling. Now? He’s tied to a pillar in Thornhall’s courtyard like a spectacle.He thrashes wildly, laughter cracking through the air in bursts, each followed by guttural cries that scrape the throat raw. But it’s not the noise that sends a chill down my spine.It’s the pearls.A strand of them, strung neatly around his neck—eerily similar to the one I shattered. The one Valen claimed belonged to Raelynn.I take an instinctive step back.“Who painted his lips?” Lady Brook’s voice comes from beside me, thin and sharp. Her hand clutches her throat as if she’s afraid the color might stain her own skin. Her hair, usually
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 122. Tainted
[ELARA]“Magnus,” I call out. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t even pause. The door slams shut behind him, and something inside me breaks. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the edge of the bed, fingers twisting into the fabric of my robe like it can change reality. My lungs can’t find air. It’s like they’re stitched shut.‘You’re panicking,’ Lila says. ‘You must breathe.’But I can’t. I can’t.My hands fly to my throat, clawing at the skin like I can scrub the shame away. My nails scrape across Valen’s bite marks, and the moment my fingers graze them, guilt sinks in like a slow-moving poison.What have I done?He wasn’t lying.I saw it in his golden eyes—saw it when the shield fell between us, when truth flooded that brief second of silence. Magnus hadn’t been with anyone. Not in these long, aching months.Not once.But I had believed wrongly.And it led me to—Lila speaks again, ‘It wasn’t just that. You know it wasn’t.’I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head, biting down
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 121. The Mate I Cannot Claim
[MAGNUS]Setting her free—as she says it—is not going to end my misery. If anything, it’ll make me even more miserable. I don’t hate Elara. I could never hate her. The day I start hating her is the day I lose all control over myself. And the day I lose all control of myself is the day I lose her. So I can’t accept her as my mate. I can't get through the ritual and let the bond strengthen. I can’t mark her, can’t make her mine, not until I have eradicated all of my enemies. Until Eldric lies cold in his grave. One more loss… and there will be no going back. Creed’s agony will consume me, break my mind until I’m left as nothing but a hollow shell. Elara stands there looking utterly broken, crying as if there’s no strength left in her. And it is all my fault. Whatever anger I feel, the urge to burn the world to the ground, the desire to see Valen crushed to a pulp—I push it all aside. Lock it inside a part of my mind where I stash all of my irrational thoughts. Valen fed on her, I
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 120. His Wife
[ELARA]Magnus barges in, cutting through the space with quick strides and startling Edith. “Leave,” he tells Edith, not even sparing her a glance. That single word is enough to tell me that he has come here with boiling blood. I don’t even need to consider the fury in his golden eyes. Edith swallows hard, and scurries off but not before tossing me a fleeting look. There’s prayer in her eyes. She is unaware that nothing can save me from Magnus’ wrath. For a moment, silence lingers—a kind where you can hear the sounds of our hearts racing. Stupidly, I stare at Magnus’ face too long, and my chest tightens with an odd feeling. Something that feels a lot like longing. ‘Tread carefully,’ Lila warns. “So you’ve finally come,” I say, nonchalantly running my fingers through my hair as I turn my back on him and walk to the mirror. “You deceived me into thinking you had no idea where my chamber was.”How much does he know? I wonder as I sit down on the bench, staring at my reflection. He’s
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 119. The Vampire's Offer
[ELARA]I stare at the ceiling, breathing a little too loud. I’m aware of the sweat covering my naked body, of the puncture wounds on my neck that are still blazing, eliciting waves of pleasure although Valen is no longer feeding on me. The desire to curl up and close my eyes and shut myself from the world feels too overwhelming. What have I done?A slow breath drifts against my shoulder.I go still.He’s awake.Heat creeps up my neck, shame curling in my stomach. I don’t dare look at him. If I do, I’ll see it—the smug amusement in his expression, the satisfaction, the knowing.I close my eyes, as if I can will myself back into ignorance. As if I can pretend I didn’t just let Valen—the last person I should have touched—consume me whole.“You're thinking too much,” his voice breaks the silence. It’s unbothered. I flinch.He chuckles. “I can hear it, you know. That frantic little heartbeat of yours.”My fingers curl into the sheets, my breath catching. “Go away,” I murmur.Valen shif
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 118. Blood and Desire
[ELARA]Something tells me Valen knows I’m here, and that I’m watching him, but doesn’t stop. “What do you think you are doing?” I hiss at him when I finally find my voice again, daring myself to walk closer. He glances at me leisurely, licking his bloodied lips as he lifts his head from her neck. “I was hungry,” he says with a shrug, and casts Tara aside like a doll. She leans against the wall, the euphoric smile on her face still lingering. “You look… displeased.”I hesitate. I did not think I would Tara here. I really believed she was with Magnus. “She’s our guest,” I whisper, my fingers twitching to reach her, to check if she’s okay—but I don’t. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to touch her. Not when she looks like she’s floating in some distant bliss. “You can’t harm her.”Valen cocks his head slightly, amused. “Harm?” He gestures lazily at Tara’s boneless form. “Does she look harmed to you?”I scoff. “You—” I swallow, forcing air into my lungs. “You drank her blood.”He smirks,
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 117. The Stable boy
[ELARA]I notice, somewhere between the refilled goblets and the swelling melody of the Bard’s latest song, that Magnus is gone. And Alistair with him. Not that I was informed about it. The feast carries on without them. The Bard, ever the showman, soaks in the attention, strumming his lute with a smirk that suggests he’s well aware of the effect he has on the court. Thornhall has something new to play with tonight. The dancers sit sulking in a corner, forgotten. The musicians find themselves disagreeing with the songs. “I will bed this man tonight,” Lady Brook announces, her words thick with drink as she leans forward, nearly spilling from her seat.I arch a brow. “The Bard?”“Who else?” she breathes, eyes heavy-lidded. “Look at him. That mouth was made for more than singing.”“That’s ambitious.” I huff a quiet laugh, lifting my goblet to my lips. “Don’t let Edith know.”“If I had a mother like that—” she begins with a lazy grin, then downs the rest of her wine. “What do you think
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 116. Burning for the Enemy
[ELARA]“Did you enjoy the ballad, Your Highness?” Valen’s teasing voice curls around me, his amusement barely concealed. He rises from his seat with effortless grace, extending his hand as if he knew—knew—I would come to him. “I worked with the man himself to craft it.”Every movement in the hall slows. A royal woman should not do this. A wife should not do this. The weight of a hundred eyes presses upon me, mouths whispering, hands tightening around goblets—a scandal. But let them watch. Let them see what their beloved prince has wrought. Let them murmur about the disgrace of Magnus’ mate, the woman who was meant to stand at his side.I take Valen’s hand. His skin is cooler than Magnus’, his grip lighter, but no less commanding.“Do not speak,” I say, my voice a blade, and he only grins.“Remember when I told you last night that when you command me, you’re even—”I cut him off. “Will you dance with me or not?” My words are steel-wrapped velvet, laced with something desperate and rec
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 115. A Fool for the Last Time
[ELARA]I want to leave. No—storm off. Let every guest see, let them know I do not stand by their beloved Prince, their cold and callous Magnus. Let them whisper about the insult, the blatant disrespect. I would not care. I want them to see. I want him to see.How dare he? How dare he shatter my heart so effortlessly, as if it were made of glass? If this is his response—if this is how he welcomes another into his arms so easily, so publicly—then what has he done in the quiet of the past five months? How many nights has he spent like this, without hesitation, without guilt?I knew Talisa—Morgana… kept him company, but I thought… no more. Not since he learned what we are to each other. Not since he learned I am his mate. But now my heart burns, set upon a spit, roasting in the heat of my own foolishness.I told myself he wouldn’t. That he couldn’t. But I see now—I was wrong. I was so wrong.And I kept Valen away because it was him I thought of. Even when Valen’s hands traced my skin, I
