Bound By Moonlight to My Mates (by Sofange Daye) novel Chapter 78

Theo

Charlotte clings to me as we move through space. But it is not the touch of a lover. No, she is afraid that if she lets go, she will fall into the nothingness that expands below us. Little does she know that I would never let her fall. I have loved her through many lifetimes, and I do not plan on stopping now.

The ground of the apartment parking lot forms under our feet. It is damp and dark, reeking of rain, but all I can smell is her. The faint sweetness of her skin, the lingering echo of what we just shared, now soured by fear. She keeps her gaze fixed ahead, jaw tight, shoulders trembling beneath my touch.

I shouldn’t have brought her there. I knew what it would awaken, but I couldn’t keep her from the truth any longer, not when Tala was doing her best to shield her from the truth.

When I let her go, she finally speaks. Her voice is barely a whisper. “You can’t save me from this.”

“I can try,” I answer, but she doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t believe me.

Jake and Damon’s scents drift through the cars before we see them. Their wolves are on edge, angry that I took her from them. I can’t say that I blame them; I would be pissed, too. Damon catches sight of her first, relief flashing across his face before it twists into something darker when he spots me.

Jake steps forward, his claws inching from the tips of his fingers. “What the hell did you do?”

Charlotte beats me to it. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just take me inside.”

I want to argue, to tell them I didn’t hurt her, that I never would. But the look she gives me stops me cold. It’s not anger, not even fear. It’s heartbreak, and it kills me more than any curse ever could.

I nod once, stepping back. “She’s safe,” I say quietly. “For now.”

Jake’s gaze narrows. “And you?”

“I have something to finish.”

Damon scoffs. “Like hell. You show up here, drag her into gods–know–what, and now you’re…”

Charlotte cuts him off. “Let him go.” Her voice is quiet, but it’s enough. Both men turn to her, startled. She doesn’t look at me as she adds, “He’s going to bring Ronan home.”

“Stay with them,” I say instead. “Don’t leave the apartment until I come back.”

Her lips part, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. I turn, vanishing into the shadows before I can change my mind.

The journey to Blackthorn territory takes less than an hour in my true form. I move through the trees like smoke, following the faint pull of the bond, the thread of power that connects me to what’s left of the pack’s

bloodline. The pack that was once mine.

But the moment I reach the border, the air changes.

It’s thick. Heavy. Wrong.

The stench of decay hits me first: burnt wolfsbane, rot, and blood. A low growl rumbles in my chest. I shift back, landing hard on human feet, silver eyes cutting through the mist.

That’s when I hear it. The sound of snarls breaking through the quiet. I pause to listen to the fight, trying to distinguish what is going on. Then, I hear him.

Ronan.

He’s surrounded.

I sprint toward the sound, branches whipping at my arms as I break through the clearing. The sight stops me cold.

Five of them. Maybe warriors, maybe rogues. It doesn’t matter because the sickness clings to their bodies. Their skin is pale, eyes rimmed with black veins. They move like feral things, teeth snapping as they lunge at him.

Ronan’s on his knees, blood streaking his neck and chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But he’s still fighting, barehanded, teeth bared in defiance.

He’s dying, but gods, he’s not done yet.

I move before I think. My teeth flash in the dim light, severing one warrior’s throat. Another lunges; I spin, catch him by the jaw, and snap his neck clean. The rest turn on me, but they are no match for the powers the Demon God bestowed on me.

Ronan glances up, eyes wide. “Theo?”

“Stay down.”

He doesn’t listen, of course. He never does.

One of the infected wolves barrels toward him, and he catches the man’s arm, using the momentum to drive

a dagger into his gut. They collapse together, a blur of snarls and blood and rage.

By the time it’s over, the clearing is silent.

I stand in the middle of it, chest heaving, my blade dripping red. The bodies lie in twisted heaps, the earth beneath them already blackening from the poison in their veins.

Ronan collapses beside a fallen tree, his breathing shallow.

I kneel beside him, pressing two fingers to his pulse. “You’re lucky I found you.”

He laughs weakly, the sound cracking in his throat. “You’re late.”

“Not late enough.” I tear a strip from my sleeve, pressing it against a wound on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t even be alive.”

“Trust me,” he mutters, “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” His gaze flicks up to me. “Charlotte?”

“She’s safe.” I hesitate. “For now.”

His jaw tightens. “For now isn’t good enough.”

“She’s not ready to see you,” I admit quietly. “Not yet. Samson has the box.”

Ronan’s expression darkens. “Then we go after him.”

I shake my head. “You can barely stand.”

He tries anyway, forcing himself upright with a growl. “I’m not letting him kill her.”

There’s something different about him, something older. His eyes burn with the same desperate determination I’ve seen before, lifetimes ago.

I know that fire. I’ve felt it myself.

Fucking Conan.

Before I can speak, he sways. I catch him before he hits the ground, lowering him gently.

“Easy.”

He groans. “You think this’ll stop me?”

“No.” I wipe the blood from his chin. “But it’ll kill you if you don’t rest.”

He laughs again, breathless. “You’re one to talk.”

I glance around the clearing. “Where’s the box?”

Ronan’s silence tells me everything I need to know.

“Gone,” I say.

He nods once. “They took it. Samson’s men.”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify