Bound By Moonlight to My Mates (by Sofange Daye) novel Chapter 89

Chapter 89

Charlotte

The world is quieter now.

Months have passed since the flames consumed the temple, since the curse lifted and the sickness broke. Blackthorn has begun to breathe again. Just like the other packs have. Laughter has returned to the courtyards, the scent of roasted bread and blooming lavender fills the air. The dead have been mourned. The living are rebuilding.

I am still looked at strangely, but the pack members no longer fear me. Children whisper about a silver wolf as they skitter past and their parents offer me apologetic sighs. This isn’t what I had planned for my life, but I don’t think I would change anything.

Pausing, I shake my head. That is a lie. I would bring Theo back to me if I could. Even though his soul is at rest, I still mourn for him. Most nights, I dream about driving the dagger into his chest. Screams rip from my chest, tearing me awake. Whichever mate is at my side for the night, draws me into their arms, trying to soothe the ache that can’t be healed.

I walk the garden paths barefoot, dew clinging to my ankles, sunlight soft on my skin. The roses I planted after everything ended have finally taken root, silver–white blossoms that shimmer faintly under the light. Ronan says they remind him of me. Jake says they look like moonlight made tangible. Damon just says he prefers the thorns.

I smile at the thought.

They’re all near, I can feel them, Ronan’s steady presence in the training yard, barking orders at his warriors; Jake’s laughter echoing through the treeline where he’s teaching young wolves to control their shift; Damon’s heartbeat steady in the house behind me as he works on his next impossible project, peace treaties between packs that once would have killed each other on sight.

They are never far from me, and I like that. I may have ended the curse but I don’t feel strong. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall, for the next disaster to come and claim me. Surely, it wasn’t that easy.

A group of children rush by me, bowing their heads in my direction before they disappear behind a hedge. A she–wolf comes racing behind them, her face stuck in a state of panic. Her eyes widen when she sees me, but she is too nervous to speak.

“They went that way,” I smile pointing in the direction of the hedge.

“Thank you, Luna,” she mutters awkwardly before rushing in their direction.

As she rounds the corner, I hear them squeal, and the sound of their feet rushing in another direction. I smile, because it all feels so normal. The Blackthorn Pack is alive again. And for the first time in too many lifetimes,

so am I.

Even though Tala is gone from my mind, her memories remain. They are a cold reminder of what I had to sacrifice. What everyone had to sacrifice. I write them down. Making sure not to leave out a single detail, so

hopefully, when I am gone, others will know what was given in the name of love.

I pause by the fountain, fingertips brushing the cool stone. The water ripples, catching my reflection, the woman with the silver eyes and faint crescent mark at her throat, the mark of a wolf reborn. My new wolf, Cricket, rests quietly within me. She is fierce, unbroken, but not burdened by the curse Tala carried. She does not burn. She heals.

The breeze carries the faint scent of pine and rain. I close my eyes and listen, to birds, to laughter, to peace. And then, to something else.

A whisper.

At first I think it’s the wind, curling through the trees. But then the voice becomes clearer, layered, many voices, overlapping and echoing like a chorus carried across time.

“Find us, Sister.”

I straighten, pulse kicking hard against my throat.

“Find us, Silver One.”

Cricket stirs, uneasy. ‘Did you hear that?‘ I ask her.

Her response is a low growl. ‘Yes.‘

“You are the only one who can save us.”

The words strike deep, vibrating through bone and blood. My breath catches. Around me, the garden stills, the air thickens, and for a moment, the light dims. The roses tremble.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

No answer. Just the fading echo of that ancient plea, leaving a chill that crawls across my skin.

A shadow falls over me, and I turn to see Ronan approaching, worry etched in his features. “Charlotte?” he says softly. “You look pale.”

I force a smile, though my heart is still racing. “Just… thinking.”

He studies me for a long moment, as if he can sense the truth humming beneath my words. Then he reaches out, brushing his thumb over the crescent at my throat, the mark that still glows faintly when the moon rises.

“What are you thinking about?” He urges me to continue.

I raise my chin. “What if there are others we haven’t saved?”

He cocks his head to the side, not taking his eyes off me. “You’ve done enough saving for one lifetime,” he

murmurs.

Maybe.

But as he draws me close, as the warmth of his arms and the sound of his heartbeat pull me back to earth, 1 can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t over.

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