Bound By Moonlight to My Mates (by Sofange Daye) novel Chapter 110

Chapter 110

Seren

The road inland cuts through wild country. It is only untamed fields and twisted roots reclaiming what the zealots burned centuries ago. The modern cities lie ahead, but I have no desire to visit them and the false gods they worship there.

The air is filled with the mist that comes before a storm, but the clouds never let the rain fall. It has been that way since the morning the wraiths appeared.

River walks beside me, quiet as always. His stride is even and measured. Every once in a while, he glances toward the distant mountains, as if expecting something to come from them. With each step he takes, my mistrust of him grows deeper.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just listening.”

“To what?”

“The wind. It carries warnings sometimes.”

I snort. “You sound like one of us.”

He gives me a look that chills my bones. “Maybe that’s where I learned it from.”

We reach a narrow valley by late afternoon. The air here is heavier and damp. Somewhere in the distance, a river splits into several small streams that thread through the grass. The water’s sound has always calmed me, but not today. Because it’s not the water I hear now. It’s chanting.

Low. Rhythmic. Familiar.

“Zealots,” I whisper.

River’s expression hardens. “How many?”

“Too many.”

I motion for him to follow me into the brush. We crawl through the undergrowth until we can see them clearly. A small group of a dozen soldiers, and two priests in white robes marked with the sigil of the Binding Chalice.

My stomach twists. That same symbol was carved into the zealot temple I destroyed a lifetime ago.

They’re herding prisoners, young men and women bound with silver cuffs, their faces streaked with soot.

Innocents.

The priests are preparing something at the center of the clearing. The air shimmers with heat, even though the day is cool.

“They’re performing a ritual,” I say.

“For what?”

“Does it matter?” My voice sharpens. “They’re using people to do it.”

River grabs my wrist before I can stand. “Seren, wait…”

I yank my arm free. “You don’t get to tell me when to fight.”

“Listen to me. You don’t know what they’re calling down.”

“I don’t care.”

I step into the open before he can stop me. The moment my boots hit the dirt, the chanting falters. All eyes turn toward me.

One of the priests snarls, “The Storm Witch.”

“Always flattering,” I say, raising my hands. “You’re trespassing.”

The priest lifts a staff, the tip glowing red. “Blasphemer. The sea will take you.”

I smile. “It already has.”

The storm breaks with my power.

Wind screams through the valley, flattening the grass. The priests shout prayers, but their words are drowned by the roar of the rising gale. Clouds roll in from nowhere, black and fast, swirling around the clearing.

The air tastes like electricity.

I draw water from the streams, from the very air itself, weaving it into blades and currents. The zealots charge, silver weapons flashing. I cut them down with the tide.

But something’s wrong.

The power isn’t stopping. It’s building faster than I can control it. Like it is feeding itself, spinning faster, louder, wilder.

River calls my name, but I can barely hear him over the thunder. The wind lashes around me, tearing up earth and stone. The water glows, silver–white.

And beneath it all, I feel him.

River’s energy threads through mine, bright and alien. It feels like the sea recognizing itself, like the tide finding its moon. His heartbeat merges with mine. My power surges in response.

The storm obeys no command now. It’s alive.

“Seren!” River’s voice cuts through the chaos. “You have to stop!”

“I can’t!”

The clouds pulse with light. The ground shakes. Lightning tears across the sky, striking too close. The cars in the clearing explode, and the zealots‘ screams are lost to the roar.

River runs toward me through the maelstrom, shielded by a wall of wind he shouldn’t be able to control. He reaches me, grabs my shoulders.

“Look at me!”

His eyes are silver again, glowing with promise. The moment our gazes lock, the storm shudders and then collapses.

Rain falls all at once, drenching the valley in silence.

I’m shaking, breathless. The air smells of ozone and burnt metal. Around us, the zealots‘ camp is in ruins. The captives huddle together, alive but terrified.

River’s still holding me, his palms warm against my skin. “You’re all right.”

I shove him away. “What did you do to me?”

He blinks. “I did nothing. I was trying to stop you.”

“You didn’t stop me. You amplified me.”

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