Reclaiming My Broken Luna (Astrid and Killian) novel Chapter 436

Astrid’s POV

The journey to Ardan’s stronghold felt longer than it should have.

They forced me to walk.

Through the forest, over uneven terrain, my wrists bound in iron shackles laced with wolfsbane, burning against my skin with every step.

I didn’t fight them.

Not because I couldn’t.

But because every second I stalled, every moment I made them think I was truly broken, brought me closer to Elara.

That was all that mattered.

The rogues surrounded me in a loose formation, their laughter and whispered taunts filling the night air.

They didn’t see me as a threat.

Not anymore.

They saw a woman who had given up, a mother who had walked willingly into the lion’s den.

That was their first mistake.

Their second?

Letting me breathe.

As we moved deeper into rogue territory, my thoughts remained sharp, focused. I counted our path, memorized the turns, the landmarks, the scent markers.

If I survived this, if I found a way to get Elara out, I needed to know exactly how to escape.

If I didn't… then at least Killian would know where to find us.

A rough shove at my back nearly sent me stumbling.

I gritted my teeth, inhaling slowly through my nose as I forced my posture to remain steady.

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

A rogue to my right—the one with sunken eyes and a cruel smirk—chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. “What’s wrong, Almega? You’re awfully quiet for someone who walked right into her own death.”

I ignored him.

Another rogue snickered. “Maybe she finally realized what she’s done. Traded her own life for a brat that’s probably crying herself to sleep by now.”

My fists clenched.

“Or maybe she’s not crying,” a third rogue mused. “Maybe she’s learning that her mother isn’t coming for her. Maybe she’s realizing that—”

I moved before I could think.

My body twisted, the burning pain of the shackles be damned as I spun and slammed my heel into the rogue’s ribs.

A sickening crack echoed through the trees as he crumpled to the ground, gasping in pain.

Silence.

The other rogues halted, watching, stunned.

Even the one I had just struck wheezed in disbelief, clutching his ribs as he glared up at me.

I straightened, meeting each of their gazes one by one.

I was still Astrid.

Still a fighter.

Still a mother.

And I wouldn’t let them talk about my daughter like that.

“If you ever speak about my child again,” I said, my voice like ice, “I will break more than your ribs.”

Scarface let out a low whistle, stepping forward, clearly entertained. “Still got some bite left, huh?” He crouched beside the rogue on the ground, shaking his head in mock pity. “Damn, Garett. You just got your ass handed to you by a woman in chains.”

Garett—the one I’d kicked—growled, glaring up at me. “She won’t be so bold once Ardan gets his hands on her.”

I said nothing.

I didn’t need to.

Because I knew who I was facing.

And he knew who he had taken from me.

—––

The Rogue Stronghold

The air changed as we reached the rogue camp.

The scent of damp wood and blood was thick, mingling with the lingering burn of wolfsbane.

It wasn’t a camp—it was a fortress. Hidden deep within the mountains, built into the cliffs, it was protected from sight, from any outsiders.