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Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine novel Chapter 142

Summary for Chapter 142: Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine

Summary of Chapter 142 from Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine

Chapter 142 marks a crucial moment in Free Collection’s Werewolf novel, Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine. This chapter blends tension, emotion, and plot progression to deliver a memorable reading experience — one that keeps readers eagerly turning the page.

Chapter 142 It’s Your Fault (Start Of Book 2)

Chapter 142 It’s Your Fault (Start Of Book 2)

TESSA

“Come on, darling, let’s go to the car.”

My mother’s voice was warm, but I could hear the thread of worry beneath it. She always tried to hide it from me, but I could feel it. I could always feel it.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck before brushing my hair from my face. Her hands were warm despite the cold. “We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

I was a young girl with a weak heart. Everyone knew it. My heart wasn’t like other people’s–it tired too easily. My life was measured in hospital visits, check–ups, and pills that tasted like metal.

‘No acting up today,‘ I told myself. No fainting. No gasping for breath. No frightening my parents again.

Snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray sky as we walked to the car. The cold stung my cheeks, but the snow was pretty. Pure.

I didn’t know then how quickly it could turn red.

We drove toward the hospital, the heater humming softly, fogging the windows. My father was driving. My mother sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at me with that same quiet concern. I offered her a small smile, pretending I was fine. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Just then, a loud horn startled my senses. I covered my ears.

Bright lights followed. I closed my eyes.

The screech of the tires made me clutch

my

seatbelt.

It all happened too fast.

The world turned upside down. My seatbelt bit into my chest, my head slammed against the glass, and something wet slid down my temple.

Silence.

Then the noise. Too much noise.

Screams came from different directions. Someone was crying. Someone was shouting. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and the metallic tang of blood. My ears rang, but over the chaos, words began to form.

“She’s the reason why Beta died!”

I tried to focus, but my vision was blurry. Faces swam in and out. My father’s hand was pale and unmoving. My mother’s hair darkened with blood.

How… how did I not die? I was the one with the weak heart. I was the one who always needed saving. Why was I still here when others weren’t?

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Chapter 142 It’s Your Fault (Start Of Book 2)

It’s your fault!

The voice was sharp.

Zaria,

Even then, I knew the tone. I’d heard it before, though never like this.

One moment, I was in the snow. The next, I was standing in a kitchen, the walls glowing sickly yellow under the light. My hands were shaking.

Glass cups flew across the room. It shattered against the walls. Against the counter. Against the floor. The sound was deafening. The shards skittered across the tiles like sharp little insects, catching the light.

Blood. It was in my hands now. My arms. The floor. I didn’t know where it came from.

“Please–stop!” I begged, curling in on myself, arms raised to shield my head. My voice cracked, but I kept saying it anyway. “Please, Zaria!”

But she didn’t stop.

Her voice trembled, but her eyes burned.

“It’s your fault they’re dead.”

My body jerked upright. My heart pounded in my chest, faster and harder than it should, and I pressed a trembling hand against it, willing it to slow down.

Zaria’s.

most respected in the South. My parents were everything a We were born into a Beta family–one of the Beta could be: wise, loyal, and trusted by everyone around them.

Zaria was going to follow in their footsteps. She had been perfect for it. Even as a child, she carried herself like someone who already knew how to lead.

The day of the accident, I was nine. Zaria was eleven. Two years older, but it always felt like so much more. She could take care of herself. She could take care of others. She didn’t need protecting.

Our parents loved us both, but I knew they saw her as the glass child—not because she was fragile, but because she was rare. She was the one they could trust with the future.

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