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Chapter 92: The Load Is Under Review
Fecha de publicación:
2026-10-02 23:28:15
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Betrayed By My Mate, Now Claimed By The Lycan King Chapter 92: The Load Is Under Review
The first crack did not arrive as a speech. It arrived as dust on the southern approach and the sound of a wagon that should not have been moving. Josefine was still on the platform when the lookout called it. A single cart, light load, Kronvik trace-markers on the side, coming hard up the fork road as if the driver believed speed could substitute for permission. Behind it, farther back on the ridge line, Asmark's green banners shifted. Not a charge. A closing of distance. The kind of movement made by people who had decided the afternoon had lasted long enough. "Who authorized that cart?" Josefine snapped. No one answered fast enough. I was already at the rail with Sunna. Emil pushed himself upright against the wall, face drawn, eyes sharp despite the wound. The post's gates were still barred. That should have made the cart someone else's problem until it reached the checkpoint. It did not feel like someone else's problem. The driver saw the closed palisade and tried to
Betrayed By My Mate, Now Claimed By The Lycan King Chapter 91: You're The Claimed Mate
"How close?" I asked. The runner glanced at Josefine, then answered anyway. "Close enough that if they push to the fork before night, this post becomes a conversation instead of a checkpoint." Sunna's hand rested near her knife without drawing it. Emil looked like a man recalculating every route he had ever trusted. Josefine stared down at the burned Kronvik board, then at me. "You want the ten days held," she said. "Asmark wants the routes while you're busy surviving. My Jarl wants grain moving to buyers who can still protect a wagon. You can see how these wants do not sit quietly beside each other." "Then give me the hearing before Asmark turns a review into a takeover," I said. "Ironfang still stands. The occupation outside our walls is not the same thing as Ironfang being finished. If your Jarl lets Asmark buy the southern roads with fear, he won't get those roads back cleanly when the fear moves on." Josefine held my gaze for a long breath. "There's a relay rider
Betrayed By My Mate, Now Claimed By The Lycan King Chapter 90: Josefine Is Here
We rode before the sky finished deciding what color it wanted to be. Four horses. Light packs. The Kronvik board wrapped tight against Sunna's back. Emil Ruud on a fresh mount he clearly hated needing, jaw set against the pull of the wound under his sleeve. Two scouts who knew how to keep their mouths shut and their eyes open. No banners. No speeches. Just the southern service track and the knowledge that every open stretch of ground between us and the tree line was a place Jakob's people could still decide to get interested. Leaving the keep did not feel like freedom. It felt like stepping off a ledge and trusting the air to hold. The first hours were quiet in the way that makes your shoulders stay tight. We avoided the main cut where the caravan had burned. Sunna took us wider, through low scrub and the broken stone lines that old patrols still used when they did not want to be counted. Once we heard riders far to the east — too many for comfort, too far to identify
Betrayed By My Mate, Now Claimed By The Lycan King Chapter 89: Come Back
We rode out under a sky already leaning toward evening. The southern approach was not clean. It never had been during the occupation. We used the lower service track and the cover of the broken stone lines that ran toward the river fork, moving fast and quiet. Sunna took the lead. Emil, pale but steady, marked the turns. The two additional scouts watched the flanks. I kept my attention split between the path and the distant sense of the keep behind us — not the fragment, not the old tunnels, just the simple weight of leaving the walls while the walls still held enemies on their outer stones. The cut announced itself with the smell of wet ash. What remained of the caravan sat in a blackened scatter across the narrow road. Two wagons were skeletons. The third had been tipped and burned from the inside. Grain that had not been carried off was a spoiled dark mess in the mud. The Kronvik marking on the lead board had been left deliberately clear of the worst charring, pale wood agains
Betrayed By My Mate, Now Claimed By The Lycan King Chapter 88: Two Drivers Dead
The messenger came in at dusk with blood on his sleeve and a horse that looked ready to drop. He was one of ours — a southern scout named Emil Ruud, lean and wind-burned, the kind of man Matthías trusted with routes that did not forgive mistakes. The guards at the secondary access nearly put an arrow in him before he got the recognition signal out. By the time they brought him into the inner hall, he was holding his left arm stiffly against his ribs and the report was already written on his face. Gunnar did not make him wait for privacy. “Talk.” Emil’s voice was rough from hard riding. “Caravan on the lower southern road. Three wagons of grain and dried stores meant for the intermediate hold at the bend. Kronvik markings on the lead wagon. They never reached the hold. Hit at the narrow cut before the river fork. I counted at least eight attackers. Fast. Organized. Not rabble.” Matthías’s expression went flat. “Casualties?” “Two drivers dead. One guard missing. The rest scattere
Betrayed By My Mate, Now Claimed By The Lycan King Chapter 87: Kronvik Is The First
I slid my hands up to the sides of his neck and held him there. "Then we stop pretending clean is available," I said. "We do it anyway." His mouth found mine. There was no desperation in it this time. No post-battle crash. It was slower, deeper, and more dangerous for that — the kind of kiss that belonged to people who had survived enough to understand what they were risking by wanting each other in the middle of a keep that still might fall. I answered it with the same deliberateness. When his hands moved under my shirt, mapping scale and scar and the places that still ached, the bond carried every point of contact in imperfect echoes that made the heat build differently than it used to. We undressed each other without urgency and without distance. When he lifted me onto the bed, I pulled him down with me and the rest of the world narrowed to breath and skin and the uneven rhythm of a connection that still hurt when it carried too much and still refused to let go. He entered
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