Chapter 8 The Mark of the Beast

The silence of the Sanctuary was shattered not by a sound, but by a sudden, violent vibration in the air. Scarlett snapped her eyes open, her hand instinctively flying to the jade brush at her waist. Beside her on the narrow bed, Caleb was still locked in a fitful sleep, his forehead slick with cold sweat as the remnants of the Spirit-Anchoring Seal hummed against his spine.

The yellowed talismans on the walls began to curl and blacken, the protective ink dissolving into ash.

"Julian," Scarlett hissed, her blood running cold.

Her brother hadn't just found them; he was actively dissolving the Sanctuary’s ancient wards with a Void-Curse. She could smell the ozone and the bitter tang of his specialized silver-infused magic seeping through the vents. Julian Thorne didn't care about the Sanctuary’s rules; he was a man who burned the forest to find a single rabbit.

Caleb bolted upright, a low growl tearing through the quiet room. His golden eyes were wide and wild, the silver-white wolf manifest in the flickering shadows behind him. "They are here," he rasped, his claws extending until they tore through the silk bedsheets. "The scent of the man from the estate... it is suffocating."

"We can't fight our way out, Caleb," Scarlett said, her mind racing through her limited repertoire of forbidden arts. Julian had brought a full tactical squad of Thorne Enforcers, all armed with silver-laced weaponry. "If you reveal your full power now, the curse will shatter your mind before you can kill even half of them."

"Then what would you have me do, little witch?" Caleb turned to her, his gaze intense and desperate. "I will not return to the dark. I would rather die under the moon than be a slave again."

Scarlett looked at the darkening talismans. There was only one way to hide a Lycan King’s presence from a high-level seeker like Julian: a Soul-Bonding Mark. In the Lycan world, a marked mate’s scent could mask the Alpha’s power, effectively "cloaking" him under her lesser aura. But it was a permanent, intimate act—one that the original Scarlett had used to destroy him.

"I have to mark you," Scarlett whispered, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "Not the way she would have. A temporary seal... a fake mark. It will hide your Kingly aura under my human scent. Julian won't be able to track your specific energy."

Caleb froze, his golden eyes searching hers. "A mark? You would claim a monster as your own?"

"It’s the only way we both walk out of here," she urged, the door to the suite beginning to groan under the pressure of the Void-Curse.

Caleb didn't hesitate. He grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He was a pillar of heat and raw, terrifying strength. "Do it. If I am to be marked, let it be by your hand."

Scarlett didn't use a brush this time. She bit her own lip until it bled, the crimson liquid rich with her spiritual essence. She leaned in, her breath hitching as she pressed her lips against the crook of Caleb’s neck, right over the pulsing vein where the Lycan spirit resided.

As she began to "write" the seal with her mouth, she felt Caleb’s body shudder. It wasn't just a physical touch; it was a soul-to-soul collision. The Eastern magic of her blood met the Western ferocity of his wolf, creating a blinding flash of white light in her mind. For a split second, she didn't just see the King; she felt him—the centuries of loneliness, the pride, and the sudden, overwhelming obsession he felt for the woman currently "marking" him.

Caleb let out a choked sound, his hands digging into her hips. His wolf let out a triumphant howl in the depths of his soul, a sound of absolute claiming.

The door exploded inward.

Julian Thorne stepped into the room, his silver-tipped cane glowing with a malevolent violet light. Behind him, half a dozen Enforcers raised their rifles. Julian scanned the room, his eyes landing on the two of them tangled on the bed. He sniffed the air, his lip curling in disgust.

All he could smell was Scarlett. Her blood, her magic, her scent—it was everywhere, wrapped around Caleb like a suffocating shroud. The distinct, regal scent of the Northern Lycan King was gone, replaced by the mundane, messy aura of a human woman’s mate.

"Disgusting," Julian spat, lowering his cane. "I thought you were harboring a King, Scarlett. I didn't realize you were simply playing house with a common stray. The scent on him is... pathetic."

"He’s mine, Julian," Scarlett said, her voice steady as she kept her face buried in Caleb’s neck to hide her trembling. "And I don't share my toys. Now get out of my room before I report this violation to the High Council."

Julian stared at them for a long, agonizing minute. He knew his sister was hiding something, but the "Mark" was undeniable. To the Lycan world, a marked man was a finished man—a submissive animal tied to a master. He couldn't imagine the proud Caleb Blackwood ever submitting to such a thing.

"Keep your stray," Julian finally sneered, turning on his heel. "But remember, Scarlett—a marked dog is still a dog. And eventually, they all have to be put down."

As the Thorne Enforcers retreated and the Sanctuary’s silence returned, Scarlett tried to pull away. But Caleb didn't let go. His grip was like iron, and when he pulled back to look at her, his golden eyes were no longer hazy with amnesia. They were clear, sharp, and terrifyingly focused.

"The mark..." he whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You said it was fake, little witch."

"It is," Scarlett said, her voice cracking. "It will fade in a week."

Caleb leaned down, his lips brushing the blood he had left on her mouth. "My wolf doesn't think so. He says that once a witch draws blood on a King, the debt is only paid in a lifetime."

Scarlett looked into his eyes and realized her "Exit Strategy" hadn't just failed—it had just become her prison.