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Chapter 474 Marked by Fire
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2025-07-04 11:34:09
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Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King Chapter 474 Marked by Fire
ScarlettI wake gasping. Not from a nightmare for a change. From heat.It’s pouring off me, suffocating, scorching. My nightshirt sticks to my skin. I sit up and throw the covers off, heart hammering in my chest.The air smells like ember and silk. And something else.Something… threaded.I glance down, and there, across my ribs, is a mark. Thin and red-gold, not drawn in blood but woven into the skin. It glows faintly, like the memory of fire.It wasn’t there last night.I touch it and magic zings through me. Not mine. Not Erik’s. Not Victoria’s.The Weavers.I close my eyes, and the moment I do, the world falls away. The bed disappears. The room. The walls. The night. Gone.In its place there are threads.Everywhere.They stretch in every direction, glowing and twisting and pulsing with power. I'm standing on a floor made of interwoven magic, and above me is a sky that churns like a loom mid-spin.The air hums. And then someone appears. It’s not the Ashkeeper. I’ve felt her presence
Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King Chapter 473 The Tether Holds
ErikIt burns again. Not fire. Not flame. Those belong to Scarlett.This is deeper. Colder. Like a needle pressed through my soul and left to pulse.The glyph on my wrist is quiet to the naked eye, but I can feel the hum of it. Like someone strumming a wire that’s buried under my skin.Victoria was foolish enough to leave something in me. And I’m finally learning how to use it.“Again,” I grit out.Cerelia narrows her eyes at me from the edge of the chalk circle. “Erik, your nose is bleeding.”I swipe at it with the back of my hand. “Doesn’t matter. Again.”She hesitates. Then nods.The incantation she speaks is soft but ancient. Woven with magic old enough to bend even unwilling threads. My body seizes as the glyph flares to life.In the space between heartbeats, I see it.The thread. All of it.Scarlett’s magic is a roaring inferno that glows brighter than anything else. My mother’s glows like stars drawn into a spiral. Cerelia’s hums like a song that hasn’t been sung in centuries.
Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King Chapter 472 Iron Beneath the Flame
HildaArlo is pacing again.Which means if he takes three more turns around this damn room, I’m going to hurl his ass through the window. Not out of malice. Just efficiency.“Enough,” I snap. “Either you shift or you sit, but I swear to the gods, if you keep pacing, I’m going to bite you myself.”He stops mid-stride. Jaw clenched. Golden eyes flashing. “I can’t sit, Hilda.”“No, you won’t sit. There’s a big difference.”Soren clears his throat. “She’s not wrong.”Arlo shoots him a glare that could melt rock. Soren lifts both hands and leans back, clearly deciding to stay out of it.Good. I like arguing with Arlo, I don’t need any help.Cerelia’s nose is buried in another tome from Signe’s borrowed collection. Her fingers are ink-stained, her hair a mess.Chris and Elliott are pretending to spar in the corner of the inn’s makeshift training room, but they’re more tangled in laughter than fists. It’s good to see their friendship has been restored.At least one good thing’s come from thi
Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King Chapter 471 The Fox and the Flame
LokiShe dreams of fire again. I can feel it from hereI feel her heartbeat sputter into rhythm with the flames curling behind her ribs.The Loom breathes through her magic, tugging at the edges, trying to lace her into its pattern. Trying to tame her.What short-sighted fools they are. Scarlett was never meant to be stitched into anything.She was meant to unravel and remake.I’m perched on the rusted edge of Raventon’s bell tower, boots kicked over the side, watching the city sleep beneath me.It’s all dull edges and dreaming breath. They have no idea how close their bones are to being swept into ash.I sigh, slow and theatrical. If only they knew how much they owe me. How very good I am to them, without even receiving any accolades.And I do so enjoy a good accolade. A bit of groveling and worship. I’m worth it.No other god is more generous. Or handsome. Or forgiving of human foibles.Smoke rises from my fingers as I conjure a coin and flip it into the air. Silver gleams in the mo
Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King Chapter 470 The Fire That Follows
ScarlettI wake choking on smoke that isn’t real.The sheets are tangled around my legs. My body’s slick with sweat. My magic is vibrating under my skin, pulsing like it’s trying to claw its way out.I sit up fast, dragging my hand through my hair, trying to breathe.It takes a full minute to convince myself that the bed isn’t burning. That I haven’t set the room alight in my sleep.But the scent is still there. Embers and ash and something wrong.The dream lingers like blood on my tongue. But it wasn’t just a dream. I know that down to my very core. It’s a vision.I saw myself. Eyes glowing white, mouth open in a scream that split the world. Mountains cracked. Skies bled. Magic curled like black thread around the bones of the earth. And I stood in the middle of it all, untouched, burning.Erik was gone. Everyone was gone. I was alone with my fire.I press my hands against the mattress in an effort to force them to stop shaking.The flame inside me is louder than it’s ever been. Not w
Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King Chapter 469 The Ashkeeper Speaks
Omni POVThe Ashkeeper wakes to silence.Not the silence of still air or soft snowfall. No, this silence is dense, like a cathedral swallowed by centuries. The kind of silence you can drown in. The kind you come back from changed.She stands from where she sits, knees stiff with sleep, shoulders heavy with age that has nothing to do with years. Ash spills from her robes in whispering folds, curling across the marble floor like living smoke.There are no doors here. No windows.Only threadbare sky and the whispering bones of a world long buried.The Ashkeeper drags a finger through the air. Flame follows. Dull. Blue-white. Cold.It hovers, and in it, an image forms.A girl. Not a child. Not yet a queen. But perhaps soon.Her name is Scarlett.She stands at the edge of a rooftop, a line of fire between her and another girl wrapped in thorns and guilt.The Ashkeeper smiles, though it is not a kind expression.“So,” she murmurs. “The vessel finally chooses.”She doesn’t speak aloud often.
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