All Chapters of Nemesis Of The Lycan Triplets: Chapter 291 - Chapter 300

The track stretched wide and long, lined with obstacles—barrels, wooden hurdles, pits of sand, even narrow water trenches. I had heard from Rachel that there were mines too, and from the grim looks of some riders, I knew it wasn't a rumor. There were also whispers of nails hidden in the dirt that would spring up without warning, shredding hooves and spilling riders onto the cruel ground. Blood was expected here; death was a spectator's entertainment. They called it a race, but everyone knew it was war disguised as sport.Hail the three bloody Lycans. They really had learnt from their father, and had even become worse. War chants rose from the stands, hundreds of voices thundering as one, shaking the air with anticipation, enlightening the contestants that we didn't come here for a mere race. The riders were lined up, mounts restless, nostrils flaring, their coats gleaming with sweat before the start had even come. The crowd's energy was infectious, rolling through the field in wave

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the great hall, its polished frame reflecting the light of dozens of hanging lanterns. The sight alone was enough to stir something sharp in my chest—memories, bitter and unshakable. Six years ago, I had stood on these same grounds, younger, naive, and foolishly trusting, foolishing believing that my power was enough to keep me safe. Six years ago, I had been lured away from this very hall by the triplets–Adam being the chief of the madness, and almost killed. Tonight, I was back, but not as the same girl. Tonight, I was Sage, champion of the day's bloody race, dressed in silk, in magic, in defiance. And not foolish, or naive enough to believe revenge wasn't necessary; that peace was better.Maybe it was. I mused. But there was no peace without war. And that's what I was here for, playing my role in a bigger equation; bringing down the pack for the greater good of the surrounding communities.Well, that's what I tell myself the little tim

ADAMThe mysterious girl's words struck like an arrow, piercing through the carefully woven shield I had wrapped around myself tonight. I turned my head slightly, slowly, deliberately—as if delaying would give me time to steady the sudden pull inside my chest. My eyes landed on her: Sage. The victor. The one who had already refused to bow. What did she want?My wolf stirred instantly, a restless rumble deep inside me. And then it hit me—her scent. A heady, intoxicating wave that assailed my nose as she stepped closer. It was warm, earthy, threaded with something sharper—like wildflowers crushed underfoot on a stormy night. My pulse tightened in my veins. My wolf growled softly, claws scraping against my mind as though desperate to claw his way out and get closer to her.No.I clamped down hard, locking him back into his cage. I would not allow this. I hoped she was not my mate, not bound to me by some cruel twist of fate. I wanted nothing to do with a magic wielder—a witch, nothing

Sword fight. At last. I mused over the irony of this session as I went to the rack to pick a sword for my next fight. Since the contest started, contestants had never been banned from coming to a fight with weapons—some small pen knives hidden in sleeves, some pencil-thin rods disguised as walking sticks. I could see why this was called the sword fight though: the weapons were honest here, blades you could see and respect. The arena smelled of metal and old blood; standing on the field, even to one side, I could almost taste it in the air. There were caked marks on the soil where bodies had fallen. Eleven contestants dead so far, Isla had briefed me, her voice calm as if reading market results. The brutality matched Rachel's warnings. I picked a sword from the rack, felt its balance, turning it in my hands like one appraises a jewel. Light, yes—but the feel was right. I brushed a fingertip along the fuller, whispered a small charm across the edge. Subtle—a sharpening really. Enou

ADAMThe field smelled of iron. Of wet earth, blood, and a kind of silence that was too aware of itself—the kind that comes after something monstrous has happened, and everyone's still pretending they didn't want to see it.She stood there in the middle of the field smiling. Her hair was matted with blood, her skin shining under the half-light of dusk, her hands still holding those two heads like trophies. "Is this proof enough?"The crowd gasped; others muttered prayers. But she didn't flinch, didn't blink. Her eyes found me again—steady, proud, and almost mocking—as if she was daring me to deny what had just happened.Who was she? Who was this woman that had someone rented a space in my head?I'd asked that question a hundred times since the contest began. I'd sent men to research her origins—to track where she'd come from, who her parents were, if she had any community at all. But they weren't back yet. A week had passed. Nothing. It was like she had appeared out of nowhere.And ye