Semua Bab Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Bab 11 - Bab 20

(Hilda)Morning drills bite cold as steel. By the time I reach the training grounds, Arlo’s already there with Percy. Two mountains in quiet conversation. I can feel him without looking. The bond hums low, a wire under my skin.“Good morning, Hilda.” His voice is unhelpfully warm.“Morning.” I keep my answer clipped, eyes on the line of warriors forming up. If I think about last night and having his arms around me, I’ll lose the day before it starts.Arlo steps into the ring, movements precise, every shift of muscle deliberate. The place hushes when he moves. It’s infuriating how effortless he makes it look, how easily the others fall into rhythm around him.Nixie ends up opposite me. Red hair, quick grin. One of the few who didn’t hesitate to welcome me. “Ready?” she asks.“Always.”We circle. She feints left, but I don’t bite. I jab to test her guard. Pain lances down my thigh but I ignore it. Then Arlo’s voice cuts across the ring.“Nice form.”I glance at him, which is a huge mis

(Hilda)My days have rhythm again. Training drills, weapons practice, the endless grind of proving I’m not a ghost. The routine steadies me, even as the bond hums under my skin, reminding me I’m never really free.Arlo joins the sessions whenever his schedule allows. His presence drags my attention like gravity, sharp and constant.Every glance sparks heat I can’t control, every stride across the yard makes the air shift. And the worst part? He knows it. The faint tilt of his mouth whenever he catches me staring is proof enough.Thank the goddess for Percy. Where Arlo is wildfire, Percy is water. Cool, steady, impossible not to lean into.I tell myself to keep my walls up, that trust is a luxury I can’t afford, not after Soren and Alec both gutted me in their own ways. But solitude isn’t in my nature. Sitting beside Percy feels like exhaling after holding my breath too long.Of course, people notice. Whispers crawl in our wake, warriors trade worried glances. Tension ratchets tighter

(Soren)The camp is shrouded in mist when I wake. A damp that clings to skin, heavy with silence, as if the whole camp is holding its breath.I didn’t sleep. Every time I shut my eyes I saw Damon’s grin, heard his voice needling in the dark. He’s been whispering to the warriors and the restless energy in the air feels like kindling waiting for a spark.Cerelia is waiting for me in the kitchen when I get up, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Her hair is still loose from sleep, cascading down her shoulders in a golden waterfall, but her eyes are sharp. When she looks at me, I see both determination and worry.“We need to talk,” she says. Her voice is low, but in a camp full of wolves, privacy is always a lie. Someone’s always listening.“It’s about Hilda,” she continues, leaving me no chance to sidestep the conversation.“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and maybe you’re right. We can’t ignore her. She knows things, Soren. If you’re going to challenge Arlo, we need every advanta

(Soren)Cerelia’s words won’t stop looping as I move through the trees, each step slow and deliberate.Using Hilda as a spy. I hate it. And yet Cerelia’s right. If I’m going to stand a chance against the Alpha King, I might need Hilda’s help to save Hilda.I try the mind-link again out of habit, but it’s gone. Just the clean, cold silence of a bond properly severed. She’s no longer mine, no longer part of my pack. The truth sits heavy, like a stone in my gut.If I can’t reach her, someone loyal to Arlo will have to carry a message. Someone who can be persuaded. By coin, by fear, or both.A twig snaps and I drop into a crouch, body melting toward the sound, careful to let the wind keep my scent behind me.Through the underbrush I spot him. A scout in Hollow-black leathers, lanky and young. His hand rests on his dagger like it’s a talisman, not a tool.I wait until he settles with his back to a birch, scanning the treeline without really seeing it. In another year, he won’t make that mi

(Soren)The night is heavy with pine and damp earth as I move through the forest, each step muffled by sodden leaves. Shadows cling to the trees. They feel closer than usual tonight.Guilt has gnawed at me ever since I rejected Hilda in front of King Arlo. The look in her eyes still burns. It was necessary, I told myself. But lies don’t ease the weight.And Arlo himself… There’s something about him I can’t shake. It isn’t only that he claimed Hilda.Rumors cling to him like smoke. Whispers of mates who vanished, of shadows that swallowed them whole. For years I ignored them. Now, with Hilda in his hands, I can’t.I’ve been following scraps of information. Old tavern tales. Half-remembered accounts from warriors who once visited the Hollow.Most trails end in silence, but a few fragments pointed to someone who might know more. A warlock named Maelor. Once Arlo’s ally, who was later cast out.If anyone remembers the truth, it’s him.The mist thickens as I near the clearing he chose to b