All Chapters of Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Chapter 321 - Chapter 330

HildaI’ve always trusted my gut. It’s served me better than magic, training, and all the blades I’ve ever wielded. And right now, my gut won’t shut up.Scarlett’s gone and flown headfirst into something. It’s not a crisis, not yet. But I know that tone of voice all too well.That dreamy, half-distracted way she starts talking in whenever she mentions Erik. Like he’s become some storybook figure she’s trying to figure out. Part of her is still cautious. She was raised to be. But another part, and I’m worried it’s the bigger part, wants to believe in him.And that’s what really has me worried. Because the moment you start believing in someone because you want to trust them, things become very murky and you lose the ability to see what’s right in front of your eyes.Chris, on the other hand, is the opposite kind of puzzle. All smooth edges and polite silences. Smiling at all the right moments. Laughing with Ilsa. Pretending everything’s fine. I don’t know who he’s trying to protect, us,

ScarlettIt’s been over a week since I started working at Häxa, and nothing strange has happened again. No more whispers from behind the locked door.There’s also been a complete lack of customers murmuring about blood rites or demanding eye of newt and toe of frog. No backroom seances. No talking cats.Just tea blends, scented sachets, and locals looking for headache powders or love charms they don’t quite believe in.A few come in asking for something more specific. A protective charm, something to ward off bad dreams. Erik always smiles, nods, and tells them his mother will prepare it for pick-up the next day. He never lets me into the prep process for those, but I don’t push. Not yet.Signe hasn’t set foot back in the shop since my first day here.Still, the place has settled around me like a second skin. The earthy scent of dried herbs, the soft hum of crystal energy, the quiet hours spent watching sunlight filter through dust-speckled windows. Watching with a smile while Erik he

ScarlettThere are five outfits crumpled on my bed. I’m currently wearing number six. It’s a simple red dress; not too clingy, not too casual. With short sleeves and a flattering neckline. The skirt ends a few fingers above my knees, and when I twirl, it flares around me like a soft breeze.But every time I look in the mirror, I second-guess myself. Is it too much? Too little? Gods, what if he thinks I’m trying too hard? Or not at all? I’ve never been this nervous about my appearance before.I tug the dress down, glance at the clock, then whirl back to the kitchen. There’s no more time for this.The pasta sauce is simmering gently. Simple garlic, bacon, tomato and basil, nothing fancy. I could’ve done more. Cerelia taught me to cook like a professional and Tara showed me how to bake the most perfect confections. But tonight I needed something simple and safe.I want to be able to focus on him. I walk into the dining room and stare at the candles I lit earlier. Then blow them out. It’s

ScarlettAfter I see Erik to the door, after he kisses my knuckles and whispers goodnight, I close the door and lean against it, heart still pounding. My body is humming, restless. The heat he left behind in my veins refuses to settle. And I can’t stop thinking about him.Dinner was perfect. The wine, the laughter, the way he looked at me like I was something rare and precious. The way his hands molded to my body. The way his mouth claimed mine like he had every right. I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my breasts, the aching press of him between my thighs.Gods, I wanted him. I still do. For a moment there on the couch I was going to tell him I don’t need perfect, and I am sure. But he’s right, I should consider things when I’m less...fizzy.I take a long bath, trying to cool down, but it does little to help. Eventually, I crawl into bed, wearing only a thin slip and nothing else. My skin is flushed. My blood sings.I close my eyes and let the memory of his voice, his scent,

ScarlettIt’s been almost a full week. Six long, torturous days since Erik came over for dinner. Since his mouth was on mine and his hands were on my skin and I was straddling his lap like a woman starved.A week of lingering glances in the shop, of stolen kisses in the back room, of brushing fingers and brushing lips and pretending we’re both fine. We’re not. At least I’m not.Every look he gives me fans the fire in my chest higher. Every time he walks past me, I feel scorched. Touched by something I can’t name. It’s in the air between us, electric and simmering, waiting to combust.And the dreams...Gods above, the dreams are getting worse. Every night I close my eyes and find him there. In my bed, in my mind, beneath my skin. I wake up panting, sweating, trembling from the kind of pleasure that should be illegal.I think I might be losing my mind.Or maybe this is just what happens when you’re raised by two people who can’t keep their hands off each other. Maybe being highly sexed i