All Chapters of Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Chapter 361 - Chapter 370

ChrisThe city looks different at night. Not just darker. Sharper. Like all the quiet parts hide teeth.I used to love walking alone in the woods, but here every alley feels like it’s watching me. I know the chances are slim that there’s anything out here more dangerous than I can be when provoked, but I still feel uneasy.I shove my hands deeper into my coat pockets and cut through the narrow path behind the inn. The moon hangs high above the buildings, unnaturally bright, casting everything in silver and shadow.“Going for a moonlight stroll without me?” a voice says behind me. I spin instinctively, my pulse already leaping, claws sharpening in defense.But it’s just Elliott. Just. I’m hilarious.He steps into the moonlight, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, curls tousled like he ran his hands through them too many times. His eyes gleam in the low light, catching everything.“No,” I answer, too fast. “I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing out here?” He shrugs, “I felt like

ArloIt’s sitting there like a calling card. Right on the top step of the inn. Shiny. Perfectly centered. As if someone bent down and placed it there with care and flair and an unhealthy need for dramatics. I crouch to pick it up.It’s a silver coin. Old and worn smooth in some places, still etched with strange symbols in others. Not any currency I recognize. The weight of it’s wrong, too. It’s too light for metal and too heavy to just be nonsense.Then it hums in my hand. The sensation is subtle, but real. Just enough magic that I can feel it in the bone-deep way wolves feel storms.I glance around immediately. Looking for a watcher, or a clue, but there’s nothing. No footprints. No scent trail except the damp city air and warm cinnamon from the shop next door.I grumble and slip it into my pocket. I have a feeling Cerelia’s not going to like this. Of course, when I find her, she’s halfway into some rune spread, her hands glowing faintly as she mutters about ley lines and dimensional

VictoriaThe dream starts with Scarlett, of course. Because why wouldn’t I want to dream about that bitch?She’s standing in a clearing of white ash trees, bathed in silver light that drips from the moon like blood. Her hair floats around her like it’s underwater, and her eyes glow too bright. Blue and endless.She turns toward me and smiles creepily, before she opens her mouth and says, “Take it.”I jolt awake in my bed, drenched in sweat. Again. That’s the third night in a row I’ve had the same dream. It’s always Scarlett. The moon is always bleeding. And she always gives the same command.Take it. But take what? And why the hell won’t she just get out of my head already?I sit up, rubbing the heels of my palms into my eyes, while I try to shake the tremor that hasn’t left me since this all started.Since the magic started whispering beneath my skin. Since I touched that first silver coin two weeks ago. The one left on my windowsill with no note, no explanation, no reason to feel li

CereliaThe magic doesn’t want to be caught. It slinks through the runes like oil through a sieve. Too fluid, too clever.Every time I try to bind it, it slides sideways, shifting its flavor, changing its rhythm. It’s not a spell. It’s a personality. Alive and watching. Taunting me with bright eyes.I kneel in the circle I carved into the stone beneath the inn. Deep lines, filled with fresh blood. My palm is still burning from the cut. I’m using the old ways to try and trap old magic.The air thrums with layered incantations, threaded from at least four different traditions. I don’t usually mix magic like this. It’s far too unpredictable and volatile. But I’ve never hunted a presence like this before and I’m fresh out of other ideas.I whisper the binding chant again, low and steady, weaving power into the glyphs that glow a faint gold under my hands. The energy curls inward before it flickers and warps.Smoke spills up from the center of the circle. Not black, not gray, but silver, l

ChrisI find the coin tucked beneath the corner of an armchair cushion in the back corner of Häxa.I wasn't even supposed to be in this part of the store. I was just waiting for Scarlett to finish restocking the powdered yarrow so we could go for coffee.I'd wandered back, pacing to keep from falling asleep on my feet, and there it was. Not dropped. Not misplaced. Planted. Whoever’s going around leaving them for us to find, sure seems to be having fun.It’s silver, dark-edged, humming with a sort of wrongness that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.I pick it up using my sleeve and it seems to vibrate in my hand. I can feel it under my skin. A soundless pressure. Like my bones recognize something my mind can't. Like it sees me and it enjoys my discomfort.Dad was right, the metal is wrong. Both the weight and the color. It’s too light for silver and too dark for tin. I’ve handled cursed objects before, but this one doesn’t burn and it doesn’t bite. It... waits.I don’t like i