Semua Bab Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Bab 371 - Bab 380

VictoriaI know he’s coming before he knocks. The wards recognize him and shiver in anticipation. That subtle curl of welcome that comes from attunement, even unspoken. Even if it believes it’s unwilling.I breathe in and let the mirror tell me what I already know. Erik is standing outside, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like this isn’t exactly where he planned to be.But it’s where he is. Because he wants to see me. I smile to myself, sure it’s only a matter of time before he’s mine.When I open the door, I make sure I’m bathed in afternoon light. It falls through the curtains just right, catching the copper highlights in my hair and casting my skin in a gentle warmth that doesn’t require illusion, just timing.Magic can enhance beauty, yes. But knowing when not to use it? That’s power too. I’ve always been gorgeous, that’s not what I need to tempt Erik.He looks tired. Tense. Guarded. Like he’s wary of me. I’ll make sure to be gentle with him.

CereliaMagic remembers what we forget.I don’t return to the cellar. Not after what happened last time. That ritual drew too much attention. No, today, I take the coin to the river. To the shallows where magic runs clean and slow and doesn’t echo like a scream.Signe offered me access to some of Erik’s rune work. An old book, half-written, pages stuffed with theories about the Norse pantheon and the roots of prophetic duality. I bring it with me, wrapped in oilcloth, tucked beneath my arm like a lifeline. That young man is far more talented than I first suspected.The coin burns faintly against my palm. I don’t need to trap or summon this time. I just need to listen.I kneel in the water and draw three intersecting runes in the silt. Kenaz, Gebo, Ansuz. Light, exchange, and divine message. Then I set the coin in the center.Nothing happens for several minutes. Long enough for me to be sure it was a failure. Then the runes suddenly flare gold. The water pulls inward and the coin thrum

ErikI dream of glass. Shards of it, everywhere. Glittering underfoot. Hanging like icicles from invisible ceilings. Each one reflects a different version of her.Scarlett laughing, crying, running, burning. Her eyes gold. Her eyes red. Her smile made of teeth. Her hands bloodied.I wake with a sharp inhale, the image of one mirror slicing open my palm still bright behind my eyes.It’s still dark. Scarlett lies beside me, her skin faintly aglow, her body warm against mine. The starfire in her veins has softened. It’s a gentle shimmer now instead of a blaze. But it’s always there. Like a second heartbeat.I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. The notebook Cerelia lent me, the one she filled with overlapping rune theories and broken bits of Norse spells, after looking at my notes, sits on the desk. I grab it and make my way to the kitchen, flipping on the smallest light.The dream clings to me. It feels like more than just a nightmare. It’s a message, or a warning. I jus

VictoriaThe power surges again. It comes without warning, without rhythm. One second I’m standing in the narrow corridor between my flat and the stairwell, and the next, the air ripples around me like a heat mirage.It shudders against the wards I didn’t set. I don’t know how they got there. I only know that since the silver coin flared in my hand, nothing has felt stable. Not my dreams. Not my power. Not me.My fingertips spark with light. It flickers violet and deep gold, lashing against the walls like an angry snake. I clench my hands and press them against the cool stone.“Stop,” I whisper. “Not yet. Not now. I’ll call you when I need you.” It takes almost a full minute for the magic to settle. Like an angry street cat cornered and bribed with meat.I wipe sweat from my brow, scowling at the mirror hanging in the hallway, and try not to flinch when my own reflection doesn’t move in time with me.There’s something behind my eyes now. A shimmer. A hunger. Something watching and wai

LokiMortals are deliciously messy creatures.I watch her from the shadows, perched atop a crooked ironwork balcony that nobody ever looks up at.Scarlett. Golden veins lit like dawn beneath her skin, and that delicious edge of defiance in every movement. She reminds me of fire on the verge of becoming a storm.She has no idea yet of the violence she’s capable of. The ferocity passed down to her from her mother and father. Warriors worthy of their rank.Victoria was a temporary spark. A useful pawn. Pretty, yes. Hungry, yes. But the wrong kind of hungry. A grabby, short-sighted kind of hunger that would never be sated and never really accomplish anything.Scarlett, though? Scarlett is starved. And she doesn’t even know it yet. She’s magnificent. Perfect. Everything I could want and then some.I let the dream settle first. Just a hint. A whisper. A suggestion curled into silk and smoke. Her magic is already opening like a flower after frost, ready to drink up the sun. The fact that I’m