Semua Bab Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Bab 371 - Bab 375

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