Lahat ng Kabanata ng Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Kabanata 381 - Kabanata 390

ArloThere are too many scents in the city. It’s like chewing glass to get to the truth underneath. But I’ve hunted in worse conditions than this.Raventon might be a sprawl of alleys and corners and smog, but blood still runs through it. And where there’s blood, there’s always a trail.I sniff the air again. Not for the smell of the city, though it’s thick as ever, but for something colder. Stranger. The kind of magic that doesn’t belongs here.Something left a body two nights ago. Signe told me the woman was found behind the library, curled up like she’d fallen asleep and frozen to death. These things happen in the city and there were no visible wounds. But no lingering trace of life either.Cerelia made her way over before the city guard removed the corpse and she said the soul had been unraveled.I call that murder.Chris trails behind me, trying to look like he belongs here, hoodie up, hands shoved in his pockets. He keeps glancing around like someone might catch him breaking cur

VictoriaThere’s something to be said for being underestimated.I used to hate it. Used to let it dig into my bones and whisper that I wasn’t enough. That I’d never be the one Erik looks at first. Never the one chosen.But now… now I let it simmer. I let it stew beneath my skin where the magic runs hotter every day. Scarlett doesn’t know what to do with me. That much is obvious.She tries to pretend I’m harmless, just another jealous girl in her shadow, but her eyes give her away. The way her jaw locks when I’m near Erik. The way she clutches him tighter when she thinks I might actually lure him away from her.I matter now. I know I do. The power isn’t just inside me, it wants me. It sings when I use it, when I stop trying to be the nice girl and start being honest about what I want. And what I want is Erik.It’s always been him. From the first day we climbed the roof of his family’s house and watched storms roll in. From the first time he smiled at me like I was important to him. We

VictoriaThe next morning, Erik avoids my eyes.He doesn’t have to say anything. I can feel the guilt rolling off of him like steam from a cracked pipe. I see it in the way he stiffens when I step into the room. In how he doesn’t smile when I make a joke, not even the dry ones he usually likes.He’s pulling away. Again. And there are no prizes for guessing why. “Did she cry?” I ask, because I want to hurt myself apparently. “When you told her I was breathing the same air as you?”Erik sighs. “Victoria.”“No, really. I want to know. Did she throw things? Threaten to hurt me?” He doesn’t look amused. “We talked. That’s all. This is hard for her.”“Of course,” I say coolly. “And how lovely for you both. Thank goodness I’m having such a ball.”He glances toward the open window. Raventon buzzes softly beyond it. Mundane life continuing like there isn’t a goddess of destruction sharing a bed with my ex-best-friend.I still remember how it used to feel when he looked at me. I still burn with

ScarlettWe don’t talk about him right away.Not after last night. Not after Erik touched me like I was the last good thing left in the world. Not after I clung to him like I didn’t want the sun to rise and force us to deal with reality again. But the sun comes anyway.I’m in the kitchen barefoot, his t-shirt hanging past my thighs, drinking coffee that tastes like ash in my mouth. I hear Erik’s footsteps before he appears, rubbing a hand through his hair.His eyes find me instantly and soften. “Hey,” he says, voice low.He walks over and brushes a kiss to my cheek, lingers for a second like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to stay longer. I lean into him. Just enough to let him know I’m glad he’s here.But there’s weight between us. Something thick and sour that won’t disappear just because we’re magic in bed.“So,” I say, setting the mug down. “We’re not going to talk about it?” He doesn’t ask what I mean. Because he knows. Erik sighs. “I didn’t want to ruin the morning.”“Too late.” H

ErikScarlett hasn’t met my eyes all morning. Not when she dressed in the quiet hush of dawn. Not when she handed me my coffee, her fingers brushing mine like a whisper of apology that never formed into words.It’s not silence between us. It’s static. An almost-sound. And I hate it. I’m so tired of having the same fight.By noon, I can’t take it anymore. I leave the house and head for Häxa, desperate for distraction, for clarity, for anything that isn’t the slow, sick twist in my stomach that tells me I’m losing her. Not to death or war. But to him and his twisted half-truths.The bell over the shop door jingles, sounding far too cheerful for my mood. My mother looks up from the register, her brow knitting immediately.“You look like hell,” she says. “Thanks, Mom,” I mutter. “Glad my misery is showing.”She sets the ledger aside and walks around the counter, her long skirt whispering against the floor. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she says.I hesitate. Then admit, “Scarlett. Loki. This who