Semua Bab Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Bab 461 - Bab 470

ErikThe pain doesn’t start in my chest. It starts in my hands.One moment I’m holding a charmed blade, working the edge against a whetstone. The next, my grip locks tight and the blade scorches hot.I drop it before I understand what’s happening.Then comes the tug, low and deep, like a hook caught behind my ribs. I stagger back against the table, breath punched from my lungs.My magic twists. Not outward. Not wild. Inward.And I know, Victoria’s pulling.The hook, her hook, embedded in me the night she kissed me, the night I dropped my guard, the night I told myself it meant nothing… it pulses now, alive and hungry.Every beat of my heart feels like it’s answering to her.“No,” I rasp. I won’t give in to this.I slam my palm into the worktable and magic pulses down my arm, but the hook doesn’t budge.It’s not just a tether. It’s a vein. A conduit. And she’s in it now, her magic threading through mine like a hand around the throat.Her grip tightens. She’s crooning to me, demanding a

HildaArlo’s hands are bruised again.I don’t ask from what. I can tell from the tension in his shoulders that he needs to break something, and since he hasn’t broken anyone, I assume the nearest tree got lucky.He watches me from the doorway like a wolf with blood in his teeth and nowhere to run.“I’m not in the mood for talking,” I say without looking up.“I wasn’t planning to ask you how your day was.”Good.I toss the worn cloth I’d been folding onto the edge of the bed. “Door.”He kicks it shut.The lock clicks. Not softly.I turn and he’s already moving.We collide like we always do. No preamble, no ceremony, just need.I sink my fingers into the collar of his shirt and yank him to me. His hands grip my waist like he’s claiming territory, not a woman. His mouth crashes over mine and I meet him there, teeth and breath and tongue.It isn’t gentle. We’re rarely gentle.He growls low in his throat when I bite his bottom lip. I push him back until he stumbles and lets me slam him aga

ChrisThe sheets are twisted beneath us. Not from sleep. We haven’t even tried.I should go back to my own bed, but not even a herd of elephants would be able to drag me away from him right now.Elliott lies next to me, his arm folded beneath his head, shirt long gone, breathing slow. Steady. Measured. Too measured. He’s obviously pouring all of his concentration into not panting.I’m not doing much better. My blood hasn’t cooled since the second his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh. And stayed there. Just resting. Warm and maddening and so close to undoing everything we swore we wouldn’t do yet.The room is quiet. Too quiet.I shift and feel my stomach clench when the back of my hand brushes the skin of his hip.He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t have to. His scent spikes and I can spell the want on him. The need. The bare-knuckle, drag-down desire. I’m sure I reek of it too.“Chris,” he whispers.“I know.”We lie there for another breath. Maybe two. And then I roll toward him. Cl

ErikThe glyph on my wrist flares before I even reach the stairs. It’s not a tug this time. Not a whisper. It’s a warning.I stumble, catching the banister with one hand, sucking air between my teeth as the heat sinks in, winding through my bones like wire pulled too tight.Scarlett. She’s close by and angry. But not afraid.Victoria’s magic is coiling in response. Reactive, defensive. But there’s no strike.Not yet.I breathe through it and keep moving, one step at a time, hand clenched around the throbbing burn beneath my skin.By the time I reach the rooftop, the worst of it has passed.There’s only smoke curling from a jagged line in the gravel. A burned mark drawn like a blade across the rooftop’s skin.And Scarlett is standing just beyond it, breath ragged, eyes distant. She doesn’t look at me when I approach. Not until I speak.The line was drawn and Victoria chose to leave. I know that’s never been an option for my fierce werewolf warrior princess.Scarlett’s hand is trembling

ScarlettI wake choking on smoke that isn’t real.The sheets are tangled around my legs. My body’s slick with sweat. My magic is vibrating under my skin, pulsing like it’s trying to claw its way out.I sit up fast, dragging my hand through my hair, trying to breathe.It takes a full minute to convince myself that the bed isn’t burning. That I haven’t set the room alight in my sleep.But the scent is still there. Embers and ash and something wrong.The dream lingers like blood on my tongue. But it wasn’t just a dream. I know that down to my very core. It’s a vision.I saw myself. Eyes glowing white, mouth open in a scream that split the world. Mountains cracked. Skies bled. Magic curled like black thread around the bones of the earth. And I stood in the middle of it all, untouched, burning.Erik was gone. Everyone was gone. I was alone with my fire.I press my hands against the mattress in an effort to force them to stop shaking.The flame inside me is louder than it’s ever been. Not w