บททั้งหมดของ Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: บทที่ 471 - บทที่ 480

LokiShe dreams of fire again. I can feel it from hereI feel her heartbeat sputter into rhythm with the flames curling behind her ribs.The Loom breathes through her magic, tugging at the edges, trying to lace her into its pattern. Trying to tame her.What short-sighted fools they are. Scarlett was never meant to be stitched into anything.She was meant to unravel and remake.I’m perched on the rusted edge of Raventon’s bell tower, boots kicked over the side, watching the city sleep beneath me.It’s all dull edges and dreaming breath. They have no idea how close their bones are to being swept into ash.I sigh, slow and theatrical. If only they knew how much they owe me. How very good I am to them, without even receiving any accolades.And I do so enjoy a good accolade. A bit of groveling and worship. I’m worth it.No other god is more generous. Or handsome. Or forgiving of human foibles.Smoke rises from my fingers as I conjure a coin and flip it into the air. Silver gleams in the mo

ErikIt burns again. Not fire. Not flame. Those belong to Scarlett.This is deeper. Colder. Like a needle pressed through my soul and left to pulse.The glyph on my wrist is quiet to the naked eye, but I can feel the hum of it. Like someone strumming a wire that’s buried under my skin.Victoria was foolish enough to leave something in me. And I’m finally learning how to use it.“Again,” I grit out.Cerelia narrows her eyes at me from the edge of the chalk circle. “Erik, your nose is bleeding.”I swipe at it with the back of my hand. “Doesn’t matter. Again.”She hesitates. Then nods.The incantation she speaks is soft but ancient. Woven with magic old enough to bend even unwilling threads. My body seizes as the glyph flares to life.In the space between heartbeats, I see it.The thread. All of it.Scarlett’s magic is a roaring inferno that glows brighter than anything else. My mother’s glows like stars drawn into a spiral. Cerelia’s hums like a song that hasn’t been sung in centuries.

ChrisI can feel him behind me before he speaks.The rooftop is cold beneath my palms, the night pressing against my skin like a second coat. I don’t turn. I don’t have to.The weight of Elliott’s presence is enough. His scent is sharp and familiar, a mix of fresh pine and something wild I don’t have a word for.I don’t look at him because I know what I’ll find. Eyes too full. A mouth I’ve already tasted.Hands I haven’t let go of since the night we decided to stop pretending we weren’t already his and mine.He sits beside me without a word.We’re close enough that our shoulders touch, but not enough to settle the ache coiled low in my spine.“I didn’t know where you went,” he says finally.“I needed air.”“You always need air when something’s wrong.”I shrug. “Maybe I just like rooftops.”He doesn’t call me on it.Instead, he leans back on his elbows and tilts his head to the sky. His throat stretches tight under his jaw. The moon catches in his lashes.I want to kiss him.I want to

ScarlettThe world pulls sideways.I’m not asleep. Not dreaming. One second I’m reaching for a cup of water in the kitchen. The next, the cup crashes to the floor, and the walls of the house dissolve around me like ash in the wind.No warning. No magic circle. No familiar pull like the Loom or the Weavers.This is different. This is a summoning.I hit the ground hard.It’s not Raventon beneath me anymore.It’s obsidian.Smooth, black stone rippling with golden veins, warm beneath my hands.I scramble upright. The sky above me is starless and red. Heat rolls in waves off the ground. I smell smoke, salt, something sharp.Then I hear them.Voices.Not one. Many. Layered like flames licking over each other.“Daughter of dusk.”“Child of flame.”“Blood-born. Bound. Buried.”A shape approaches me from the shadows. A tall man cloaked in crimson and gold, skin glowing faintly, like there’s fire trapped beneath the surface.Just like mine.But it’s not his face I’m drawn to. It’s the crown.Fl

ChrisHe’s laughing when I pin him.That kind of half-choked, breathless sound he only makes when he forgets we’re supposed to be careful.We’re in the room behind the inn. Meant for training, or meditation. But right now it’s filled with the sharp scent of sweat, wolf heat, and the impossible thrum of want beating through both of us.I shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t. Especially not here.But I have him flat on his back, panting, his wrists caught in my hands, and I’m straddling his hips like it’s the most natural thing in the world.And gods help me, it feels like it is.“Chris,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You’re not being fair.”“You kissed me first.”“You tackled me after.”“I regret nothing.”He smiles, and it breaks something open in my chest.I dip down and kiss him hard, tongue sliding over his like we’ve got nothing left to lose. He groans against my mouth, biting my lower lip as he presses his hips up into mine.The friction makes me gasp.“Fuck,” he breathes.I loosen