บททั้งหมดของ Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: บทที่ 481 - บทที่ 490

ArloHilda’s pacing like she wants something to kill.Her boots thud against the inn’s worn wooden floors in an uneven rhythm.One only I can hear, because I’ve lived with the sound of her anger since we were barely more than kids.It's in the sharp turn of her body, the twitch of her fingers near her blades, the snarl curled behind her teeth.She hasn’t said anything yet. She doesn’t have to.The air tells me enough. Something has shifted.I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her make another lap. “You keep that up, you’re going to wear a path through the floor.”She stops and turns slowly.“If one more person tells me to be patient, I’m going to bite their goddamn head off.”I nod once. “Fair.”Her eyes narrow. “You’re not going to tell me I’m overreacting?”“No.”“You’re not going to tell me Scarlett’s strong enough to handle this without us?”“No.”A pause. “You’re not going to try to calm me down with sex?”I push off the wall and close the distance between us in two s

ErikThe hook doesn’t sleep. It waits.Coiled behind my ribs like frost caught in a warm body. Waiting for a crack. For weakness. For her to call.It stirs again now. Victoria’s ice curling cold fingers around the frayed edge of the tether I share with Scarlett.I feel it in the way the heat in my chest shudders and recoils. The connection between us, Scarlett and me, is flame and fury, and the hook tries to mimic it.It doesn’t understand what it’s trying to copy. Twisting affection into compulsion. Loyalty into longing.It never succeeds. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t try.I press my knuckles hard into the wood of the window frame, my breath fogging the glass. It’s night. The kind of dark that clings to your shoulders. The kind that knows your name.Behind me, Scarlett stirs in her sleep. I don’t look over at her.I don’t want her to see me like this. Half bent under the weight of something we can’t excise, not yet. She already carries enough.She knows about everything and she s

HildaI don’t need omens to tell me what’s coming.The scent of it is already in the air. Burnt copper, cracked threads, lightning without a storm.Something is about to break. And this time, I’m not going to wait for it to come to my door.I’m going to meet it at the edge of the woods, teeth bared.Cerelia stands beside me in the small clearing behind the inn, arms crossed, brows furrowed. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.Which means she’s been dreaming too.The dreams aren’t just Scarlett’s anymore. They’re bleeding into all of us. Threads tugging in our bones, whispers curling at the back of our teeth.The Weave is fraying, and my daughter is at the center of it.Of course she is. Of course my brilliant, stubborn, blazing girl is the eye of the storm. It’s in her bloody DNA.“She’s being hunted,” I say flatly.Cerelia nods. “By more than one faction.”“The Circle of Silence, the Court of Fire, and Loki… and now Victoria.”“She’s coming undone.”“No. She’s becoming something

ErikThe tether tugs. Not softly. Not like the usual hum of Scarlett’s magic brushing against mine in sleep or silence.This is sharp. Urgent. Wrong.I shoot upright, breath caught in my throat. Next to me, Scarlett stirs too, face buried in the pillow, a frown tightening her brow.“Erik,” she mumbles, not fully awake.“I feel it,” I whisper.And I do. Something is moving. No, someone.The pull isn’t from Scarlett. It’s not the warmth of her fire pressing into me. It’s cold. Familiar. Familiar in the worst way.The hook pulses once. Then again, much harder.My chest tightens. Not with fear, not entirely. It’s more like pressure. Like I’m being drawn into something not of my making.I get up fast, ignoring the way my knees threaten to buckle. Scarlett’s fire clings to me like it doesn’t want me to go.But I have to. Because I know what this is.Victoria is calling and I’m done answering to her for anything.I don’t tell Scarlett where I’m going. She’d follow if she knew, and this time,

ScarlettThere’s a fire burning in the hearth. Something so simple shouldn’t be this comforting, but it is.The scent of char and pine, the low crackle of wood, the way the shadows dance against the walls, it reminds me of home.Of the pack house back in the hills, of the way mom always left the doors open during storm season so we could all come in, barefoot and drenched, and warm our bones without needing to ask.Aunt Cerelia pours something steaming into a mug and hands it to me. It smells like cinnamon and bark and heat. I don’t ask what it is. I don’t care. I just drink.The others are scattered around the sitting room in loose orbit. No one speaks much.Dad paces. Uncle Soren sharpens a blade he probably won’t need.Elliott and Chris sit shoulder-to-shoulder near the fire, legs nearly tangled, whispering low and fast and intense like they always do.I still haven’t spoken to them, but it’s clear they’ve found their own way out of the tangle they were in.Erik sits next to me on