Semua Bab Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Bab 561 - Bab 570

ScarlettThe cave mouth yawns like a secret waiting to be swallowed.It isn’t marked on any map.We stumbled on it by accident, or maybe the forest meant for us to find it. Either way, I feel the pull before I even see it.Erik says nothing when I veer off the path. He just follows, watching my back like he always does.The air inside is cooler. Our footsteps echo too loudly, our breathing is the only audible sound.It smells of moss and age and old blood, long since dried.And something else. Gold.Not literally, but something in my magic stirs. A pulse in the pit of my stomach, sharp and sudden. Like recognition.“Here,” I whisper, stepping closer to the far wall.Erik raises a hand, conjuring soft mage-light from his palm. It flickers, then steadies, revealing the stone wall etched with old murals.My breath catches.They’re wolves. But not like the ones we know. These are tall, half-shifted creatures with glowing eyes and marks carved into their skin. Not scars or tattoos. Brands.

ChrisI’m still shaking when we find a dry patch under the gnarled oak.I’m not cold or scared, I’m fucking furious.The forest tried to take him. Again. Like it doesn’t know he’s mine.I watched Elliott circle the same clearing over and over, his steps frantic, his eyes hollowed-out with confusion.Like something had looped his body but left his soul behind. He said it spoke in his voice. I believe him.But I didn’t come running through this gods-damned cursed forest to listen to his voice break in terror.I came to fight for him.He sits on the mossy ground now, legs bent, head dropped between his knees like he’s still trying to get a grip on himself.His shirt clings to him with sweat, his chest is rising and falling too fast. I can see the pulse in his throat.I crouch and pull his face up with two fingers.His eyes are glassy. There’s too much and not enough all at once."Still with me?" I ask, low.He nods.But his lower lip trembles like he’s about to say something that won’t c

IlsaCaelan doesn’t sleep. Not like the rest of us.When I wake up, I find him sitting cross-legged at the edge of the clearing, silver-blond hair falling into his starlight eyes, unmoving except for the occasional blink.It should be unnerving. Hell, it is unnerving. But I’ve gotten used to it.What I haven’t gotten used to is the way the forest folds around him like it’s been waiting for him."You knew the timelines were off before we did," I say, stepping up behind him.He doesn’t turn. Just tips his head. "You felt it.""Felt you, more like," I snap. "You’re always five seconds ahead of us. Why?"A long pause.Then he rises, smooth and slow, like a shadow peeling off the earth."Because time doesn’t behave the same way for me. Not anymore.""What does that mean?""It means I was lost here long before you were."His voice is calm, but something old ripples under the surface. Like he’s trying not to remember too hard.I cross my arms. "Are you ever going to tell me your real name?"

ScarlettI dream of roots. Of a forest stripped bare and hollowed out from the inside.Trees shaped like cages. Air heavy with the scent of ash and bone.And in the center of it all, a throne. Formed from twisted branches, half-dead and half-alive, pulsing with a heartbeat not my own.He sits atop it like a memory given form. A skeletal wolf, antlers rising like a crown from the cracked dome of his skull.Moss drips from his jaw. Eyes like firelight flicker in empty sockets.And when he speaks, it’s with my voice."You were made for this."The roots pulse under my feet, winding around my legs. They don’t hurt, but I don’t like the feeling that they’re claiming me."You lit the fire. You carry the flame. You burned the way open."“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper.His jaw creaks into something like a grin. "Intent doesn’t matter. Only the fact that it was done."I jolt awake, lungs straining like I’d been screaming.Gold glows along my arms. Veins of molten light threading from shoulder to

ChrisThe forest deepens around me, dense and heavy with the scent of earth and decay.It feels like walking through the crease of a forgotten story, where the past presses close and nothing stays buried.I push through a veil of hanging moss and ferns, my fingers grazing rough bark and tangled roots. The ground dips sharply, revealing a low mound crowned by a cairn. A haphazard stack of stones, weathered and crumbling.The stones are mottled with age and coated in lichen, but their arrangement is deliberate.Someone wanted this place marked.Curiosity pins me down. Kneeling, I pry loose a flat stone from the base, revealing a cavity underneath.Inside, wrapped in a cloth stiff with rot, is a leather-bound journal.Its cover is cracked, swollen from moisture, edges frayed like brittle leaves.My fingers tremble as I pull it free, the weight of what’s inside pressing against my chest.Opening the book is like stirring dust in a tomb.The pages are yellowed and fragile, ink faded but st