Semua Bab Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Bab 591 - Bab 600

IlsaThe wind stills when I speak the words."Ilsa Kaelith of the Riverbone Clan."The name feels strange in my mouth and perfectly mine all at once. Like wearing armor that's been waiting for my body to grow into it.The trees shiver, their branches quivering as if touched by an invisible hand.Light seeps through the canopy in thin beams that ripple like water across stone, illuminating the circle of standing stones beneath my feet.The others wait behind me in breathless silence.I can feel their tension like a physical thing.Caelan is the only one who steps forward, positioning himself beside me without hesitation.His palm brushes mine, and the contact sends electricity up my arm.A shape begins to form from the ash and shadow.He’s taller than I remember from my dreams.Cloaked in bones that gleam like polished ivory, crowned with antlers that drip with silver moss like tears, the Hollow King emerges from the veil between worlds.His eyes are empty sockets that should hold noth

ChrisI keep seeing flashes. Like old film reels stuttering to life behind my eyes.A howl echoing off stone halls. Blood smeared in crescent arcs across a shield I don't own.Elliott watches me as I crouch at the edge of the clearing, head in my hands."You're doing it again," he says, stepping close.His voice cuts through the whispers like a blade.I don't look up. "Doing what?""Going somewhere I can't follow."That gets me. I raise my head, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth."It's not on purpose. I keep remembering things that don’t belong to me."The phantom taste of blood fills my mouth. I spit into the moss, trying to clear it."Do you think it's bleed-over from the Ash-born?""What else could it be?""Does it scare you?""It confuses me. Makes me question what parts of me are really me. What if everything I think I am is just borrowed? What if the way I love you isn't even real?"Elliott's expression shifts. Something fierce and possessive flashing across his features.

ScarlettI feel it in my chest first. That familiar tug of wrongness that's become as recognizable as my own heartbeat.The forest has taught me to read its’ moods.Only it's not the forest this time. It's Erik.He stands at the edge of the ritual clearing like a man condemned, chalk lines already drawn in precise geometric patterns around his feet.He's layered wards around himself. I can see them shimmering in the periphery of my vision.Every single one of them screams of desperation. Of finality.He doesn't know I'm watching from the shadow of the treeline.He means to do this alone. The stubborn, noble fool.I step forward, branches cracking under my boots. "Don't you fucking dare."He flinches, just barely. A tell I've learned to read after months of watching him try to hide his pain. Then he turns, slow and guilty, shoulders sagging like he's carrying the weight of the world. "Scarlett-""No," I snap, closing the distance between us with predatory grace.My fire responds to my

CaelanThe Hollow King waits.He stands beneath the twisted canopy of the oldest trees, a crown of bleached antlers shadowing his skeletal face.Each antler is carved with symbols that hurt to look at directly, and bones hang from them like macabre ornaments.Finger bones, rib bones, small skulls that might once have been birds or rabbits or children.His eyes are hollow sockets, darkness so complete it seems to swallow light, but they see me.Every secret, every buried truth, every fragment of who I used to be."You came," he rasps, his voice like stone cracking under pressure, like the earth splitting open to reveal its secrets.I take a step forward, my boots silent on the moss-covered ground."You called me," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.He inclines his head, the movement slow and deliberate."Not I. The part of you, you left behind."I feel it then. A tug in my chest, a pulse just beneath my sternum.A second heartbeat that's been there all along, waiting.“You were thei

ScarlettThe stars burn with a different light now, as if the veil between sky and earth has grown thin enough to let their true radiance bleed through.Or perhaps it's me who's changed, my perception altered by magic and trauma and the strange alchemy of surviving the impossible.Chris moves ahead of our small procession, his stride carrying the easy confidence of someone who's faced his demons and found them smaller than expected.Yet there's a hyper-awareness in the way he moves, a subtle tension that speaks of hard-won wisdom.His shoulder finds Elliott's every few steps, casual contact that looks accidental but isn't.As if he needs the physical confirmation that Elliott is still here, still breathing, still real.I understand that compulsion intimately.After what we've been through, the urge to constantly verify that our people are whole and present feels less like paranoia and more like prayer.Erik walks beside me, his fingers interlaced with mine. His palm radiates warmth ag