Lahat ng Kabanata ng Four Times Rejected, Destined for The Throne: Kabanata 221 - Kabanata 230

“Calla, two days from now is your birthday, the big one. You finally get your wolf. Are you starting to feel the itch yet, or are you just terrified?” The question came from Petric, his tone lilting with easy playfulness. He was swinging a rusted machete with rhythmic unconcern, clearing away the thickest of the low-hanging ferns that crowded the path. Petric, Loray, Liam, and Calla were making their way along the winding, vine‑choked trail. It led to their small provision ground, a modest clearing carved from the jungle’s aggressive emerald embrace about two miles from the Amazon pack’s temporary encampment. The atmosphere was light, almost festive, buoyed by the scent of damp earth and the distant, screeching calls of tropical birds. The air wrapped around them, a warm shroud of crushed orchids and decaying cedar, though none of them seemed to mind. The four of them were gearing up for the final harvest

As they neared the clearing, the familiar sounds of the Amazon pack’s camp, the rhythmic chop of wood, the low murmur of voices, the scent of roasting meat, began to filter through the trees. For the four of them, pack life suddenly felt strange, like a language they hadn’t spoken in years. The chatter around the fires carried on, but it might as well have been coming from another world. Loray slowed at the edge of the torchlight, letting the glow catch her face before she turned back to the men. Her expression was uneasy, the firelight flickering in her eyes like a quiet warning she couldn’t quite put into words. “We can’t let her do it alone, you know,” Loray stated, her voice barely a notch above the rustle of the leaves. “If she really goes through with a witch’s ritual, it could kill her. The shock to a young wolf... it’s like trying to pull a tree out by the roots while it’s still growing. You don’t just walk away from a fated bond

Calla tilted her head back, a wide, confident smile blooming on her lips. The morning sun caught the newfound brightness in her gaze, highlighting a strength that had been buried under layers of fear for far too long. “I’m good now, Petric. Like, actually good. The trauma is gone. I feel light, you know? Like I can finally breathe again. My past doesn't have a grip on me anymore. I’m finished with it. I’m not that girl who was broken in the woods. I’m someone new.” On an impulse, Petric pulled her into a hug, tucking her head against his chest. He held her there for a long moment, wanting to soak in her new energy. She felt solid, warm, and finally at peace. It was infectious, a rare moment of pure relief in the midst of their exile. “You’ve changed,” he murmured, almost teasing, but then his voice faltered. The smile faded, replaced by a sudden surge of clarity. ‘If she could let go of he

The feast was a riot of color and sound. Long tables were laden with roasted venison, wild berries, and honeyed bread. The Amazon warriors sang songs of old battles and new beginnings. Calla sat at the head of the main table, Petric’s arm draped possessively over her shoulders. Every time a member of the pack approached to congratulate her, Petric would pull her slightly closer, his thumb tracing idle, burning circles on the skin of her collarbone. "You're glowing," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with the evening chill. "I feel... light," Calla replied, turning her face to look at him. The firelight danced in his blue eyes, turning them into glowing sapphires. "I didn't think I could ever feel this much." "This is just the beginning," Petric promised, his voice dropping to a gravelly timber. H

In the Palace of the Werewolf King… The night was heavy, the kind of silence that presses against the walls of the Palace and makes every heartbeat sound louder than thunder. At this time, Princess Zara jolted awake, her chest burning with a pain so sharp it stole her breath. Sweat clung to her skin, her body trembling as if the ache had burrowed deeper than ever before, overwhelming her completely. Her body didn’t simply ache, it recognized a void, an uneven hollow blooming behind her ribs, where a golden thread had once pulsed softly. Back then, it had felt like a growth spurt, a stretching of the soul. Now, it felt like an amputation performed with a blunt, frozen saw. ‘Mother… Father… Her voice broke through the mind link, desperate and pleading. ‘Please help me, I can’t take it anymore! It’s pulling me apart! Everything is going grey!’ The parental bond carried her anguish like a scream across the nig