Todos os capítulos de Marked by the Lycan Prince: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

DARIANI weave through the corridors of the Haven, cloak brushing the cold stone walls. My boots echoing as I try to silence everything; his prophecy, Iris, father’s words—just push them all into the recesses of my mind.Then I hear them.“Darian! Wait!” It’s Adrian’s voice, low but urgent. Kelvin’s footsteps follow. I don’t stop. I keep walking.“Are you okay?” Adrian calls from behind.I glance over my shoulder, brows raised. Adrian’s hands lift in mock surrender, eyes wide. He knows I don’t want this. Kelvin lags a few paces behind, tense.“Adrian,” I say sharply. “Kelvin.”They stop at the turn that leads to my room. I keep going.Adrian steps to block me. “Talk to us.”I don’t.I push past them and reach my door, slipping inside.I slam the door of my room so hard the hinges groan. Bits of wood as old as memories twitter in the wind from the crack. Heart pounding, hands shaking, I brush past the splintered chair I just threw, marshaling every ounce of anger burning beneath my s

ZEUSI move down the corridor, my mind reeling, calculating. Even though I refused Father’s plan to kill Iris, I know the threat still looms. He wouldn’t let it go. They would find someone else to do the job and I won’t be needed anymore. I need to do something, something bold, to stay in Father’s favor but make sure I stop their plan to kill Iris at the same time. I veer off toward Darian’s chambers instead of mine.The door’s cracked, light spilling out. I push it open and find him there: seated on the king-sized bed, one knee drawn up, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at nothing. His silhouette is sharp in the window’s moonlight; shadows trace his face. He doesn’t turn when I enter. The room is a chaos, papers everywhere, maps flipped, chairs knocked over. A lamp leaning precariously. Ink stains on carpet.I clear my throat. “Living room or war room?” I tease, stepping in. My boots crunch against broken wood from something shattered on the floor.He stays silent, doesn’t look

IRISI stare at his profile, jaw clenched. My mind reels. “Kill me?” I whisper, barely sure I heard. “Why?”Darian doesn’t speak immediately. Horns honk behind us. The engine hums. I watch his face in the mirror, troubled, regretful, resolute.I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, arms wrapped around myself as if I can protect my own heart. “You’re not serious.”“You have to take this seriously,” he says finally, voice low but firm.“I am taking it seriously, Darian,” I bite back. “But you’re not telling me why. None of this makes sense.”He sighs and rubs his forehead like he’s trying to smooth out a headache that’s been there for years. “It’s not easy to explain.”“Try,” I whisper.The silence that follows is thick. The road outside is a blur of trees and light posts, but I don’t see any of it anymore. My world has shrunk down to this moment, this car, this truth he’s about to tell me.“When I was born,” he begins slowly, “a prophecy surfaced.”I look at him. His

DARIANMy heart pounds against my ribcage like a war drum. I stand frozen in Iris’s grandfather’s living room, “You!” hanging in the air. When he saw me, the flash of recognition in his eyes hit me like a blade. And suddenly the stories I’d heard in whispers, half‑digested, fell into place.He betrayed my grandfather’s pack.Not simply fleeing, not merely hiding, but actively turning on them, under cover. Because of pride. Because he envied us. Because he lost a bride in a political game and decided revenge.I understood then: Iris’s grandfather and mine were rivals, two Alphas of large packs bordering one another. Both vying for influence. Both courting the same powerful pack’s princess to form an alliance that could secure peace. My grandfather won. The marriage altered the balance of power. Political alliances shifted. Packs that had stood with Iris’s grandfather drifted away.He didn’t just accept defeat. He plotted. Secretly he built up a force, soldiers loyal to him but unseen,

IRISDinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.We all sit. Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”I frown. “You should eat.”He