The Freak Is The Mate Of The Lycan のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

The arena had never felt smaller.A hundred warriors surrounded us, their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in the center. The morning sun beat down on the packed earth, but I felt cold. So cold.Aiden stood ten feet away, his posture relaxed, his smile gentle. He looked nothing like a threat. He looked like a man who'd just been granted a miracle, eager to prove his worth.But I had seen it. That flash. That glimpse of something dark and hungry beneath the mask.Ares's hand was still crushing mine, his grip a silent warning. I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves, his entire body coiled like a spring."Yara," Aiden said, his voice warm and friendly. "May I call you Yara? Or would you prefer I use a more formal address?"The question was so disarmingly polite, so normal, that for a moment I almost forgot to be afraid."Yara is fine," I said quietly.Ares's grip tightened further. I was going to have bruises."Wonderful," Aiden said, taking a step closer. His movements wer

​The training was no longer a test. It was a ritual. It was our language.Every morning, I would meet him in the arena. The hundred warriors would be there, a silent, watching chorus.And every morning, he would dismantle me."You're dropping your guard, Yara."Whack. The wooden staff would connect with my ribs, the sound a dull, sickening thud. I’d hit the dirt, the air punched from my lungs."An enemy will not wait for you to catch your breath. Get up."I would scramble to my feet, my body a tapestry of new, purple bruises, my lungs on fire."You're relying on your good arm. You are unbalanced. Again."He was a brutal, relentless craftsman, and I was his piece of raw, stubborn steel. He was hammering me into shape, and the process was agony.I didn't hate him for the pain. I hated him for the moments in between.I hated him for the way he’d look at me when I finally, finally, managed to block one of his strikes. A flash of silver in his eyes. A raw, dark, possessive pride.He was fo

​The ascent from the canyon was a blur of ropes, shouting men, and the overwhelming, suffocating heat of the bond.The rescue team—Kael and a dozen Enforcers—had rappelled down like black spiders against the moonlit rock.They had tried to separate us.One guard had reached for me, his hands gentle."Don't," Ares had snarled, a sound so vicious it made the Enforcer recoil.Even bleeding, even half-dead from poison, Ares refused to let me go.The bond wouldn't allow it anyway.Every time an inch of space opened between us, a physical, nausea-inducing pain ripped through my chest.We were magnets. We were fused.The Goddess-Blessed Mark on my hand pulsed in time with the one on his chest, a rhythmic, silver heartbeat that drowned out the roar of the river.​When we finally crested the cliff edge, hauled up by the Enforcers, I collapsed onto the frozen grass.Ares was instantly over me."Healer," he barked. "Now.""I'm fine," I gasped, the cold night air stinging my lungs. "You... you we

The silence in the tower was not peaceful. It was the heavy, pressurized silence of a storm trapped in a bottle.Ares slammed the heavy oak door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the vast chamber. He didn't stop moving. He paced the length of the room, his boots striking the stone floor with a violence that made the flames in the hearth jump.He was vibrating with it. The rage."He saw it," Ares snarled, not looking at me. He ran a hand through his dark hair, gripping the strands tight. "He looked right at it, and he didn't see a miracle. He saw a meal."I stood by the fireplace, my hand—my right hand—still throbbing. The silver-blue light had dimmed to a low, steady pulse, like a dying ember, but the heat of it was still crawling up my arm, settling heavy in my chest."I know," I said quietly."He won't wait," Ares continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. He turned, his silver eyes locking onto me. "He wanted the throne because he thought power came from a ch

​The silence in the tower wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn't waiting for a scream, or a crash, or the smell of smoke.​It was just... quiet.​Ares kicked the heavy doors of his lair shut behind us. The sound of the latch clicking into place felt like the final period at the end of a very long, very bloody sentence.​He didn’t put me down.​I was pressed against his chest, my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms looped loosely around his neck. I was covered in grime, sweat, and the drying blood of the man who had tried to steal everything from us. My tunic—his mother’s tunic—was ruined.​But Ares held me like I was made of white porcelain.​“You’re shaking,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating against my ribcage.​“I’m coming down,” I whispered. My teeth chattered, just once. “The adrenaline. The Mark... it’s fading.”​The silver-blue light on my hand had dimmed to a soft, rhythmic pulse, like the last embers of a dying fire. The surge of god-like power that had allowed me to snap bones and