All Chapters of Rejected Mate: Rise of the Lycan Princess : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Cain's POV Frostbite was loud in the daylight. Not with noise ..... but with purpose. Steel striking steel from the training yard. Boots cutting across packed snow. Orders carried in low, disciplined tones. This pack moved like a body that knew its bones. I stood at the edge of it. Not unwelcome. Not embraced. Observed. The barracks had been efficient ...... spare furs, thick walls, no unnecessary comfort. Frostbite did not decorate strength. It lived it. When I stepped outside at dawn, frost clung to the rooftops like a warning. The air bit at my lungs, clean and merciless. This territory did not forgive weakness. Fitting. Hannah spotted me before I reached the courtyard. She was already running drills with a group of younger warriors, correcting stances with sharp precision. She didn’t smile. “You’re early.” “I don’t sleep well in unfamiliar territory,” I replied. She gave a small snort. “It’s not the territory that’s unfamiliar.” That landed exactly where she inte

Cain’s POV Frostbite operated on watchfulness. I felt it from the moment I stepped into the main hall that morning. Conversations didn’t stop when I entered but they shifted. Shoulders tightened. Eyes tracked. Not hostility. Assessment. The Alpha King stood near the central table, having a discussion with Eric and two senior warriors. The Queen was absent, likely with Cora. Elena. They were calling her that more often now. The King looked up before I could announce myself. “Walk with me,” he said. It wasn’t a request. Eric’s eyes flicked toward me briefly. We exited through the rear doors, where the forest opened into a ridge overlooking Frostbite territory. Snow coated the trees in thick white silence. The cold here was sharper than in Lincoln .... less forgiving. The King walked without speaking for several moments. He did not need to fill silence. Neither did I. When we reached the edge of the ridge, he stopped. “You understand why you are here,” he said, not tu

Cora’s POV The air shifted before the words were spoken. I felt it the moment the eastern scout crossed the threshold of Frostbite Hall. He wasn’t frantic. He wasn’t broken. He was certain. And certainty was worse. Eric stood at the head of the war table, shoulders squared, calm in a way that always steadied the room. My father stood beside him. My mother sat just behind, silent but alert ..... watching everything. “Report,” my father ordered. The scout knelt. “John Snow has consolidated forces near the eastern ridge. Structured patrol rotations. Reinforced camps. Supply lines guarded.” Days ago my father had told the Lincoln pack to turn John Snow in, he had escaped before they could and had joined the rogues.“How long?” Eric asked. The scout swallowed. “At least three weeks. Possibly longer.” Eric’s jaw tightened ..... not in anger, but in realization. “He’s not preparing to strike randomly,” Eric said calmly. “He’s fortifying.” My father’s gaze sharpened. “For what

Cora’s POV Frostbite was quiet when we returned. Too quiet. Victories usually carried noise ..... relief, laughter, celebration that the threat had retreated. There was none of that. Snow had escaped. And worse He had left questions behind. My father had retreated into the strategy chamber almost immediately, speaking in low, controlled tones with Eric and Derek through the phone. Cain stood outside in the courtyard longer than necessary, staring toward the eastern ridge as if willing Snow to reappear. But I wasn’t thinking about the ridge. I was thinking about my mother. She had not spoken since we returned. Not to me. Not to anyone. She had watched Snow disappear down that slope with something raw in her eyes. I found her hours later in the north wing balcony, where the frost gathered thickest along the railings. She stood alone. The wind moved through her hair, silver catching moonlight. She didn’t turn when I approached. “What is going on,”

Third Person's POV The forest was silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence. The kind that listens. Wind moved through the trees in slow, deliberate currents, brushing frost from pine needles and carrying it like ash through the night air. A fire burned low in a clearing carved into the wilderness miles from Frostbite territory. John Snow stood on the edge of the light. Agitated. Pacing. His boots crushed frozen leaves beneath him, sharp and impatient. “You promised me movement,” he snapped. From the darkness beyond the firelight came a voice. Calm. Measured. “You have movement.” A figure sat in the shadows, far enough that the flames never fully revealed him. Only the outline of a man. One leg crossed over the other. Hands folded loosely in his lap. Watching. John turned sharply. “I had them cornered,” he growled. “The Frostbite Pack. The Alpha King himself. That was my moment.” “And yet,” the shadowed man replied smoothly, “you chose theatrics over execution.”