All Chapters of The Marked Mate of the Lycan King: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

THE SHIFT IN DESIRE The sun was just starting to bleed over the horizon, turning the smoke from the ruins into a hazy purple. We were walking back to what was left of the camp. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my side, but I didn't care. What I felt in my chest was more distracting than the bruised ribs.Esmeralda was walking a few paces ahead of me. Her hair was a mess, tangled with leaves and dirt. Her tunic was torn. She looked like she had been through hell, yet she walked with her head up.I should be thinking about the casualties, I told myself. I should be planning the counter-attack. I should be thinking about how many horses we lost.Instead, I was watching the way the morning light caught the curve of her neck."You're falling behind," she said, stopping and turning around. She wiped a smudge of soot from her forehead. "Do I need to carry you, after all?""In your dreams," I grunted, catching up to her.She laughed. It was a small, tired sound, but it made my heart do

THE NEAR CONFESSIONThe wind at the top of the Weaver’s Spine was cold enough to bite through my cloak. Below us, the valley was a sea of grey mist, hiding the world we had left behind. The army was resting, the men huddled in small groups, their breath coming out in white puffs.I sat on a flat rock, my legs aching from the climb. My hands were red and raw from gripping the cold stones, but I didn't mind the pain. It was better than the tightness in my chest.Demetrius was standing a few feet away, looking out over the edge. He didn't have a cloak on. He just stood there in his leather tunic, his broad shoulders squared against the wind. He looked like he belonged up here, among the clouds and the jagged peaks.Why is he so quiet? I wondered. Usually, he was barking orders or making some comment that made me want to hit him. But tonight, he looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the whole mountain on his back.He turned and saw me watching him. He didn't scold me. He just w

PLANNING THE RETURNThe air in the war room was thick with the smell of old paper and the sweat of men who hadn't slept in days. Demetrius stood over the table, his fingers tracing the jagged lines of the front trenches. He looked older today. The shadows under his eyes were deep, like bruises.I stood by the window, watching the rain wash over the stone courtyard. Below, soldiers were sharpening swords. The sound of metal on stone was a constant, rhythmic scrape that made my teeth ache."We move at dawn," one of the generals said, his voice a gravelly rasp. "If we hit the southern flank now, we can break their supply lines."Demetrius didn't look up. "And how many men do we lose in the mud?""As many as it takes, Sire."I turned away from the window. My chest felt tight. I thought about the men in the infirmary—the way their skin turned gray and their breath came in wet gasps. It wasn't just the swords killing them anymore. It was the rot. The sickness that no doctor could name."It

THE CONFESSIONThe rain had started again, a soft tapping against the windowpanes that sounded like nervous fingers. I stood outside Demetrius’s door, my hand hovering over the wood. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.I should have been halfway to the gate by now. Kael was waiting. The horses were ready. But the crumpled note from Rhys was still tucked against my skin, and the thought of leaving Demetrius without saying the truth felt like a different kind of death.I pushed the door open. He didn't look up. He was sitting at his desk, his head resting in his hands. A single lamp was burning low, casting long, tired shadows across the maps spread out before him."I told you I didn't want any more tea, Silas," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion."It’s not Silas," I said softly.He froze. Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles under them looked like bruises. When he saw me, his expression softened, but only for a second be

THE FIGHTThe air in the hallway was cold, but it was nothing compared to the ice settling in my chest.I hadn't even reached the end of the corridor before I stopped. My breath was coming in short, jagged gasps. I looked down at my hands. They were still stained with the faint gold of the healing light I had used on him—the light he had just called a "trick.""He didn't mean it," I whispered, leaning my head against the stone wall. "He’s just scared. He’s a King. Kings get scared."But the words didn't help. The way he had looked at me... it wasn't just anger. It was a calculated cruelty. He had aimed for the softest parts of my heart and struck with perfect precision.I couldn't just leave. Not like this. If I left now, the silence between us would become a canyon I could never cross again. I turned around. My boots felt heavy as I walked back toward his door. My mind was a mess of thoughts. I should just go. No, I need to make him look me in the eye. He needs to see what he’s doing