All Chapters of Rejected by My Mate, Captured by a Dominating Lycan King: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

We are met with five lycans dressed in black fighting gears in a private lounge as soon as we arrive at Berlin-Schönefeld Airport. They all look tough and formidable. Caspian introduces me to the leader of the group, Darius, who seems to be a close friend of theirs. He's as tall as the three but even bulkier than Silas. His blond hair is almost white and is swept neatly back. He seems very intimidating. His pale blue eyes are almost as pale as Caspian's. I sense warmth, strength, honor, and loyalty in him. "So, finally I get to meet Prince Caspian's mate. I'm sorry about what happened, but I'm glad that you're doing very well." He smiles, offering me his hand. His English is thick with the German accent. He will be traveling with us to track down Vivian who is now meeting with the rebel group leader. They are believed to be in a werewolf pack territory suspected of supporting the rebels. "It's nice to meet you too," I reply, taking his hand. I climb in a big black Hummer-like veh

ROAR. A deafening, primal growl rips through the clearing. A set of razor claws clamps around Viktor's jaw from behind, snapping his head backward until his spine groans under the angle. In one fluid, brutal sweep, another set of claws slices his throat wide open. Skin tears like wet paper, and a sickening gurgling sound escapes his lips as blood sprays across the grass. Caspian. He looks like a terrifying, vengeful god. Blood coats his bare chest, dark veins bulging and pulsing across his muscles. His eyes are pitch black, wild and lethal. His lips pull back in an animalistic snarl, exposing gleaming fangs. Viktor twitches on the ground, clutching at his open windpipe, trying desperately to heal. But Caspian doesn't give him the chance. He tears into him with merciless precision, shredding him until he stops moving. I avert my eyes from the gore. My arms are still screaming in agony, but my eyes search for Vivian. She’s dragging herself through the mud on her stomach with he

True to his nature, Prince Caspian does exactly what Prince Caspian wants. He never lets go of my hand. Ignoring Queen Sophia's attempt to exile me to the far end of the table and place Lady Celeste beside him, he pulls me straight into Lady Celeste's reserved seat right to his right. He then claims the seat next to me where the royal cousin was supposed to sit. The unnamed royal cousin shuffles on his feet, looking frantically around the table for another available chair before hesitantly slumping down near the King. Poor guy hunkers down like he's trying to merge with the wallpaper, looking so green I half-expect him to lose his dinner right into his lap. Honestly, I'm just glad he's not sitting next to me. Caspian gives my hand a firm squeeze, and I sit up straight, tipping my chin high. Queen Sophia is clearly trying to put me in my place, but I won't bend for anybody. My mother didn't raise a coward. I look everyone at the table dead in the eye; proud, defiant, and unbothered.

By the next morning, the entire situation takes a completely unexpected turn. Sitting across from me at the private breakfast table is a man who looks almost identical to Julian—same sharp facial features, same tall build, same fair hair. But his eyes are a striking golden-brown instead of sky blue, and his swagger is entirely different. Arrogant, cocky, and overly flirtatious, like Julian's personality got run through a filter labeled "insufferable." His name is Damian, and he is Julian's cousin. He smirks at me from across the table, leaning back in his chair. "You're a striking woman," he says, his tone dripping with unearned confidence. I narrow my eyes at him, completely unimpressed. "And you're a striking amount of trouble I did not order with breakfast, but here we are." Caspian, to his credit, does not even try to hide his grin at that one. Caspian shifts beside me, his thigh pressing against mine as his hand covers mine on the table, silently marking his territory.

Moving in a half-phase state gives us the perfect middle ground-heightened smell, sharper vision, and superior lycan agility without the hindrance of fully elongated claws and teeth. Basically the tactical sweet spot between "regular girl" and "furry murder machine," and honestly I'll take it.Selene and I follow the faint scent past the royal estate, cutting through the snow-covered woods and into the valley. Under the bright moonlight, the snow glows as if it were mid-day. Under any other circumstance I'd be stopping to admire it. Tonight is very much not that circumstance."Stop," Selene mutters, her voice turning guttural as her eyes darken. Knowing the terrain better than anyone, she halts and scans the trees. "We're approaching werewolf pack turf."She points toward a small structure barely visible through the tree line down in the valley, roughly 150 yards away. The wind carries unfamiliar scents toward us."Do you smell that?" I ask, testing the air."Blood," Selene snarls. Fi