All Chapters of Rejected By My Mate, Claimed By The Lycan king : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

AUTHOR'S POVCassian couldn't stay away. Driven nearly mad by the suffocating distance between them and the terrifying knowledge that she had walked into a chaotic, hostile territory completely alone, he had mounted his stallion the moment the palace gates closed behind her carriage. He rode relentlessly through the pouring rain, crossing regional borders and pushing through the slick mountain passes without stopping to rest or take shelter, drawn toward her by a primal, irresistible pull he simply couldn't fight.He had only intended to keep watch from the shadows—to stand on the damp grass outside her window like a silent sentinel and ensure she was safe from Rowan's leftover loyalists and rogue border wolves. But the moment his sharp Lycan senses picked up the erratic, violent pounding of her pulse from the second-story window and smelled the burning, feverish heat radiating off her skin, every ounce of caution, hesitation, and self-restraint vanished into thin air.He slid the iro

ZARIA'S POV The atmosphere in the grand hall cracked under a sudden, overwhelming pressure as Cassian’s true Lycan aura erupted into the room. The sheer weight of his high-grade power rippled through the cold air like a physical blow, hitting the corrupt Elders with terrifying force. One by one, their knees slammed hard against the flagstones, their heads forced down toward the floor as the ancient dominance of the House of Volkov filled every square inch of the manor."The House of Volkov reclaims its bloodline lands," Cassian’s deep voice echoed, resonant and commanding through the bowing hall, striking fear into the hearts of those who had profited off Rowan's crimes. "However, during this transitional period, full administrative authority over the Bloodmoon pack will be held by Zaria. An interim administrative council will be established immediately under her direct command, and every single decree or order she issues carries the full, absolute weight of my crown. Anyone who dare

ZARIA'S POV The morning sun broke slowly over the jagged mountain ridge, casting long, golden fingers of light through the heavy, lingering mist that clung to the damp floor of the Bloodmoon valley. I opened my eyes long before dawn had fully settled into day, instantly aware that something within me had fundamentally shifted. The heavy, sluggish weight of sickness, fever, and bone-deep fatigue that had plagued my body for months was completely gone, chased away by the night. In its place, a powerful, vibrant, and undeniably primal current pulsed through my veins, singing softly beneath my skin and demanding movement, space, and air.I sat up straight in the bed, moving with a silent, effortless grace that caught me by surprise. My muscles felt tightly coiled, humming with a restless, electric vitality. Across the room, my mother was still fast asleep in the high-backed wooden chair by the dying embers of the hearth, her breathing deep and peaceful after days of tireless vigil. I sli

AUTHOR'S POV The journey back to the northern territory bore no resemblance whatsoever to the dark, desperate, and fever-ridden carriage ride that had dragged her south weeks ago.Instead of hiding behind tinted glass windows and heavy velvet curtains while shivering under wool blankets, Zaria traveled entirely in the open air, embracing her new strength. Her sleek, silver wolf form bounded across the jagged foothills with effortless, terrifying power. Her large silver paws tore across the pine-strewn mountain trails, leaping effortlessly over roaring glacial streams and scaling steep, rocky ridges with a raw, wild grace. The elite Shadowpelt guards, who had been left behind to secure the border, were forced to push their heavy warhorses to a full lather just to keep her shimmering coat in sight.Beside her, riding hard on a powerful bay mare, Maya watched her friend with an unstoppable, radiant grin. The fragile, outcast girl who had once struggled to carry water pails up the icy ma

AUTHOR'S POV The high stone chamber of the royal council was usually freezing, draughty, and stiflingly formal, but today the atmosphere inside felt charged with an intense, palpable warmth. For the first time in the recorded history of the Shadowpelt Citadel, a new crest—a sleek, shimmering silver wolf carved into solid mahogany—had been added to the grand round table.Zaria sat upright in her high-backed leather chair, her posture effortlessly straight and her expression calm. Across the polished wooden table, Elder Vane—a stubborn, traditionalist lord who had held his council seat since Cassian’s father’s reign—cleared his throat with a loud, dismissive hum. He adjusted his heavy velvet robes and leaned over a stack of parchment ledgers with a condescending sneer."The proposed trade and grain allocations for the southern hamlets are frankly excessive," Vane blustered, waving a dry, bony hand dismissively in Zaria's direction. "These lower-ranking omegas, border farmers, and basi