The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 – BREAK THE SILENCE

Nevara

I woke to breath on my neck.

Not warmth. Not safety.

Rot. Hunger. Male.

Before I could move, a hand clamped down over my wrists, pinning them to the bed. Weight shifted across my legs–heavy, hard, intentional. I blinked hard into the dark, instincts clawing to the surtaza

twisted, kicked-

but there were too many limbs. Too much pressure.

One above me. One beside. One pacing just out of reach.

I froze. Not from fear-

from strategy.

Three rogues. I could smell it now. Musk and sweat and the sour bite of something unwashed and wid They didn’t belong here. Not just in the cabin. Not in my territory.

But I was pinned.

“You sleep so sweet,” one murmured, pressing his body lower until his knee dug into the space between my thighs. “Didn’t think a pack bitch this soft would be living alone.”

He laughed–low and wet–as his hand curled around the collar of my nightgown. He yanked once Buttons popped like knuckles breaking. Cold air hit my skin, and I felt the fabric peel open.

Exposed.

Helpless.

He pressed his palm flat against my breast, fingers curling possessively–not with desire, but with

claiming. Like I was something to be marked and used. Not a woman. Not a wolf. Just property

I growled. “Get. Off. Me.”

The one at my head tightened his grip. “Don’t bother, little thing, you’ll be giving us all a ride tonight.”

The third rogue just paced. Watching. Measuring.

The one on top of me added, “Yes you are, we’ve waited long enough”

His eyes glittered in the moonlight with something too calculated to be lust. Something colder.

“We’ve been watching you. Waiting. So naive and stupid to think you could be out here alone.”

This wasn’t just a rogue attack.

S

< CHAPTER 11–BREAK THE SILENCE

Cold. Wet. Sharp.

The chase began instantly.

Three sets of paws slammed against the ground behind me.

They didn’t hesitate. They knew the terrain. Their snarls cut through the trees–close, too close.

+25 Points X

I veered downhill, slicing through brush, my heartbeat a war drum in my chest. Every breath burned. My wolf surged forward, pushing harder, faster.

They were gaining.

I could feel the pack strategy in their movements. One high. One left. One center. Driving me. Herding me.

Not just chasing. Claiming.

Then-

the forest stopped.

The pressure in the air shifted. The ground vibrated–soft, low, impossible.

A soundless warning.

Something had arrived.

Not something.

Someone.

The rogues faltered behind me.

Too late.

He came from the dark like a myth–massive, upright, and silent.

He wasn’t a wolf. Wasn’t a man.

He was in–between.

Seven feet of raw muscle and fluid motion.

Black claws. Long silver–streaked fur across his shoulders and chest.

Digitigrade legs that coiled and released like a panther about to strike.

Eyes that glowed with a burnished gold too deep to be natural.

No words. No roar.

Just motion.

He launched into the first rogue with no hesitation.

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