The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 13

Nevara

The walk took hours.

Neither of us shifted.

We stayed in our human forms–silent, tense, and dressed in bloodstained clothes and things unsaid.

The forest stretched endlessly around us, but Thoren never hesitated. He moved like a compass needle

locked on a point only he could feel. I kept pace, refusing to ask where we were going, even though every mile scraped raw the question building in my chest.

I thought about the cabin. About the blood on the sheets. The claws on the porch. The basket of yarn I

never got to finish. It felt absurd, now. Fragile. Like something that belonged to a softer version of me who no longer existed.

The further we walked, the more I realized we were climbing. Gaining elevation slowly but steadily. The

trees began to thin, giving way to wide sloping trails worn into the hills. The air cooled. The wind

sharpened.

And still–no words.

He kept just a step ahead. Not far. Not close. But enough that I could watch the way his shoulders moved. the way his gait shifted when he was scanning for threats.

He was still in his half–shifted form: claws instead of fingers, sharp ears twitching with every gust of wind, eyes glowing faintly gold even under the trees. Like he couldn’t fully return to being a man.

Or maybe he didn’t want to.

It wasn’t until the trees broke open entirely that I realized what we were approaching.

My feet slowed.

Just ahead, carved into the mountainside and lit with cold flickers of moonlight, was a stone wall.

A massive one. Wide as a fortress. Tall as a cathedral. Towering gates stood at its center, reinforced with

metal and runes I didn’t recognize. Guards stood watch–two at the gate, four above, and more I couldn’t

see but could feel.

Wolves. Lycans. Warriors.

Thoren paused and looked back at me.

I stared past him, trying to make sense of it.

“…Is this… the Lycan kingdom?” I asked.

His face didn’t change. “Yes.”

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< CHAPTER 13–THE KINGDOM BETWEEN

I crossed my arms. “You brought me here? After everything?”

“You’re safer inside the walls.”

“Really?” I narrowed my eyes. “You rejected me as your mate, Thoren. But now I’m what–your charity case? Your border rescue project? You bring me here like I’m under your protection, but won’t your mate have a problem with that?”

His expression flickered for just a second. Not enough for most people to notice.

I wasn’t most people.

“And what about the king?” I added, voice tightening. “I doubt he takes kindly to unexpected guests showing up at his gates. Especially ones with… complicated histories.”

Thoren turned back to the gates.

His voice came low. Neutral.

“Don’t worry about the king.”

“And your mate?”

He paused just a breath too long.

Then, with cool dismissal:

“Don’t worry about her either.”

Something in my chest twisted.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered.

He didn’t answer, Just started walking again as the gates creaked open before us, metal groaning against

stone.

The guards didn’t question him. They just stepped aside.

Which, frankly, should have tipped me off. But I was too busy choking on resentment to notice.

We stepped inside.

The world changed.

The Lycan kingdom wasn’t like the packs.

There were no suburban lodges, no quaint dens or overbuilt pack houses with polished floors and too many opinions. The air here buzzed with discipline and silence. The architecture was brutal–sharp lines and stone spires carved into the mountain itself. Fires burned in braziers along the main path, casting golden shadows across the cracked flagstones.

And the people–If you could call Lycans that–watched us as we passed.

Not with curiosity.

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< CHAPTER 13–THE KINGDOM BETWEEN

With calculation.

They didn’t ask who I was.

They already knew I didn’t belong.

My skin prickled under every stare. But Thoren didn’t slow. He didn’t look left or right. Just kept walking through the fortress like he owned it.

And maybe he did.

We turned off the main path into a narrower corridor flanked with heavy archways. I recognized some of

the symbols carved into the stone–old pack runes. Sacred geometry. Some of them were meant to bind

Others… to bless.

He stopped before a heavy door and opened it without a word.

It was a guest chamber. Luxurious, if spartan. A hearth burned low in the corner. A bath steamed nearby The bed was massive and carved from dark wood. A tray of food had already been placed on the table.

I blinked.

“You were expecting company?”

He didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t.

I walked past him, crossing the room, and turned on my heel.

“Thoren.” His name came sharp. “What is this?”

“You’ll stay here tonight,” he said, as if that was the only answer required. “Rest. Eat. You’re safe.”

“I didn’t ask if I was safe.” I took a step closer. “Why bring me here? Why now? Why–after rejecting me. disappearing, and leaving me to piece myself back together like none of it mattered–now you show up?”

His jaw clenched.

I pushed. “Do you think this erases what you did?”

“No,” he said softly. “Nothing does.”

The honesty stunned me into silence for half a breath.

Then I regrouped. “Then why the hell-”

“Because I couldn’t stay away,” he snapped, voice raw for the first time. “Not when I scented you. Not when I knew what was circling.”

We stood there in the quiet. Breathing. Barely.

The fire popped. Somewhere outside, a howl echoed–distant but clear. Not a threat. Not a call.

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