The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23 – Comfort Food and Close Quarters

Nevara

Sabrina arrived just before seven, right on time as always, her knock soft but firm againe my door when opened it, she gave me a smile that looked suspiciously like she knew something I didnt

“I’m here to escort you to dinner,” she said, folding her hands politely in front of her “The King has asked that I bring you to his office.”

I blinked. “His office?”

“You requested something smaller, quieter. He often takes meals there when he wants to avoid the grand hall.”

That made sense. I hadn’t really thought about what the alternative would be when id vetoes the dining hall. I just knew I didn’t want to sit in a room designed to echo with formality and cold sliver were cinks I wanted something simple. Private.

I followed Sabrina through the halls, the castle quieter than usual. Evening had settled in fully now, casting soft amber light through the narrow windows. I was dressed simply the sweater I put on after my batt thick leggings, hair braided. Not trying to impress. Just trying to be comfortable

When we arrived, she opened the office door for me, gave a slight curtsy (which I still hated), and disappeared without another word.

Thoren stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly askew, and a bottle of red wine already breathing on the credenza.

The smell hit me before anything else.

Mashed potatoes. Garlic, butter–creamy and indulgent. And meatloaf? Was that…. ketchup–glazed?

“You didn’t pick a meal,” he said, motioning toward the small table set near the fire, already laid out with two plates and flickering candles. “So I took the liberty.”

I raised a brow. “Meatloaf?”

“My favorite,” he said without shame. “Also figured the mashed potatoes might come in handy. Y’know in case you felt like launching them at me as you promised earlier.”

I actually laughed–an honest, startled sound that escaped before I could contain it. He smiled, and it hit me square in the chest.

“I’ve missed that laugh,” he said, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

But then he cleared his throat and gestured to the table like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

We sat, and for a minute, we were just two people having dinner. No mate bonds. No pack politics. No ghosts.

CHAPTER 23 – Comfort Food and Close Quarters

“But you did.”

I glanced at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not just talking about the run?”

He didn’t answer, not directly. He just held my gaze a beat too long and refilled my wine glass.

+25 Points?

We finished dinner slowly, without the awkwardness of the night before. And when it came time to say goodnight, I didn’t feel the same knot of tension in my chest. It didn’t feel like I was walking away from a minefield. Just… walking back to my room.

He moved to stand as I rose from my chair, brushing nonexistent crumbs from my lap.

“I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

I hesitated. “I should probably start learning my way around. If I don’t, I’ll be depending on Sabrina until I die of old age.”

He smirked. “You say that like she wouldn’t take incredible care of you.”

“Oh, she absolutely would. But I like to at least pretend I’m independent.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

We reached the door at the same time, both reaching for the knob in tandem. Our fingers brushed–just a light touch, skin to skin–but it felt like I’d grabbed a live wire.

A spark jumped between us, it wasn’t painful or even sharp. Just… electric and instantly familiar.

I jerked my hand back like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

He looked down at me, brows furrowed. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just static, I think.”

But even as I said it, I wasn’t convinced. That wasn’t normal static. It wasn’t the dry–air, shuffle–your–socks kind of zap.

It was warm and thrumming, deep in my chest and curling up my spine like a memory I didn’t want to revisit.

Like the bond used to feel from him.

I swallowed hard, stepping back. “Thanks for dinner. Really.”

He gave a slow nod. “Anytime.”

I turned and walked away before he could say anything else–before I could talk myself into asking what he felt in that moment.

As I moved through the corridor, quiet and dim, my mind replayed the touch and the spark. A flood of something I hadn’t felt in four long years.

It couldn’t be the mate bond, that was impossible. He rejected me. And when he did it severed it clean.

3/4

Det bats to be

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