The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 33

The door clicked shut behind him, and silence rushed in like breath held too long.

I stood there, motionless, hand still hovering where his had been–where my fingers had brushed his without meaning to. The warmth of it lingered, like the last flicker of a fire before the ashes settle cold.

Static. That’s all it was. Dry air. Old stone. A castle full of shifting heat and shadow. Nothing more.

I closed my hand slowly, curled my fingers inward, as if I could snuff out the feeling. It meant nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Except…

The robe felt tighter around my waist than it had a moment ago. I loosened the belt a bit more and turned

toward the mirror, catching the flush in my cheeks and the way my hair clung to my shoulders, still damp

from the shower. The air kissed wet skin and made me shiver–but it wasn’t the cold that left me rattled.

It was him. Not the king or the soldier. The man. The one who knocked instead of barging in, who turned

away instead of taking, who asked before deciding.

And it shouldn’t have mattered. Except it did.

I sat down slowly at the edge of the bed, the mattress sighing beneath me as I sank into the quilt Sabrinal had brought last week. My fingers found the corner seam and twisted it into knots I couldn’t undo.

Why now? Why would Tobias be looking for me now?

It had been weeks. Long enough to believe I was safe. Long enough to start breathing like I wasn’t waiting for footsteps outside the cabin door. He hadn’t come then–not when I disappeared from the pack house. Not when I dropped his name and my title and everything that tethered me to that place.

He hadn’t even called.

I tricked him into signing the divorce papers without ever raising his voice. He probably hadn’t read them. Just assumed they were some formality I was handling and signed like he always did, distracted and

indifferent.

He’d always been indifferent.

The memory rose, sharp and sour.

Our third anniversary.

I came home early.

New lingerie still in the bag.

Hope curled tightly in my chest like maybe–just maybe–this year would be different.

< CHAPTER 33- Sparks and Scars

His office door was cracked.

The desk lamp on.

475 Pointer

And there he was behind his desk, chair tilted back, eyes half–closed, one hand wrapped tightly around his c**k. Phone propped up with a lewd photo of Vanessa.

When he saw me he had yelled at me for being in his office without knocking and screamed at me to get out. He definitely didn’t care then and he definitely doesn’t care now.

So no–I didn’t believe for a second that he was coming after me now out of love.

It wasn’t love he’d lost. It was control. His image.

The optics of the mate who slipped away.

Maybe it was guilt, but I doubted it. Guilt would’ve come with an apology. A message. Something more

than four weeks of silence and then–a visit to the cabin.

No. He wasn’t chasing me. He is likely chasing the idea of what he thought I should still be–his shield from being forced to marry Veronica Ainsley. In the three years we were married we didn’t produced an

heir.

I mean that is impossible to do if you never touch your wife.

And yet… the fact remained. He was looking. Which meant I wasn’t invisible anymore.

Which meant part of me–some fragile, wounded part I thought I’d buried deep enough–still had the capacity to hurt over that. To ache.

I hated it. I hated him for stirring it. I hated myself more for feeling it.

I shifted back on the pillows, letting my body stretch across the bed, one arm draped over my eyes. My damp hair soaked into the fabric beneath me, but I didn’t care.

Thoren had handled it gently. Thoughtfully. Like every word was a door he wasn’t sure he was allowed to open. He hadn’t assumed. He hadn’t pushed. He’d just… come to me. Like I mattered.

Like what I wanted mattered.

The bar for men in my life had been buried so low for so long, it was easy to mistake decency for desire. But there’d been something in the way he’d stood there before leaving, hesitation caught in the space between us like a thread neither of us dared pull.

And then I’d touched his hand. Just a thank you, a gesture. But my fingers still tingled, and my heart hadn’t

settled since.

It was just static. It had to be static.

Because anything else… Anything real? That would be harder to ignore.

I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket up to my chest, tucking it close beneath my chin like armor. It

< CHAPTER 33- Sparks and Scars

+25 Points

was still too early to go to sleep and I still needed to eat dinner, but I just need to have this stillness for a

moment.

I let the stillness hold me for a little while longer.

Just a few more breaths.

A few more seconds of being no one’s wife, no one’s war, no one’s responsibility.

Just me.

Eventually, the ache in my stomach reminded me that I’d skipped lunch. That training had wrung me out

and left nothing in reserve. I sighed and sat up, peeling the blanket off and forcing my limbs to move even

though I didn’t want to. Even though some part of me still wanted to stay curled up and untouched by the

world.

But I wasn’t that woman anymore, was I?

I padded across the room and pulled on a soft black hoodie and leggings, twisted my damp hair into a

loose braid, and glanced once more at the mirror. The flush in my cheeks had faded. But my eyes–those

still looked a little raw. A little too full.

I left my room and made my way down the hall, past the warmth of the sconces, the hum of castle life shifting toward evening. When I reached the dining hall, I paused just outside, then pushed the door open.

Thoren was already there. Standing near the hearth, drink in hand, shoulders relaxed but not entirely at

ease.

He looked up the moment he sensed me.

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