The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 45

CHAPTER 45 – Whispers and Warnings

Nevara

I was still trying to catch my breath.

+25 Ports

My legs trembled, lungs burning like I’d swallowed fire. Sweat soaked my back and stung my eyes, and my pulse refused to calm. Every inch of me throbbed with overuse.

Kael stood over me, arms crossed, expression carved from granite. Not smug. Not proud. Just… waiting.

I looked up through strands of hair that had escaped my bun. “Forty–five seconds,” I muttered.

“Forty–five seconds,” he confirmed, voice dry.

I braced myself. No excuses. No bargaining.

He let the silence stretch for a few heartbeats longer. Then finally said, “You started five minutes late. Came in only forty–five seconds behind the others.”

I nodded once, unsure if that was an observation or a preamble to doom.

“I’m not punishing you for the finish,” he continued. “You made up more time than most wolves could dream of. And your wolf form was clean–no signs of pacing or fatigue. But.”

Of course there was a but.

“You were late. You knew the time. You ignored the schedule.”

“I overslept.”

His brow lifted like he was unimpressed by the word.

“That’s still on you,” he said. “Discipline doesn’t care why you fail–just that you did.”

I swallowed the bitterness building in my throat. “Understood.”

“Five demerits. Final.”

I nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

He let out a quiet exhale, maybe not a sigh. Maybe just a signal to himself that this part was done. “Alright. Everyone’s to report to the hand–to–hand combat grounds for assessment. Move.”

He stepped back, barking a few clipped commands to the other instructors before turning and walking off.

I dragged myself upright, joints screaming in protest. The rest of the rookies had already started heading toward the east training yard, and I fell into step behind them, still fighting the urge to crumple like a dying deer.

The group moved in a loose formation–close enough to feel the crowd, far enough to avoid conversation.

And that’s when I heard it.

< CHAPTER 45- Whispers and Warnings

Low. Mumbled. Meant for someone else.

But I heard it.

“Must be nice fucking the king. Getting preferential treatment.”

My spine went stiff.

$25 Pama

Another voice, scoffing. “Fucking bullshit. Last week I was late to the run and finished late and got demerits for both. But she only gets punished for being late? Please. It’s all just for show–probably gets

wiped off her record later anyway.”

The heat that flooded my chest had nothing to do with the run.

Kael’s voice cracked across the yard like a whip. “What was that, Hopkins?”

A heartbeat of silence.

Then, “Nothing, sir!”

“Mm. That’s what I thought. Mouths shut. Step it up.”

The air went tight.

Hopkins didn’t say another word.

No one did.

But I felt the weight of it pressing against my back as we walked.

The judgment. The whispers. The resentment.

The knowledge that no matter how hard I pushed myself–how many miles I ran, how many bruises I earned–I’d never be just another rookie to them.

The sparring yard was already swarming with activity by the time I got there–barefoot fighters circling each other on sand–dusted mats, instructors pacing between pairs with clipboards and critical eyes.

Kael barked something to one of the junior trainers and motioned for us to fall in along the bench line. I collapsed onto the first open spot I saw, grateful for the temporary reprieve.

Sweat cooled on my skin in the morning air. My chest still rose and fell too fast, but the fire in my muscles had dulled to a manageable ache.

“Laurent, you’re fourth up,” someone called.

I nodded.

One pair stepped into the ring–grunting, circling, trading fast blows. Then another. Then another. //

heart rate fall back to normal. Tried to stay loose. Present.

Until I heard it.

“Laurent. Hopkins. You’re up.”

my

< CHAPTER 45- Whispers and Warnings

My spine straightened.

$25 Points

Hopkins stood across from me, broad shoulders rolling like he’d been waiting for this. He stepped onto the

mat with the kind of smirk you wanted to knock clean off someone’s face.

We squared up. Hands raised. Feet steady.

And then–predictably–he opened his mouth.

“So how’s it feel,” he muttered, “knowing you can roll out of bed late and still get a pass?”

I didn’t break stance. “I didn’t get a pass. I got demerits.”

“Yeah,” he said, circling me slowly. “For one offense. Not two. Not like the rest of us.”

“That’s because I actually made time up,” I snapped, pivoting as he moved. “I was late. Not slow. Big

difference.”

He scoffed. “Oh yeah? And I’m sure those demerits will mysteriously vanish after you suck the king off

tonight.”

My blood turned to ice.

“I’m not sleeping with the king,” I said coldly, even as I launched a strike toward his side.

He blocked it. Barely.

“Could’ve fooled the rest of us.”

He came in fast–jab, twist, elbow. I dodged, catching one hit to my ribs, but landed a knee to his thigh in

return.

“Jealous much?” I hissed.

“You think anyone here believes you earned that leniency?” he growled, trying to trip me.

I jumped back. “If you want pity points for being mediocre, maybe pick a different profession.”

He snarled and lunged.

I moved to counter–too slow.

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