The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 46

Nevara

Every part of me screamed.

My ribs throbbed from the hit. My pride stung worse. The sand beneath me felt cold and gritty against my palms, but Kael’s words snapped like a whip above me:

“Get back up and finish strong. Or he wins.”

Like hell he was winning.

I pushed to my feet, slow but steady, every breath a shot of fire through my side. Hopkins stood across the ring, barely masking his smug grin. He thought he’d already won–thought I’d stay down, tuck tail, take the

loss.

Stupid boy.

I rolled my shoulders, cracked my neck, and stepped back into stance. “Let’s go again.”

He sneered. “You sure? Hate to bruise the king’s favorite toy.”

I didn’t answer.

I just moved.

Fast.

He wasn’t expecting it.

I pivoted on my heel and drove a sharp jab to his gut–legal, clean, just enough to stagger him. He grunted, stepped back, but I didn’t let up. I spun, elbow aimed for his shoulder, then dropped low and swept his legs

from under him.

He hit the mat hard.

Gasps echoed from the sidelines.

I didn’t stop.

Not until I was standing over him, chest heaving, one foot pressed just barely into his sternum. Enough weight to remind him who was still upright.

“Still think I’m here because I fuck my way to the top?” I hissed.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t dare.

Kael’s voice rang out, clipped and cold. “Point, Laurent.”

I stepped back, hands loose at my sides, the heat in my lungs finally syncing with the heat behind my eyes.

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I didn’t let myself look proud. Didn’t let myself smirk.

I just nodded once and walked off the mat.

Let the silence follow me.

Let it speak for itself.

Because I didn’t need to scream that I earned my place here.

I’d bleed it. I’d prove it.

And I’d never let anyone–man, wolf, Lycan, or mouthy little shit like Hopkins–forget it.

The crowd around the sparring ring faded into the background.

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I stood alone, blood still pumping too hard in my ears, arms loose at my sides, adrenaline finally beginning

to drain from my system. I could feel every bruise already blooming under my skin, especially the one

radiating across my ribs.

But I was upright.

And Hopkins knew better now.

I turned away from the mat, letting my gaze drift upward across the training courtyard, past the benches, beyond the stone path that led back to the castle. Morning light caught on the tall windows of the east wing, glinting off the glass like a mirror.

And that’s when I saw her.

A figure in a pale dress.

Still. Silent. Framed by the window like a portrait.

I couldn’t see her face–just the shape of her body, the tilt of her head, the way her arms hung relaxed at her sides. But something about her posture, her presence… It felt like Michelle.

My breath caught.

Was she watching me?

Was it curiosity? Boredom? Concern?

Or something else entirely?

The air shifted. The courtyard noise hummed back into focus. Someone shouted across the mat. I blinked, glanced toward the commotion–a new pair of rookies were circling each other, Kael barking orders from the sidelines.

But when I looked back up to the window…

She was gone.

My pulse kicked just slightly harder.

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Coincidence, I told myself.

Nothing more.

Still, the image clung to me like a shadow.

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By the time training ended, my body felt like it had been dragged behind a wagon and left to dry in the sun.

I headed straight for the showers, letting the scalding water beat against my aching shoulders until the

worst of the soreness loosened.

Fresh clothes. Damp hair. Hunger clawing at my stomach.

I followed the corridor toward the dining hall, already half–dreaming about bread and whatever soup the

kitchen had stirred up today.

“Looking a little worse for wear, little wolf.”

Thoren’s voice slid into my ear before his hand slid around my waist.

I startled slightly, heat rising to my cheeks as he drew me in gently against his side. His arm curved around me with perfect familiarity, possessive but tender.

And then he leaned down and brushed his lips against my temple.

A simple kiss.

But the feeling-

A spark shot through me like lightning in my veins. Every part of my body responded before my brain could catch up. Want flooded through me–shocking, immediate, real.

And so, of course, I stepped away.

Not far. Just enough.

Just to breathe.

His hand slid off my waist without resistance. He didn’t comment, didn’t tease. But I felt the shift between

1. us. The pull and the pause. The space I’d put there.

Even though every nerve in me already missed his touch.

We reached the dining hall a moment later.

And just as I opened the door, a burst of color greeted us.

Michelle.

She walked in from the opposite hallway, arms full of wildflowers. Blush pinks, soft purples, creamy whites. She looked like a painting from a fairytale–breezy and serene, like she hadn’t just appeared in a castle window watching a sparring match with unnerving intensity.

She smiled at the nearest maid. “Could you bring me a few empty vases, please?”

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The girl nodded and scurried off.

Michelle crossed to the long dining table and began spreading the flowers into three neat piles. She

worked with focus, sorting each stem by type and length, humming softly under her breath.

Thoren blinked, brow furrowing. “What… are you doing?”

Michelle didn’t even glance up. “Arranging flowers, silly. What does it look like?”

I choked on a laugh. The look on Thoren’s face was priceless–somewhere between affronted and

confused.

Michelle finally glanced up, beaming. “Honestly, Thoren. You ask the silliest questions sometimes.”

I turned my laugh into a cough as Thoren slowly turned his gaze to me, jaw tight, eyes narrowed in

mock–offense. I shrugged. “She’s not wrong.”

The maid returned with three tall glass vases, and Michelle got back to work.

“One of these is for my room,” she said, delicately trimming stems. “One for the table. And this last one,”

she glanced over her shoulder at me, “is for you.”

I blinked. “Me?”

She nodded. “There’s a little wildflower field tucked right on the inside of the tree line. Just before the

woods really begin. It’s one of my favorite places. Quiet. Peaceful. I like to go gather a few whenever I

need something soft in the day.”

She finished the second arrangement and began placing the third pile into a vase with careful precision.

“You should come with me sometime,” she added. “You’d love it.”

I smiled. “I’d like that.”

The moment hung between us–warm, simple, easy.

Too easy.

But, it felt genuine.

She finished the last vase and stepped back, admiring her work.

We all took our seats.

But even as I reached for the bread basket and listened to Michelle hum her way through her soup choice, my gaze flicked toward the window behind her.

That tall glass panel facing the courtyard. Still. Silent. Empty.

And yet… I still felt watched.

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