The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 – THE ESCAPE

Nevara

Halloween dawned crisp and gold, the kind of morning that made you feel like the world had forgotten its sins for a moment. The air outside was sharp with the scent of burning leaves and spiced cider, autumn clinging to everything like smoke.

The pack house buzzed the moment the sun rose–warriors strung orange lights between the trees, children darted through the yard with painted faces, and there she was. Vanessa. Right in the center of it all, draping caramel apples on a tray like she was the one who’d orchestrated the entire event.

Knowing her, she probably had.

I moved through the halls like I belonged to them. I smiled when someone passed, answered when spoken to, nodded when necessary. But beneath all of it, everything inside me felt tight and brittle, like I’d been stretched too far and would shatter if someone touched me the wrong way.

By noon, the courtyard was filled with noise and color. Tobias stood near the front steps, helping Noah wriggle into a miniature pirate coat. His expression was unreadable as usual–calm, composed, detached. Noah’s feathered hat sat crooked on his curls, one side drooping low.

Vanessa, of course, stepped forward to fix it. “There. My brave little captain,” she cooed, brushing his

cheek.

The three of them stood there–Tobias, Vanessa, and Noah–looking like the glossy image on a festival

flier. Smiling. Centered. Picture–perfect.

And me? I was invisible and thankful for it too. They didn’t notice when I stepped back. When I turned

away. When I disappeared.

Good. That was the moment I’d been waiting for.

My bag was already packed. Clothes. ID. The backup phone. A few keepsakes that actually mattered. I’d even tucked the torn photo of Nickolai into the side pocket, carefully folded, the crease taped. I couldn’t

leave him behind. Not again.

I didn’t look back as I crossed the lawn. My boots left soft impressions in the grass as I made my way

toward the tree line, where a narrow road twisted past the service gate.

My parents‘ old car sat there, engine already humming.

When I opened the back door and slid inside, my mother turned to look at me. Her expression was soft.

But there was tension in her jaw.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked quietly. “Once we leave the borders, there’s no turning back.”

“That’s the point,” I murmured.

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+25 Points

She didn’t try to stop me. She didn’t lecture or warn. She simply reached back, her hand finding mine. A

firm squeeze. A quiet acceptance.

The car rolled forward and the gates creaked open. The last of the Halloween banners fluttered above them–orange and black, cheerful and hollow. I watched them vanish in the rearview mirror until they wer nothing but a smear of color.

Gone. And in their place… my freedom.

It hit me in pieces. The farther we drove, the lighter I felt. Trimmed lawns gave way to wild underbrush. Stone paths became gravel, then packed dirt. Trees crowded the road like sentries, ancient and watching

We drove for hours and finally by the time the sun began to dip, the cabin came into view.

It sat crooked in a narrow clearing. The roof sloped under the weight of ivy and old leaves, the chimney leaning slightly to one side. The porch looked like it might splinter if the wind blew too hard.

But to me–it looked perfect.

My mother smiled faintly. “Your father and I used to stay here when we were your age. Before we joined

the pack. Before things got… complicated.”

I stepped out of the car. The ground felt different under my boots. The air too. Colder. Wilder. Like something untamed lived in the soil.

“Rogue territory,” my father said, popping the trunk. “Mask your scent when you go out. Most of them won’t care that you’re here, but best not to take chances.”

“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “I’m not planning to cause trouble. I just need time to think.”

He studied me for a moment. Then nodded. “You always were stubborn.”

My mother hugged me tight. “Call us. Or at least text. Just let us know you’re okay.”

I promised I would and they left shortly after that. They needed to get back before it was realized they were gone. They didn’t want to have to face questioning upon returning to pack lands.

Their taillights disappeared down the road, swallowed by trees. The sound of the engine faded, until there was only the wind. Only the creak of the cabin behind me.

Only silence. I turned slowly, taking it in. The chipped paint. The porch covered in leaves. The smell of cedar and age that poured from the doorway like memory.

It wasn’t much. But it was mine.

Inside, I lit a fire with kindling left beside the hearth and unpacked my bag one item at a time. Every motion deliberate. Grounding. I made a cup of instant coffee and settled on the small couch with the fire crackling at my feet.

For the first time in years, no one was watching.

< CHAPTER S–THE ESCAPE

No Vanessa humming in the next room.

No Tobias pacing the halls like he owned them all.

No duties. No roles. No mask.

Just me. Just the wind outside the cabin and the soft groan of the walls settling around me.

But after a while, something started to shift. Not loud. Not obvious. Just… a feeling.

+25 Pents

A prickle at the base of my neck. The itch of being seen. Not Tobias. Not Vanessa. Something older.

Something deeper.

I told myself it was just the woods. The trees shifting. The roof creaking in the cold. But instinct didn’t lie.

Still, I whispered to the fire, “Not tonight. Whoever you are, just leave me be.”

Tomorrow, I’d worry. Tonight, I needed to breathe.

The fire burned low by the time dawn began to touch the edge of the curtains. Pale light filtered in, catching on floating dust like gold–threaded ghosts.

For a long moment, I just lay there and watched them drift.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No expectations.

Just stillness.

When I finally stood, my joints cracked from sleeping on the couch. I stretched, walked barefoot to the

kitchen, and turned the faucet.

The pipes groaned–but then water rushed out. Cold and clean.

“Well water,” I murmured. I drank from the glass. It tasted like rock and rain.

I spent rest of the next morning making the cabin mine.

I set to cleaning. Dust coated every surface. I pulled old sheets from the furniture, shaking them out over

the porch rail. A couch. A table. A rocking chair near the window. Wood beneath the dust. Quiet warmth beneath the years.

The bedroom held only a bed and a dresser. I stripped the linens, found them intact. Stale, but washable. I opened the curtains and sunlight spilled across the quilt like honey.

The bathroom was small–a chipped sink, a cloudy mirror, a narrow shower. I flipped on the faucet and smiled when the water flowed strong.

My father had checked it before they brought me here. Of course he had.

The kitchen held mismatched dishes and a dented kettle. I filled it and set it to boil. My mother had left a

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small solar outlet and an old radio. I plugged it in and static gave way to a low country hum.

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