The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 65

Chapter 65 – Fog and Firelight

Nevara

My eyes opened to a blur of muted browns and flickering light.

Everything was spinning.

Clain

My head throbbed–sharp and slow, like something was pulsing behind my right eye, trying to claw its way out. My hand drifted up instinctively and touched something wet and crusted just above my temple. I

winced.

A gash.

Not healing.

The second my fingers brushed it, the pain flared brighter, blinding me. I groaned and let my hand fall, my vision finally sharpening enough to take in the space around me.

A cabin.

One room. Wooden walls, knotty pine floors, and the acrid scent of firewood just barely masking something… sour underneath. A couch sat across from a fireplace, where embers glowed low. A small table was pushed against the far wall beside a kitchenette–a wood–burning stove, a sink, a mini fridge

humming faintly.

Two doors.

One straight ahead, slightly ajar. The other to my right, shut tight.

I heard it then.

The flush of a toilet. The hiss of running water.

The first door opened.

And out walked Tobias.

“Hey, babe,” he said, towel slung over one shoulder, voice casual. Too casual. “Finally awake. I was actually starting to get a little worried.”

I stared at him, but my thoughts were slow, sludgy. The words didn’t make sense–not until I forced myself to sit up, the world tilting hard. My stomach churned.

“What… what is this?” I rasped. “My head-”

“You hit it,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “Pretty hard, too. What do you remember?”

I blinked. Thought. Tried again.

“Everything’s… foggy,” I admitted. “I don’t remember how I got here. Or when. Or why we’re even here. Or what the date is.”

<Chapter 65–Fog and Firelight

“But you remember me?” he asked, voice dipping lower.

I looked at him, something crawling under my skin.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “You’re my husband. Alpha of Silvercrest.”

He smiled then, small and satisfied. “How long have we been married?”

“Three years.”

“Well,” he said, “seems like you remembered the important things.”

I touched the wound again. Still raw. Still bleeding in shallow pulses. My wolf was quiet. Too quiet.

“This should’ve healed by now,” I muttered. “Why hasn’t it—”

Claim

“I don’t know,” he cut in, kneeling beside the couch. “I tried communicating with your wolf earlier. I couldn’t

reach her.”

My brows pulled together. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe the head trauma blocked her,” he offered with a shrug. “You took a solid hit. Honestly, I’m

surprised you didn’t break your damn skull.”

He stood and moved toward the kitchen, filling a mug with something warm. The scent hit me before he

handed it over–tea. Bitter. Chamomile with something floral under it.

I took it, hands trembling slightly. Sipped.

“Where are we?” I asked. “And what are we doing here?”

“We’re up in the western mountains,” he said, settling onto the arm of the couch like it was the most

natural thing in the world. “Nice little cabin I built myself. You said you wanted a getaway for our

anniversary, so… surprise.”

My throat tightened. “Anniversary?”

“Yes, I know I am a little late but the cabin wasn’t finished yet.” he said smoothly. “I promised you

something special, so here we are.”

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to answer.

“But don’t worry,” he added. “We’re not roughing it too hard. There’s a split–powered generator, and the well’s solid, Plumbing, too. Hot water, working toilet. No outhouses or cold showers, I swear.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

I didn’t.

“Well,” I said finally, voice faint. “That’s… a relief. I didn’t realize I needed to be worried about that.”

“Here,” he said, reaching into a drawer. “For the headache.”

He handed me two Tylenol.

< Chapter 65–Fog and Firelight

I took them with the tea, watching him over the rim of the mug.

Something wasn’t right.

Everything felt just a little too… curated.

But I couldn’t remember what.

I sipped the tea again, letting the warmth settle my stomach, but the silence grew heavy between us-

thick with questions I couldn’t quite name.

“How long was I out?” I asked softly.

Claim

Tobias stood and stretched like he’d been holding tension for hours. “Three days,” he said, crossing to the

kitchenette and rifling through one of the drawers. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Three days?

My brows pulled together. “And all that time, I didn’t wake up at all?”

He turned back to me with a tight smile. “Nope. Out cold. You stirred a couple times, but nothing real.

Mumbled nonsense. Your body’s been trying to heal.” He walked past me toward the second door–the

bathroom, I guessed–and added, “Now that you’re finally awake, I’m going to run you a hot bath. Epsom

salts. Should help with the soreness. You’ve barely moved.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the sound of water rushing from a faucet.

I stared into the tea.

“Recover from what, exactly?” I called after him. “I mean, besides the obvious–how did I hit my head?”

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