The Lycan King's Wrong Obsession novel Sorin Carter (by Circeleari) novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24

WADE

I’m back in the garden again.

The sun’s warm on my back, dirt stuck beneath my nails as I pres a petunia into the soil. The scent of earth and grass clings to my skin. I hear her before I see her–light laughter, like she’s ways been able to find joy in the smallest goddamn things.

Sorin’s kneeling across from me, her long hair falling forward as she digs with her tiny hands. She’s got soil smeared across her check, like war paint, but she doesn’t care. She looks up, holding out a lily, roots dangling, petals brushing against her wrist.

“This one’s for you, Wade,” she says, proud as though she just discovered gold. “When it blooms, it’ll be a symbol that I love you. One day, you’ll be my mate.”

Her smile’s wide, innocent, so certain of a future she has no clue will fall apart in the ugliest ways.

I laugh, boyish and dumb, clutching my own flower like it’s some priceless treasure. “And this petunia’s for you. I’ll grow an entire garden out of these, just for us. A whole kingdom of flowers.”

Behind us, my mother crouches, her soft hand patting both our heads. She smells like lavender and home. “You’ll both be great rulers one day. Together.”

I’m smiling. Sorin’s smiling. My mom’s alive.

It should end here. The dream always ends here.

But it doesn’t.

The sky darkens. The garden shifts. The warmth drains, replaced by the crackling roar of fire. Flames eat up the lilies, the petunias, the soil itself. The heat slams into me, blistering, choking.

I turn, and my mom’s caught in it. Fire swallowing her whole. Her scream tears through me, sharp and raw. I move, but Sorin’s faster. She bolts toward the blaze, barefoot, fearless, the ly still clenched in her hand.

“No! Sorin, don’t-” My voice breaks, my throat raw with smoke and panic. I grab her wrist, but she twists, slipping through my grip like water.

Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles. Calm. Always so fucking calm, even when the world’s burning.

“I have to save her,” she whispers.

“You can’t–she’ll kill you!” My hands shake, pulling at her, begging.

She presses the lily against my chest, her little palm hot with sweat and ash. “Then let me burn with her.”

And then she rips free, running straight into the inferno.

“Sorin!”

The fire swallows her whole.

“NO!”

I jolt upright, lungs seizing, chest heaving like I just inhaled half he flames myself. Sweat drenches me, dripping down my temples, sticking to the sheets. My heart’s a hammer in my ribs, bounding so loud I can’t hear anything else.

My hand shoots to the empty space beside me out of habit, expeting her. Expecting the quiet way she’d roll toward me. shove her icy fingers into mine, and mutter that I’m a dumbass for letting a dream shake me like that. Sorin had a way of talking me down, dragging me back to earth when my head was

But the hand I grab isn’t hers. iness.

It’s smaller, too soft. Painted nails dig into my skin as she shifts oser, her scent wrapping around me–cloying, wrong.

Ariel.

Her chest presses into my arm, her breath brushing my shoulder as she clutches me in her sleep, like she owns the right to

My stomach twists.

Fuck.

I peel it off, careful not to wake her, and slide out of the bed. My legs feel heavy, like I’ve been running for miles, but I drag myself toward the water pitcher sitting on the table near the window. My throat burns, dry as hell, so I pour a glass, the sound of water hitting crystal louder than it should be in the silence.

I bring the glass to my lips, and that’s when I see it.

The flame.

Not some weak flicker–no. Yellow fire, big and violent, roaring against the night. It spreads, eating up stone like it’s paper, but only in one place. The dungeon.

The glass slips from my hand. Shatters against the floor. The sound rips Ariel out of her sleep.

“What was that?” she snaps, voice sharp, eyes blinking open in the dark.

I can’t answer. My tongue feels nailed to the roof of my mouth a I stare at the fire, heart hammering.

A knock slams against the door before I can speak.

The words barely process. My ears ring. My gut twists, sour and harp. My eyes don’t leave the flames clawing at the night sky.

I can’t tear my eyes away.

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