TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 201

CHAPTER

CHAPTER 139: GAME OF CARDS

EMBER’S POV

“Finally,” Rayana drawls. “I thought we were going to have to hose you two down.”

“Shut up,” I say, but I’m grinning. “Let’s go eat your caribou.”

Dinner is a production.

Rafael has transformed the main lodge into something out of a fairy tale – candles everywhere, a fire

roaring in the massive stone hearth, the table set with crystal and silver that catches the light like

captured stars.

The food is ridiculous: caribou tenderloin with some kind of berryfreduction, roasted vegetables that taste like they were grown by woodland sprites, bread so fresh it’s still steaming.

The wine flows freely, and so does the tension.

We’re arranged around a circular table, which means no one gets to hide at the end. Knox is directly across from me, his eyes following my every movement with a leftover tenderness from earlier that makes my skin prickle.

A small, conspicuous smile passes between us across the table – the kind that says I’m still thinking about you calling me a worm and I’m still thinking about the way you kissed my face all at once.

Rafael is to my left, close enough that his arm brushes mine when he reaches for his glass.

Rayana sits to Knox’s right, making pointed comments about the food and pretending not to notice the thundercloud of possessive energy emanating from the man beside her.

Queenie is wedged between Nathaniel and Rafael, making valiant attempts at conversation that keep dying in the crossfire of loaded silences.

Nathaniel eats mechanically, his attention clearly elsewhere, his shoulders so rigid I’m surprised they don’t

୮ freeze the rest of him.

“This is delicious,” Queenie says brightly, for approximately the fourth time. “Really, Rafael. Amazing. Did you hunt the caribou yourself?”

“My staff handles the hunting,” Rafael replies, that smooth charm never wavering. “But I selected the menu personally. I wanted something memorable.”

“It’s certainly that.” Knox’s voice is flat. “Hard to forget a meal you’re eating under duress.”

“No one is under duress, Knox.” Rafael’s smile sharpens. “We’re simply enjoying a vacation. Something you seem constitutionally incapable of doing.”

“I enjoy plenty of things.”

“Oh? When’s the last time you took a day off that didn’t involve someone trying to kill you?”

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Knox’s jaw lightens. He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

“That’s what I thought.” Rafael refills his wine glass with the air of someone who’s just won a point. “You’ve forgotten how to relax. How to be present with the people around you. You’re so busy fighting the next battle that you miss what’s right in front of you.”

His eyes slide to me when he says it, and I feel Knox’s attention sharpen from across the table.

“Don’t.” Knox’s voice drops into that dangerous register. “Don’t fucking look at her like that.”

“Like what?” Rafael’s innocence is so perfect it’s almost convincing. “I’m simply making an observation.”

“You’re making a move. It’s not the same thing.”

“Boys,” Rayana interrupts, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “Can we save the territorial pissing for after dessert? Some of us are trying to enjoy our caribou in peace!

Knox subsides, but his eyes don’t leave mine for the rest of the meal.

It should probably annoy me–this constant surveillance, this assumption that I need watching–but there’s something under the possessiveness that makes my chest tight.

This is beyond his usual possessiveness.

This is…

Fear.

He’s afraid of something. Something Rafael said on that plane, maybe. Something that’s eating at him

from the inside.

I want to ask. I want to demand he tell me what’s wrong.

But Rafael is watching too, and Rayana is tracking everything with those sharp eyes, and this doesn’t feel like the time or place for honesty.

So I eat my caribou and drink my wine and pretend everything is fine while the tension coils tighter with every passing minute.

After dinner, someone suggests a game.

It’s Rayana, of course, because Rayana seems incapable of letting a moment pass without orchestrating

1. it.

“Confessions,” She announces, producing a stack of cards and a handful of pens from somewhere like à magician pulling rabbits from hats. “Everyone writes their secrets. Anonymous. We shuffle them, read them aloud, and try to guess who wrote what. Simple, elegant, and guaranteed to make everyone deeply uncomfortable.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Knox says flatly.

“Which is exactly why we’re doing it.” Rayana distributes the cards and pens with the efficiency of a

blackjack dealer. “Come on. Live a little. Embrace the chaos. We’ve got three nights to kill and I refuse to spend them making polite small talk about the weather.”

“I’ve had enough chaos this week to last a lifetime.”

“Then this should feel perfectly normal.” She slides two cards and a pen across the table to him with a sharp smile. “Two confessions minimum. More if you’re feeling brave. Make them count.”

I take my cards, turning them over in my hands while I try to think of something to write. A secret. Two secrets. Something true but not too true. Something revealing but not dangerous.

Around me, everyone else is bent over their own cards, scribbling with various degrees of reluctance.

Queenie is chewing her lip, her pen hovering uncertainly before she starts writing with sudden

determination – she grabs a third card, then a fourth, apparently feeling very brave or very reckless.

Nathaniel’s face is blank as stone, but he fills out his cards with quick, efficient strokes.

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