Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 102

Natasha's POV

He reached out and grabbed my chin, tilting my face up to examine me more closely. His grip was firm. Painful.

His eyes roamed over my features. My eyes. My nose. My lips. My jaw.

"Your sister was very eager to undress for me during her blood rite," Sebastian said conversationally. "Very protective of you."

"Hmm." Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Now it's your turn. Strip. Completely."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

Silence fell over the Great Hall. Every Lycan leaning forward in anticipation. Some already aroused by the power play unfolding before them.

*This is it. This is where everything ends.*

I looked desperately around the hall. Looking for... what? Help? Escape? There was none.

Lord Caelan stood near the back, his face a mask of helpless fury. He couldn't intervene. Not against a Grand Lord.

The other Lycans watched with varying expressions—curiosity, arousal, entertainment. To them, this was just another diversion. Another slave being humiliated for their amusement.

And then I saw Davelina.

She stood among the crowd of slaves, her face deathly pale. Her eyes were wide with horror. With helplessness.

*I'm sorry, Davie. I'm so sorry I failed you.*

My mind raced through every possible scenario, every potential outcome.

In every version, I was exposed. My secret revealed. And then tortured for information about who'd helped me. Executed publicly as an example.

And Davelina would die with me. And Lucy. And anyone else they suspected.

*Please,* I prayed silently to a God I wasn't sure was listening. *Please, if there's any mercy in this world, help me. Send an earthquake. Send lightning. Send anything—*

"Well?" Sebastian's voice cut through my desperate thoughts. "I gave you a command. Or are you deaf as well as deceitful?"

My hands moved to the hem of my tunic. They were shaking so badly I could barely grip the fabric.

*Just do it. Get it over with. Maybe—maybe the death will be quick.*

The tears overflowed, running hot down my aching cheek.

My hands moved back to my tunic. Trembling. Fumbling.

*I'm sorry, Davelina. I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm sorry I couldn't save us.*

And then—something.

A feeling. Welling up from somewhere deep inside. Not my own thoughts but something else. Something ancient and primal and powerful.

It was a need. An overwhelming urge to call out. To reach for something—someone—beyond my understanding.

My lips moved. The words came out in a whisper so soft I barely heard them myself:

"My love, I need you. My beloved, please help me."

*What? What did I just say? Where did those words come from?*

*My beloved? Who is my beloved? Why would I—*

I didn't even know what the words meant. Didn't understand why I'd spoken them. They'd just... appeared. Like someone else was speaking through me.

"Are you praying?" Sebastian's voice dripped with contempt. "How pathetic. Do you really think your God will save you here?"

I couldn't answer. Could only stand there, trembling and bleeding and broken.

"Enough of this." Sebastian's patience finally exhausted.

ROAR.

The sound split the air like thunder.

So loud. So deep. So impossibly powerful that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the fortress beneath our feet.

Every person in the hall froze. Conversations died mid-word. Glasses stopped halfway to lips.

The roar echoed through the stone corridors. Through the walls. Through our bones.

It wasn't just loud. It was primal. Ancient. The sound of a predator announcing its presence. Its dominance. Its fury.

The sound of metal shrieking filled the air. Heavy locks snapping. Chains ripping free from stone anchors. The crash of iron doors being torn from their hinges.

Something was breaking free. Something massive and enraged.

And it was coming fast.

"What was that?" someone in the crowd gasped.

"It came from—"

"The King's Den!" another voice shouted. "It came from the King's Den!"

Panic rippled through the hall like a wave. Lycans stood, looking around wildly. Some started moving toward the exits.

"EVERYONE STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

Lord Fergus's voice boomed over the chaos. He stood from his seat on the dais, his scarred face grim.

The hall fell into tense silence. Every eye turned to the three Grand Lords.

Lord Gregor moved close to Fergus, his voice low but carrying in the quiet. "The King has broken free of the Den."

"I know," Fergus replied grimly.

"How is that possible?" Gregor demanded. "The locks were reinforced. The chains were blessed with binding runes. Nothing should have been able to—"

Another roar. Closer this time. Much closer.

Accompanied by the thunder of footsteps. Heavy. Rapid. Something huge moving at incredible speed.

"It doesn't matter how," Fergus said flatly. "What matters is he's free. And from the sound of it, he's heading straight here."

Lord Sebastian had gone very still. The color had drained from his face. "We need to evacuate. Get everyone out before—"

"No," Fergus interrupted sharply. "If people run, the beast will hunt them. Running prey triggers the predator instinct. They won't stand a chance."

He turned to address the hall, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Listen to me! All of you! The King has escaped his den. Do NOT attempt to flee. Do not run. If you do, you will be hunted down and killed. Is that understood?"

Terrified nods all around. The smell of fear was thick in the air now. Some Lycans were already trembling.

Another roar. Even closer. The chandeliers swayed. Glasses rattled on tables.

"He's moving fast," Gregor said quietly. "Faster than I've ever seen him move. What could have triggered such a violent response? The moon isn't full. What—"

The massive doors at the far end of the Great Hall exploded inward.

Not opened. Not pushed. Exploded.

Wood splintered into thousands of pieces. Metal twisted and shrieked. The heavy iron hinges were ripped clean out of the stone walls.

Debris flew everywhere. Lycans nearest the entrance screamed and scrambled backward.

And through the wreckage stepped the King.

*Oh God. Oh God, he's here.*

The beast form was... magnificent. Terrifying. Beautiful in the way a hurricane is beautiful—raw power and deadly grace made manifest.

He stood at least eight feet tall. His massive frame was covered in midnight-black fur that seemed to absorb the light. Muscles rippled beneath his pelt with every movement—each one powerful enough to tear steel.

His claws were as long as daggers. His fangs even longer. When he opened his mouth slightly, I could see rows of razor-sharp teeth designed to rend and tear.

His tail lashed behind him like a whip. Each sweep left gouges in the stone floor.

And his eyes—those inhuman amber eyes—blazed with intelligence and primal fury in equal measure.

Every step he took made the ground tremble. The sound of his breathing—deep and rhythmic—filled the shocked silence.

A low growl rumbled continuously from his chest. Not a warning. A promise of violence.

"Nobody move," Lord Fergus whispered urgently. His voice was tight with tension. "Don't speak. Don't even breathe too loudly. Any sudden movement might trigger an attack."