Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 103

Natasha's POV

Modred's gaze swept across the hall. Assessing every person present. Deciding who was a threat. Who was prey. Who would die first.

His nostrils flared as he scented the air. Reading the pheromones. The fear. The arousal. Every emotion laid bare to his superior senses.

And then his eyes locked onto me.

I couldn't look away. Couldn't move. Could barely breathe.

Those amber eyes held mine—and in them I saw recognition. Intelligence. Intent.

*He knows me. He came for me.*

*I called and he answered.*

Lord Sebastian had released my chin the moment the doors exploded. He stood frozen now, his earlier confidence completely evaporated.

Modred began to move. But not toward me.

Toward the dais where the three Grand Lords stood.

His movements were slow. Deliberate. The walk of an apex predator who knew nothing in this room could threaten him.

He circled the three Lords. His claws clicking against the stone floor in a rhythm that sounded like a death march. His tail sweeping dangerously close to them with each pass.

Lord Fergus immediately lowered his head and tilted it to expose his throat. The ultimate gesture of submission from one Alpha to another. It went against every instinct—but the alternative was death.

Lord Gregor followed suit.

Lord Sebastian hesitated. His pride warring with his survival instinct. His hands clenched into fists. His body trembling with the effort of not responding to the challenge.

"Don't be a fool," Gregor hissed under his breath without moving his head. "Submit. Now. Before he kills you."

"Listen to him," Fergus added quietly. "Your pride isn't worth your life. Or ours. Submit."

Sebastian's face flushed with shame and anger. But slowly—so slowly—he lowered his head and turned it to expose his throat.

Modred stopped his circling. He stood directly in front of Sebastian, towering over him despite Sebastian's considerable height.

And then he moved with blurring speed.

His massive clawed hand shot out and wrapped around Sebastian's throat. His grip was powerful enough to crush stone. He lifted Sebastian off the ground like he weighed nothing.

Gasps and screams echoed through the hall. Several female Lycans fainted. Others whimpered and cowered.

Modred brought Sebastian's face close to his own. So close their noses nearly touched. A deep, rumbling growl vibrated from his chest—so loud I could feel it in my own ribcage.

Sebastian's eyes were wide with genuine terror. His hands clutched at the King's wrist, but he didn't struggle. Didn't try to fight.

He knew it would be suicide.

The King's claws dug into Sebastian's skin. Five points of pressure. Blood welled up, trickling down Sebastian's neck in dark rivulets to stain his expensive collar.

For a long, terrible moment, I thought the King would simply crush Sebastian's throat. Squeeze until the bones broke and the life fled.

But then—with a contemptuous flick—he released him.

Sebastian fell to his knees, gasping and choking. His hands went to his throat, feeling the puncture wounds. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Modred leaned down, his muzzle inches from Sebastian's face.

I saw the struggle on Sebastian's face immediately. Saw his eyes flash yellow as his inner beast rose in response to the challenge. His body began to shift—fur rippling across his skin, bones beginning to crack and reshape.

"Don't," Fergus said quietly but urgently. "Sebastian, don't do it. You can't win this fight. Not tonight. Not against him when he's like this. He'll tear you apart."

Sebastian's body shook violently. Sweat poured down his face. His hands clenched so hard his claws—now partially extended—drew blood from his own palms.

The transformation was halfway complete. His face elongating into a muzzle. His shoulders broadening. His beast rising, rising, demanding he respond to the challenge—

And then, with a sound like agony, Sebastian forced it back down.

His body reversed the shift. Bones cracking back into place. Fur receding. Claws retracting.

He remained kneeling. Head lowered. Throat exposed.

Complete, absolute submission.

Modred made a sound—satisfaction mixed with contempt. Like he was disappointed Sebastian hadn't taken the bait.

He turned away dismissively. Leaving Sebastian bleeding and humiliated on the floor.

And walked toward me.

My heart stopped. Every survival instinct screamed at me to run. To flee.

But I couldn't move. My body had locked up completely. Could only stand there as death approached on four powerful legs.

When he reached me, he stopped. Towering over my tiny frame. So massive he blocked out the light from the chandeliers above.

I quickly lowered my head and exposed my throat like I'd seen the others do. Showing submission. Showing I wasn't a threat.

But the Wolf King didn't accept my submission.

Instead, he leaned down and buried his muzzle in the crook of my neck. Right where my pulse hammered against my skin.

I felt his hot breath washing over me. Felt the sharp points of his fangs grazing my throat—so close to my jugular vein.

One bite. One quick movement and I'd be dead.

But he didn't bite.

He inhaled deeply. Long and slow.

And then he made a sound—a low, rumbling purr.

*What—*

He breathed in again. Even deeper this time. His nose moved from my neck to behind my ear. To my hair. To my shoulder. Back to my neck.

Like he was trying to memorize every aspect of my scent. To catalog it. To claim it as his.

Shocked whispers rippled through the watching crowd.

"What is he doing?"

"Why would the King—"

Modred pulled back slightly. His massive head tilted as he studied me with those intelligent amber eyes.

And then—slowly, carefully—he raised one enormous clawed hand.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain. For the claws to rip through my flesh. To end it.

But the pain didn't come.

Instead, I felt something hook gently around my waist.

My eyes flew open as the King's claws—each one capable of slicing through steel—curled carefully around my middle. Positioned to avoid piercing my skin. To hold without harming.

And he lifted me off the ground.

I gasped as my feet left the floor. The world tilted as he pulled me against his massive chest, cradling me against his body like a child with a beloved doll.

But he wasn't hurting me. His grip was firm but not crushing. His claws were angled away from my skin. Even his breathing was controlled so the heat of it wouldn't burn me.

Modred began walking toward the destroyed entrance. His strides were long and purposeful. Powerful.

No one moved to stop him. No one dared.

As we passed through the crowd, I caught one final glimpse of Davelina.

Her face was white with shock. Her eyes enormous. Her mouth slightly open.

*I'm sorry,* I tried to tell her with my eyes. *I don't know what's happening. I don't understand any of this.*

But then we were through the doorway. Into the dark corridor beyond.

The sounds of the Great Hall faded behind us—shocked voices, Sebastian's furious shouts, Fergus trying to restore order.

And I was alone with the beast.