Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 110

Davelina's POV

I couldn't stay away any longer.

I still didn't know if Natasha was alive or dead. If she was being tortured. Raped. Devoured.

The not knowing was destroying me.

I had to see her. Had to know.

*Just once. Just to confirm she's still breathing. Then I can endure whatever comes next.*

I made my way through the fortress corridors as evening fell. The castle was quieter at this hour—most of the Lycans were in the great dining hall or their private chambers.

My heart pounded as I approached the forbidden corridor leading to the King's Den. The same corridor where Lord Fergus had stopped me before.

I turned the corner and froze.

Two guards stood near the broken doors of the King's Den. And between them—

*Natasha.*

My sister was there. Alive. But her hands were bound behind her back. A gag was tied around her mouth. Her face was pale, eyes wide with terror.

And gripping her arm—dragging her down the corridor away from the Den—was a woman.

A beautiful blonde woman with a swollen pregnant belly. Dressed in an elaborate gown that hung open indecently at the bodice.

I recognized her from the auction.

"Move along," She was saying to the guards. Her voice was sweet. Pleasant. Completely at odds with the vicious grip she had on Natasha's arm. "We need to get this dangerous slave secured before she causes more trouble."

*Dangerous? Natasha?*

My sister struggled weakly against her bonds. Tried to speak through the gag. But the guards ignored her muffled protests.

I pressed myself against the wall, hidden in shadow. Every instinct screamed at me to run forward. To fight. To save my sister.

But I couldn't. Not against two armed guards and a Lycan. I'd be killed instantly. Or worse—captured alongside Natasha.

*Think. Think! What can I do?*

They were moving away. Down the corridor. Taking Natasha somewhere.

I followed at a distance, keeping to the shadows. My heart hammered so hard I was sure they'd hear it.

They turned a corner. Headed down a different wing. One I didn't recognize.

*No. No, I have to stop this.*

But how? I was just one human slave. Powerless. Defenseless.

I needed help. Needed someone with authority.

*Lord Fergus.*

He'd helped before. Had shown—if not kindness, then at least a strange sort of fairness.

Maybe he would help again.

I watched until Selene and the guards disappeared around another corner with Natasha. Then I turned and ran.

Back through the corridors. Up the stairs. Toward the northern wing where Fergus's chambers were located.

My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I didn't slow down.

*Please. Please let him be there. Please let him listen.*

I reached his door—massive oak reinforced with iron—and raised my hand to knock.

A guard stepped in front of me before my knuckles could touch wood.

"No slaves allowed," he said flatly. Young. Maybe twenty. With the cold eyes of someone who enjoyed his authority. "Move along."

"Please," I gasped, still catching my breath. "I need to speak with Lord Fergus. It's urgent. It's about—"

"I said move along." He placed a hand on my shoulder and shoved.

Not hard. But enough to make me stumble back several steps.

"But you don't understand," I tried again. Desperation making my voice crack. "My brother—he's in danger. He was taken by—"

"I don't care about your brother." The guard's voice was bored. "Now get out of here before I—"

"Just let me talk to him!" I stepped forward again. "Please, just tell him Davelina needs to—"

The guard's hand shot out. This time the shove was violent. Deliberate.

I fell hard. My palms scraped against the stone floor. Pain shot through my wrists.

"I warned you," the guard said. He was smiling now. Enjoying this. "Stupid slave. Maybe a beating will teach you to follow orders."

He reached for the short whip hanging at his belt.

*No. No, not now. I don't have time for this.*

Panic flooded through me. Pure, overwhelming terror.

And something else. Something warm. Tingling. Rising from deep in my chest.

*That power. The strange magic that had saved me before.*

The guard advanced. Raised his whip.

And I felt it surge through me. That intoxicating, terrifying power.

My vision sharpened. My senses heightened. I could smell the guard's sweat. Hear his elevated heartbeat. See the slight dilation of his pupils.

And I knew—with absolute certainty—that I could make him do whatever I wanted.

*Look at me,* I thought. Willed it with every fiber of my being. *Look at me and see what I want you to see.*

The guard's eyes met mine. His whip hand wavered.

"You..." His voice was dazed. Confused. "You're so..."

*Beautiful,* I projected. *Irresistible. You want to help me. Need to help me.*

His expression softened. The whip lowered.

"How can I..." He took a step closer. "How can I help you?"

*Yes. Yes, it's working. I can make him open the door. Make him—*

"Davelina."

Lord Fergus's voice cut through the haze of power.

The door had opened. He stood in the threshold, his scarred face unreadable.

But his eyes—those ice-blue eyes—were fixed on me. On the guard. On what was happening.

*Oh God.*

I immediately pulled back the power. Shut it down as fast as I could. The warmth drained away, leaving me cold and shaking.

The guard blinked. Confusion crossed his face as whatever spell I'd been weaving shattered.

"My Lord," he stammered. "I was just—the slave was being disruptive. I was about to—"

"Dismissed," Fergus said quietly. "Both of you. I'll handle this."