Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 130

Natasha's POV

The morning air was crisp and cold as I made my way through the outer corridors of Howling Citadel, my breath misting in the pre-dawn darkness.

I was bothered with the thought of Modred's death sentence last night.

I overslept today, but I needed to clear my head before my scheduled session with the King. So I'd slipped out of the room and made my way toward the outer battlements.

The citadel was built on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and there was a small courtyard on the eastern side where servants sometimes went to hang laundry or take brief respites from their duties. It was quiet at this hour, deserted, and I thought I could steal a few moments of solitude there before returning inside.

I was wrong.

I'd just stepped out into the courtyard, breathing in the salt-tinged when I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could turn, before I could even process the danger, a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet with brutal efficiency.

Panic flooded through me instantly. I struggled, my hands clawing at the arm across my face, my legs kicking uselessly as my attacker dragged me backward, away from the courtyard and toward a small storage building that stood against the outer wall. It was used to store tools and equipment for the groundskeepers, I knew—a place rarely visited, especially at this hour.

I tried to scream, tried to bite the hand over my mouth, but my attacker's grip was iron-strong, unyielding. The arm around my waist squeezed tighter, forcing the air from my lungs until black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

"Stop struggling, boy," a familiar voice hissed in my ear, and my blood ran cold.

Brennan.

He kicked open the door to the storage building and dragged me inside, finally releasing his grip on my mouth. I gasped for air, tried to scream, but before I could make a sound, something hard connected with the side of my head—the handle of a tool, I realized dimly—and the world went dark.

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I came to slowly, awareness returning in fragments. Cold stone beneath me. The smell of earth and rust and old wood. A weight pressing down on my chest, hands fumbling with my clothing.

My eyes snapped open to find Brennan kneeling over me, his face twisted with a mixture of excitement and malice that made my stomach turn. We were inside the storage building, I realized—dim light filtered through cracks in the wooden walls, and I could hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below.

No one would hear me scream here. No one would find me.

"No," I gasped, my voice hoarse and weak. I tried to push his hands away, tried to sit up, but my head throbbed where he'd struck me and my limbs felt like they were made of lead. The blow had left me dizzy, disoriented, barely able to coordinate my movements. "Please, don't—"

His hand cracked across my face with enough force to snap my head to the side, the sharp sting bringing tears to my eyes and making my already aching head throb worse. "Shut up," he snarled, his fingers returning to my clothing with renewed determination. "I said I'm not done with you, boy. Or should I say... girl?"

Terror flooded through me, cold and paralyzing, worse than any fear I'd felt before. He knew. Somehow, he knew my secret.

"I suspected from the beginning," he continued, his voice taking on a conversational tone that was somehow more terrifying than his anger, more chilling than his violence. "You were too pretty, too delicate. The way you moved, the way you spoke—it never quite fit. Your hands were too soft, your features too refined. But I told myself it was impossible. What girl would be stupid enough to disguise herself as a boy in a place like this? What girl would risk the consequences of such deception?"

His hands pulled my tunic over my head, and I struggled weakly, my arms feeling like they were moving through water, my coordination still affected by the blow to my head. "Please," I whispered, tears streaming down my face, my voice breaking. "Please don't do this—"

Another slap, harder this time, made my ears ring and brought the taste of blood to my mouth. I felt my lip split, felt warm liquid trickling down my chin. "I said shut up. I've been patient with you, boy—girl—whatever you are. I've waited weeks for this moment, weeks of watching you prance around like you belonged here, like you were special. Time to see what you've really been hiding."

He yanked at my trousers, pulling them down my legs along with my undergarments in one brutal motion, leaving me exposed from the waist down. The cold air hit my bare skin, making me shiver, making me acutely aware of my vulnerability.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of me, traveling slowly over my exposed body with undisguised hunger and triumph. Between my legs, there was no hiding what I was—the soft folds of my pussy, the lack of male anatomy, the undeniable truth of my biological sex laid bare for him to see.

"Well, well," he breathed, his gaze fixed between my legs, drinking in every detail. "I was right. You really are a girl. And what a pretty little cunt you have. Pink and soft and just begging to be used."

The crude words made me flinch, made fresh tears spill down my cheeks. I tried to close my legs, to cover myself with my hands, but he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand, his superior Lycan strength making my struggles completely useless.

"Let's see what else you've been hiding, shall we?" His free hand moved to the bindings around my chest, the strips of cloth I'd wrapped so carefully every morning to hide my breasts, to maintain the illusion of masculinity that had kept me safe.

"No, please—" I tried to push his hands away with my pinned wrists, tried to twist away from his touch, but he was too strong, too determined.