Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 133

Natasha's POV

The sound was deafening, primal, and filled with rage. He charged at the bars of his enclosure, his massive hands gripping the metal as he stared at me with those glowing red eyes, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air, as he detected something that enraged him.

The bars began to bend under his grip, the metal groaning in protest.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked, my voice shaking, fear flooding through me anew.

Fergus's eyes narrowed dangerously, his own nostrils flaring as he caught whatever Mordred had detected. "It's your scent. Something's different about you. Something's wrong." He moved closer, and I could see his pupils dilating, could see the beast rising in him. "Who touched you?"

"No one," I said quickly, too quickly, the lie obvious even to my own ears. "I just—I got lost on the way here, that's all—I fell—"

"Don't lie to me." Fergus's voice dropped to a growl, and before I could react, he was shifting, his body contorting and expanding into his beast form—a massive wolf-like creature that towered over me, all muscle and fur and predatory intent, his mismatched eyes blazing with fury.

I nearly wet myself with terror as he lowered his massive head to my level, his nose pressing against my neck, my chest, my stomach, scenting me with the same intensity Mordred had shown. I could feel his hot breath on my skin, could smell the musk of his beast form, could sense the barely contained violence in every line of his body.

Then he shifted back to human form, his expression murderous, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"There's a male Lycan's scent on you," he said, each word clipped and precise, vibrating with barely controlled rage. "Fresh. Recent. Who was it?"

I couldn't lie anymore, couldn't maintain the pretense, not with both of them looking at me like that, not with Mordred's rage filling the room like a living thing, not with Fergus's fury promising violence if I didn't speak the truth.

"Brennan," I whispered, the name falling from my lips like a confession, like a condemnation. "It was Brennan."

Mordred's roar shook the very foundations of the citadel, made dust rain down from the ceiling. Before anyone could stop him, before anyone could even think to try, he'd torn through the bars of his enclosure as though they were made of paper, his massive form charging past us and out into the corridor with single-minded purpose.

"Shit!" Fergus cursed, then grabbed my arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. "Come on. We need to follow him before he kills everyone in his path, before this turns into a massacre."

We ran through the corridors, following the sounds of destruction—doors being smashed, walls being torn apart, guards scattering in terror as the Beast hunted his prey. My heart pounded in my chest, fear and guilt warring within me. When Mordred found and confronted Brennan, when Brennan told the truth—

I didn't want to think about what would happen then. But I also couldn't deny the small, dark part of me that wanted to see Brennan pay for what he'd done, that wanted to watch him suffer as he'd made me suffer.

We burst into the tavern to find it already crowded—Sebastian and Gregor had arrived, drawn by the commotion, along with Roderick and several other Lycan warriors. They all stood frozen, watching as Mordred stalked toward the table where Brennan sat with Roderick, a mug of ale halfway to his lips, his expression confused and wary.

"What the hell is going on?" Roderick demanded, rising from his seat, his hand moving instinctively toward the sword at his hip.

Brennan's eyes found me in the crowd, and understanding dawned on his face, followed quickly by rage. "You told them," he snarled, pointing at me with a shaking finger. "You stupid little bitch—fine! Everyone listen!"

He turned to address the assembled Lycans, his voice rising, carrying to every corner of the room. "This boy you've all been trusting, this human you've been letting near the King—"

He never got to finish.

Mordred's massive hand closed around his throat, lifting him off his feet as though he weighed nothing, cutting off his words mid-sentence. Brennan's words cut off in a strangled gasp, his hands clawing uselessly at the Beast's arm, his legs kicking in the air.

"We need to shift! We need to fight the Beast now!" Sebastian shouted, his body already beginning to change, fur sprouting along his arms.

"Not yet," Fergus commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. "If it's not attacking us, and we shift into combat stance, we'll only provoke it further. We'll force it to defend itself."

"Lord Fergus is right," Gregor added, his golden eyes fixed on Mordred, his body tense but still human. "If we escalate this, if we force it to see us as threats, we endanger everyone here. The Beast is focused on one target. Let's not give it more."

"Are you both insane—oh..." Sebastian's words died in his throat as Mordred's claws extended with a sound like knives being unsheathed.

With one swift, brutal motion, Mordred drove his claws into Brennan's stomach and ripped upward, opening him from groin to sternum in one smooth movement. Brennan's scream was cut short as his intestines spilled out, hitting the floor with a wet, meaty sound that made several of the watching Lycans gag, made others turn away.

Blood sprayed across Mordred's chest, across the floor, across the nearby tables. The smell of it filled the air, copper and iron and death.

Brennan's mouth worked, trying to form words, trying to say something—maybe to beg for mercy, maybe to finally reveal my secret, maybe just to scream. But before he could make a sound, Mordred's jaws closed around his head.

The crunch of bone was sickeningly loud in the sudden silence, echoing off the tavern walls. Mordred bit down hard, his powerful jaws crushing Brennan's skull like an eggshell, like ripe fruit, and then he shook his head violently, tearing it free from the body.

He chewed once, twice, then spat the mangled remains onto the floor at his feet, blood and brain matter and fragments of bone splattering across the tavern's wooden planks, across the boots of the watching Lycans.

Brennan's headless body collapsed, blood pumping from the ragged stump of his neck, his intestines pooling around him in a grotesque display.