Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 138

Natasha's POV

I was pulled from unconsciousness by the sound of raised voices—Lucy and Davelina, arguing with someone in hushed but urgent tones just outside our room.

"He's exhausted! He can barely stand!" That was Davelina, her voice tight with worry.

"All male slaves are required to report for field work," a gruff male voice responded—one of the Lycan guards. "No exceptions. Lord Gregor's orders."

"But he fainted earlier today," Lucy protested. "He needs rest, not hard labor—"

"I don't care if he's at death's door. The order came from Lord Gregor himself. All able-bodied male slaves report to the eastern fields for the harvest. They leave within the hour."

"This is ridiculous," Davelina said, her voice rising. "You can't just—"

"What's going on?" I croaked, forcing my eyes open despite the heaviness in my limbs.

The voices stopped abruptly, and then Davelina was at my bedside, her face creased with concern. "Nathan, you're awake. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been trampled by horses," I admitted, sitting up slowly. My whole body ached—my breasts were tender and sore, between my legs I was raw and sensitive, and my head felt stuffed with cotton. "What's all the shouting about?"

The Lycan guard stepped into view, his expression impatient. "All male slaves are being sent to assist with the harvest in the eastern fields. Lord Gregor needs the crops brought in before the black moon affects the tides. You have one hour to report to the courtyard."

"He can't go," Davelina said immediately. "He's not well—"

"I'm fine," I interrupted, though I was anything but. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself, to give anyone a reason to look at me too closely. "I can work."

"Nathan—"

"I said I'm fine." I swung my legs out of bed, ignoring the way my vision swam. "Where are these fields?"

"Beyond the northern woods," the guard said. "About an hour's walk through the forest to get there. The fields are on the other side. The work should be done by nightfall. Report to the courtyard. Now."

He left without waiting for a response.

"You shouldn't go," Lucy said quietly. "You look terrible."

"I don't have a choice," I said, reaching for my clothes. "If I refuse, they'll want to know why. They'll examine me. They might discover—"

I didn't finish the sentence, but they understood. Any close examination would reveal my secret, would expose everything.

"Then we'll come with you," Davelina said firmly.

"It's only male slaves," I reminded her. "You can't."

"Then at least let us walk you to the courtyard. Make sure you're steady enough."

I wanted to refuse, wanted to prove I was strong enough to handle this alone, but the truth was I could barely stand without swaying. So I nodded, and they helped me dress, their hands gentle as they worked around my obvious discomfort.

By the time we reached the courtyard, perhaps forty male slaves had already gathered—a mix of humans and a few half-breeds, all of them looking tired and wary. The Lycan overseers were counting heads, checking names against lists.

"You'll be fine," Davelina whispered, squeezing my hand. "Just... be careful. Please."

"I will."

They watched as I joined the group, and I could feel their worried gazes on my back as the overseers began organizing us into lines.

"Move out!" one of them barked, and we began the long walk toward the northern woods.

---

The forest was dense and dark, the canopy overhead blocking out most of the afternoon sun. We walked in silence, too tired to talk, our feet following the well-worn path through the trees. The journey took nearly an hour, just as the guard had said, and by the time we emerged on the other side, my legs were trembling with exhaustion.

The eastern fields stretched out before us—acres of grain ready for harvest, golden in the fading light. Lycan overseers were already there, directing workers, organizing the harvest.

"You lot, start on the western section," one of them ordered, pointing. "Fill the wagons, load them onto the carts. Work until the job is done."

The work was backbreaking. Cutting grain, bundling it, hauling heavy loads to the wagons—every movement sent pain shooting through my abused body. My breasts ached with every bend and lift, still tender from Mordred's feeding. Between my legs, I was sore and raw, each step a reminder of what had happened in the King's den.

But I worked. Kept my head down, kept moving, tried not to think about anything except the task at hand.

The hours crawled by. The sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. Finally, as twilight began to fall, the overseers called an end to the work.

"That's enough for today. Return to the citadel. All of you."

The other slaves began trudging back toward the forest path, their bodies bent with exhaustion. I followed, my legs heavy, my whole body screaming for rest.

But as we entered the woods, I realized I'd left my water flask back in the fields. I'd need it for tomorrow—assuming there would be more work tomorrow.

"I forgot something," I told the slave walking beside me. "Go ahead. I'll catch up."

He nodded, too tired to argue, and continued on with the others.

I hurried back to the fields, found my flask where I'd left it near one of the wagons, and started back toward the forest path. But by the time I reached the tree line, the other slaves had already disappeared into the darkness ahead, their voices fading into the distance.

I was alone.

The forest seemed different now, darker and more oppressive without the presence of others. The path was clear enough, but shadows pooled between the trees, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence.

I walked quickly, my heart beating faster than it should, some instinct warning me that something was wrong.

Then I heard it—footsteps behind me. Multiple sets of footsteps, moving quickly, trying to be quiet but not quite succeeding.

I stopped, listening. The footsteps stopped too.

My heart began to race. I started walking again, faster this time.

The footsteps resumed, matching my pace.

Someone was following me.

I broke into a run.

"There! Don't let him escape!"

The shout came from behind me, followed by the sound of running feet, no longer trying to be stealthy. I ran harder, my exhausted legs protesting, my lungs burning, but fear gave me strength I didn't know I had.

An arrow whistled past my head, embedding itself in a tree trunk with a solid thunk.

They were trying to kill me.