Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 139

Natasha's POV

I veered off the main path, plunging deeper into the forest where the trees were thicker, where the undergrowth might slow my pursuers. Branches whipped at my face, roots tried to trip me, but I kept running, kept moving, my heart hammering against my ribs.

More arrows flew past me. I heard shouts, curses, the sound of my attackers crashing through the brush behind me.

"Spread out! Cut off his escape routes!"

I recognized that voice—it belonged to one of Sebastian's guards, one of the warriors I'd seen at the citadel. This wasn't random. This was an assassination attempt.

Sebastian wanted me dead.

I burst into a small clearing and skidded to a halt, my chest heaving. Five Lycan warriors emerged from the trees, surrounding me, their weapons drawn. They were all wearing dark leather armor, equipped with crossbows, swords, and daggers—professional killers, not common guards.

"Nothing personal, boy," the leader said, a scarred warrior with cold eyes. "You've just become inconvenient to certain parties."

I backed away, looking for an escape route, but they had me surrounded. There was nowhere to run.

The leader raised his crossbow, taking aim at my chest—

A massive shape exploded from the tree line with a roar that shook the trees.

Fergus.

He was in his beast form—a huge wolf-like creature with mismatched eyes that glowed in the darkness, his fur bristling, his fangs bared in a snarl of pure rage. He was enormous, easily twice the size of the warriors in their beast forms, radiating power and lethal intent.

He landed between me and the assassins, his claws digging into the earth, his body coiled like a spring ready to unleash devastating violence.

The warriors immediately shifted their stances, their confidence wavering. Fergus was a Grand Lord, one of the three most powerful Lycans in the realm. Fighting him was suicide.

"Lord Fergus," the leader said, his voice carefully neutral despite the fear I could see in his eyes. "This is a private matter. We respectfully ask that you stand aside."

"Private matter?" Fergus's growl was like thunder. "You're hunting a boy under the King's protection on my territory. That makes it very much my business."

"We're acting on orders from Lord Sebastian—"

"I don't care if you're acting on orders from the gods themselves," Fergus snarled. "You will leave. Now. Or I will tear you apart and leave your bodies for the crows."

The warriors exchanged nervous glances. They were well-trained, well-equipped, but they weren't suicidal. No ordinary warrior would willingly fight a Grand Lord.

But apparently, their fear of Sebastian—or their loyalty to him—was strong enough to override their survival instincts.

"We have our orders, my lord," the leader said, and I heard the resignation in his voice. He knew what was coming. "We cannot disobey."

"Then you've chosen death."

The leader gave a sharp nod to his men. "Attack formation. Aim for the joints and tendons. Use the wolfsbane blades."

Wolfsbane. My blood ran cold.

The warriors spread out, moving with practiced coordination, their weapons gleaming with a sickly greenish sheen that could only be poison. They weren't trying to fight Fergus head-on—they were trying to cripple him, to slow him down enough for the poison to do its work.

"Get on my back!" Fergus roared at me. "Now!"

I didn't hesitate. I ran to him and scrambled onto his back, gripping his fur with both hands as he took off running, crashing through the forest with the assassins in pursuit.

The warriors were fast, but Fergus was faster. He moved through the trees like liquid shadow, his powerful legs eating up the ground, his beast form perfectly adapted for this terrain. Arrows flew past us, crossbow bolts embedding themselves in trees we'd just passed.

But the assassins were persistent and well-trained. They knew the forest, knew how to cut off escape routes, how to herd their prey. One of them managed to get ahead of us, blocking our path with a spear raised.

Fergus didn't slow. He barreled straight into the warrior, his shoulder connecting with the man's chest and sending him flying into a tree with bone-crushing force. The warrior crumpled, his spine clearly broken, and didn't get up.

Four left.

We burst out of the forest onto a rocky outcropping overlooking a ravine. Fergus skidded to a halt, trapped between the cliff edge and the assassins emerging from the tree line.

"Nowhere left to run, Lord Fergus," the leader said, breathing heavily but still composed. "Surrender the boy. This doesn't have to end with your death."

"The only deaths here today will be yours," Fergus said, his voice deadly calm.

The warriors attacked.

They moved as a unit, coordinated and professional, their poisoned blades seeking vulnerable points. But Fergus was a Grand Lord, and the gap in power was immense. He moved with terrifying speed and precision, his claws and fangs finding flesh with brutal efficiency.

I clung to his back, feeling every movement, every impact, terrified I would fall. He caught the first warrior by the throat and crushed his windpipe with a single squeeze, dropping the body and immediately engaging the next.

The second warrior managed to score a hit—a shallow cut across Fergus's shoulder that drew blood but nothing more. Fergus retaliated by catching the man's sword arm and tearing it off at the elbow. The warrior's scream was cut short when Fergus's jaws closed around his head.

Three left.

But then one of them got lucky. As Fergus turned to face another attacker, the third warrior lunged from the side, his poisoned blade slicing across the back of Fergus's leg—not deep, barely more than a scratch, but enough.

Enough for the wolfsbane to enter his bloodstream.

Fergus roared, more in fury than pain, and caught the warrior who'd struck him. He threw the man over the cliff edge, his scream fading as he fell into the ravine below.

Two left.