Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 140

Natasha's POV

The remaining warriors, seeing their numbers dwindling and Fergus still standing despite the poison, broke and ran. Fergus caught one before he'd gone ten steps, his claws raking across the man's back and dropping him. The last warrior made it into the tree line before Fergus's jaws closed around his leg, dragging him back and finishing him with a vicious shake that snapped his neck.

Then Fergus staggered.

"Fergus?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He was breathing hard, his body trembling. The wound on his leg was small, barely visible through his fur, but I could see the edges of it turning black, could see dark veins spreading from the cut.

"Wolfsbane," he gasped. "Not much... but enough..."

"We need to get you back to the citadel," I said urgently, sliding off his back. "Can you walk?"

He was already shifting back to human form, the transformation quicker than usual, almost desperate. When he stood before me as a man, naked and bleeding, I could see the wound more clearly—a shallow cut across the back of his calf, maybe three inches long, but the skin around it was already darkening, the poison spreading through his system.

"It's not that bad," he said, though his voice was strained. "The dose was small. I've survived worse."

But I could see the lie in his eyes, could see the way his hands shook, the way he had to brace himself against a tree to stay upright.

"Can you walk?" I asked again.

"Yes. But we need to move quickly. The poison will spread, and I need treatment before it reaches my heart."

I got under his arm, supporting as much of his weight as I could, and we began the agonizing journey back through the forest. He was heavy, far heavier than I could normally support, but adrenaline and desperation gave me strength.

We stumbled through the darkness, Fergus's breathing growing more labored with each step, his skin growing clammy and pale. But he kept moving, kept putting one foot in front of the other, driven by sheer willpower.

"Why?" I asked as we stumbled through the darkness. "Why did you save me?"

"Because you're important," he said, his voice strained. "To the King. To your sister."

He stumbled, and I barely managed to keep him upright.

We finally reached the citadel gates. The guards took one look at Fergus and began shouting for help, for healers, for anyone who could assist.

"My chambers," Fergus managed to gasp. "Take me to my chambers. Now."

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Fergus's POV

The poison was spreading, but slowly. The dose had been small—just a coating on the blade, not a full injection—and my Lycan constitution was fighting it, slowing its progress. But it was still there, still working through my system, and I could feel it.

Pain radiated from the wound on my leg, sharp and burning. My heart was racing, trying to pump the poison through my system faster than my body could neutralize it. Dark veins were spreading up my calf, creeping toward my knee.

I had time. Not much, but enough to get treatment if I acted quickly.

My guards carried me to my chambers and laid me on my bed. Through the haze of pain and poison, I could see Nathan hovering nearby, his face pale with fear and worry.

"You need to go," I told him, forcing the words out. "Hide. Sebastian will send more assassins when these don't return. You're not safe."

"I'm not leaving you," he said stubbornly.

"Nathan—"

"I'm not leaving you!" His voice broke. "You saved my life. I'm not going to abandon you now."

One of my guards stepped forward. "My lord, what do you need? How can we help?"

"Matilda," I said, trying to focus through the pain. "Summon my wet nurse. Her milk can purge the poison."

It was true—wet nurse milk had powerful healing properties for the Lycan they fed. It could neutralize poisons, accelerate healing, restore strength. Matilda's milk had saved me from worse injuries than this.

The guard bowed and rushed away. I lay there, focusing on controlling my breathing, on slowing my heart rate to keep the poison from spreading faster. The wound itself was minor—I'd had far worse in battle. It was the wolfsbane that was the problem.

Minutes passed. The pain was getting worse, the dark veins creeping higher up my leg, but I was holding it at bay. My body was fighting, buying me time.

Finally, the guard returned, but his expression made my heart sink before he even spoke.

"My lord... Lady Matilda went into labor this afternoon. The midwives say she's been in hard labor for hours with no progress. The baby is in distress, and Lady Matilda is exhausted and in great pain. She cannot produce milk in her current state, and the midwives say the stress of attempting to nurse or being moved could endanger both her and the child."

Damn it.

Every instinct screamed at me to demand they bring her anyway, to prioritize my life over hers. But I couldn't. Matilda had served me faithfully for years. She'd nourished me, cared for me, asked for nothing in return. I couldn't condemn her to death just to save myself.

The dose had been small. I was strong. I could fight this.