Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 142

Fergus's POV

I tore open her chemise with shaking hands, revealing her breasts. They were swollen, fuller than I remembered, heavy with milk. Her nipples were dark and prominent, small beads of white liquid already forming at the tips. The scent of it hit me—sweet and perfect and exactly what I needed.

But more than that, it smelled right. Smelled like home, like safety.

I pushed her back against the wall, my body trembling with the effort of maintaining control. My fangs had extended slightly, my claws beginning to emerge. The beast was rising, drawn by the scent of her milk, by the recognition of the mate bond.

"Last chance," I said, my voice barely human.

She reached up and touched my face, her hand gentle despite the fear I could see in her eyes. "Do it."

I lowered my head and latched onto her nipple, sucking hard.

The milk flooded my mouth, and it was like nothing I'd ever experienced. Matilda's milk was nourishing, sustaining, but this—this was different. This was power and healing and something deeper, something that resonated with my very soul.

The mate bond, flowing from her body into mine, fighting the poison with a strength that my own healing couldn't match.

"Oh god!" Davelina cried out, her hands gripping my shoulders. "Oh god, what is this? It feels—"

I sucked harder, drawing more milk from her breast, feeling it work through my system like liquid light. The poison was retreating, being pushed back by the power of her milk, by the strength of the bond between us. I could feel the dark veins receding, could feel the burning pain beginning to fade.

My hand moved to her other breast, squeezing gently, coaxing more milk to flow. She gasped, her body arching against me, and I realized she was feeling pleasure from this—intense pleasure that she didn't understand.

I switched breasts, my mouth working at her other nipple while my hand continued to massage the first. Milk flowed freely now, more than I'd expected, more than should be possible for someone who'd only been lactating for two days.

The poison was almost gone. I could feel it, could feel my strength returning, could feel the wound on my leg beginning to heal properly. But I couldn't stop drinking. The taste of her, the feel of her in my arms, the sound of her cries—it was intoxicating, addictive.

"Please," she whimpered, her body trembling against mine. "Please, I don't know what's happening to me. I feel so strange, so hot—"

She didn't understand. Didn't recognize the pleasure building in her body, didn't know what her body was preparing for.

I shifted my position, pressing my thigh between her legs, giving her something to grind against. She took it instinctively, her hips moving in desperate, uncoordinated motions, seeking relief from the building pressure.

"Oh... oh god... what's wrong with me?" Her voice was breathless, confused, overwhelmed.

Nothing was wrong with her. This was natural, the body's response to feeding a mate. But she didn't know that, didn't understand.

I could feel her getting close, could feel her body tensing, could smell her arousal mixing with the scent of her milk. My cock was rock hard, pressing painfully against my trousers, the beast roaring at me to take her, to claim her, to make her mine in every possible way.

But I held back.

She came with a broken cry, her body convulsing against mine, her release soaking through her skirts and onto my thigh. The scent of it nearly drove me over the edge, nearly shattered my control completely.

I kept drinking, kept taking her milk until finally, finally, I felt the last of the poison purge from my system. The wound on my leg was healing, the dark veins gone, my strength fully restored.

I pulled back, my mouth releasing her nipple with a wet sound. She collapsed against me, her breathing ragged, her body limp and pliant in my arms.

I held her carefully, even as every instinct screamed at me to do more, to take more, to claim what was mine.

But she was drunk. Drunk on the feeding, on the pleasure, on the hormones flooding her system. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, her lips parted, soft nonsensical sounds falling from her mouth.

It wasn't uncommon for feeders to get drunk from being nursed from, especially the first time. The hormones released during feeding could be overwhelming, intoxicating. But it had been so long since I'd affected someone this way, so long since I'd fed from anyone but Matilda.

Davelina's head lolled against my shoulder, her breathing evening out as consciousness began to slip away from her.

I lifted her carefully and carried her to my bed, laying her down gently and covering her with blankets. Her chemise was still torn open, her breasts still exposed, milk drying on her skin.

*Davelina is my fated mate.*

The realization settled over me like a weight. This changed everything. The bond between us would only grow stronger now that I'd fed from her. She would continue to produce milk for me, her body responding to my needs. And eventually—inevitably—the bond would pull us together in ways neither of us could resist.

But I couldn't just claim her. Not yet. Not when she'd only done this to save my life.

She deserved the choice. Deserved to understand what she was getting into before the bond became too strong to break.

I pulled the blankets up to her chin and stepped back, my mind racing.

Most Lycans never get the chance to meet their fated mates.

Now I had a fated mate. A human fated mate.

What the hell was I going to do?