Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 144

Natasha's POV

I tried to pull away, but Mordred's arms tightened around me immediately, refusing to let me go. He made a sound of protest—almost pleading, almost desperate—his massive body curling around me protectively as though he could keep me there through sheer determination.

"I have to," I whispered, even as my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. "I have to go. I can't... I can't stay here."

It wasn't just that I couldn't bear to look at him—it was that looking at him, seeing the confusion and pain in his eyes, feeling the desperate way he tried to hold onto me, made the reality of tomorrow too real. Too immediate. Too unbearable.

If I stayed, I would break completely. Would shatter into pieces that could never be put back together.

I wrenched myself free from his grasp with a strength born of desperation and grief, ignoring his sounds of protest, ignoring the way his hands reached for me as I stumbled backward.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

The grief was too overwhelming, too all-consuming.

I turned and ran.

Ran through the corridors with tears blinding me, my chest heaving with sobs I could no longer contain, my whole body shaking with the force of my anguish. I could hear Mordred's roar behind me—a sound of such profound loss and desperation that it echoed through the entire citadel—but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

I burst into my room and collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of my crying. Great, wrenching sobs tore through me, each one feeling like it might tear me apart from the inside out.

He was going to die. My king—they were going to kill him tomorrow and I was powerless to stop it. Powerless to save him.

I cried until I had no tears left, until my throat was raw and my eyes burned and my head pounded with the force of my grief. I cried until the tears became dry, hitching sobs that shook my entire body. I cried until I thought I might drown in the pain of it, until the grief became a physical ache in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

I don't know how long I lay there.

The room grew darker as night fell fully, but I didn't move to light a candle. The darkness felt appropriate somehow. Fitting.

Eventually, I heard footsteps in the corridor outside—familiar footsteps that I recognized even through my grief. I quickly wiped at my face with shaking hands, trying to compose myself, trying to hide the evidence of my breakdown even though I knew it was useless. My eyes would be red and swollen, my face blotchy, my voice hoarse.

The door opened, and Davelina slipped inside, closing it softly behind her.

"You're back," I said, my voice coming out as a croak, barely recognizable. "How long were you gone? It feels like hours. Is Lord Fergus alright? Did something happen? Is he—"

I stopped abruptly as I actually looked at my sister. To my surprise, her expression wasn't grim or worried as I'd expected. Instead, she looked... flustered. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly disheveled, and there was something in her eyes that I couldn't quite identify. Embarrassment? Confusion?

"He's... he's better," she said, her voice slightly breathless, her hands twisting together nervously in front of her. "Much better, actually. The poison is gone. He's going to be fine."

I sat up slowly, confused and disoriented. "Better? How is that possible? Did Matilda come to help him after all? I thought she was in labor, that she couldn't—"

"No," Davelina interrupted, her flush deepening until her entire face was red. "Not Matilda. It wasn't Matilda who helped him. It was... it was me."

I stared at her, not understanding. "You? What do you mean it was you? How could you possibly—"

She took a deep breath, clearly steeling herself for something. "Natasha, I need to tell you something. Something strange has been happening to me, and I didn't tell you because I didn't understand it myself, because it seemed impossible, but now I think... I think maybe..."

"Davelina, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"

She sat down on the edge of my bed, her hands still twisting together nervously. "For the past two days, I've been... I've been lactating."

The words hung in the air between us, so unexpected that for a moment I couldn't process them.

"You've been what?" I finally managed.

*My sister is lactating too?*

"Producing milk," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "From my breasts. Like... like a wet nurse. Except I'm not pregnant, Natasha. I know I'm not. But it's been happening anyway."

I continued to stare at her, my grief-fogged mind struggling to make sense of what she was saying.

"I didn't tell you because I thought I was going crazy," she continued, the words coming faster now. "I thought maybe there was something wrong with me, some kind of illness or curse. I've been binding my chest tighter to hide it, changing my chemise multiple times a day because it keeps getting soaked. I didn't know what to do, didn't know who to tell."

"But what does this have to do with Lord Fergus?" I asked.

"When I heard that he'd been poisoned with wolfsbane, that he needed wet nurse milk to purge it from his system, I thought..." She paused, taking another deep breath. "I thought maybe my milk would work. I know it sounds insane, but I had to try. He saved your life, Natasha. He nearly died protecting you. I couldn't just let him suffer when I might be able to help."

The implications of what she was saying began to sink in, and my eyes widened. "You fed him? You actually fed Lord Fergus your milk?"

She nodded, unable to meet my eyes, her face burning with embarrassment. "I went to his chambers and I told him what was happening to my body, and I offered to help. He tried to refuse at first, said there would be consequences, that feeding a Lycan creates bonds, but I insisted. And it worked, Natasha. The poison started leaving his system almost immediately. Within minutes, the dark veins were receding, the wound was healing. My milk saved his life."