Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 152

Natasha's POV

The soldier led me through unfamiliar parts of the compound, past the workshops and servant quarters, toward a large stone building that stood apart from the others. Guards flanked the entrance, and they nodded to my escort as we approached.

We climbed a set of stairs and entered a corridor lined with doors. The soldier stopped at one near the end and knocked firmly.

"Enter," came Lord Fergus's voice from within.

The soldier opened the door and gestured for me to go inside. I stepped through on trembling legs, and the door closed behind me with a soft but final click.

Lord Fergus sat behind a large wooden desk, his mismatched eyes—one blue, one amber—fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

The room was comfortable but austere—a few chairs, shelves lined with ledgers and documents, a window overlooking the compound. But I barely registered any of it. All I could focus on was the Northern Lord's piercing gaze.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to a chair across from him.

I sat, my hands clasped tightly in my lap to keep them from shaking, and waited for him to speak.

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Selene's POV

I stood before the mirror in my chambers, adjusting the delicate fabric of my most seductive nightgown. The garment was a masterpiece of temptation—sheer silk imported from the mainland at great expense, dyed a deep crimson that complemented my skin. It clung to every curve, the neckline plunging daringly low to display the fullness of my breasts, the short sleeves leaving my arms bare and inviting.

Tonight, I would reclaim what was mine. Would remind Mordred of the passion we'd shared, the connection that had sustained him through decades of madness. I was his wet nurse, yes, but I was so much more than that. I was his comfort, his pleasure, his devoted companion.

For seventy years, I had been the only constant in his life. The only one who had never abandoned him, never feared him, never stopped believing he would return.

And now that he had, I would make sure he understood exactly what I meant to him.

I made my way through the corridors of Howling Citadel, my heart racing with anticipation. Guards nodded as I passed—they were used to seeing me visit the King's chambers, had grown accustomed to my presence over the decades.

When I reached his door, I paused, smoothing down my gown one final time, making sure every detail was perfect. My breasts were full and heavy, ready to provide him with the nourishment he needed. But tonight would be about more than feeding. Tonight would be about reclaiming our bond.

I raised my hand and knocked softly.

"It's me, Selene, Your Majesty," I announced, keeping my voice low and inviting.

Silence stretched for a long moment, and I began to wonder if he'd heard me, if perhaps he was already asleep.

Then his voice came through the door, deep and commanding in a way it hadn't been for seventy years.

"Come in."

I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it softly behind me.

Mordred sat at his desk, dressed in a simple linen shirt and dark trousers, reviewing what looked like reports or correspondence by candlelight. He glanced up as I entered, his amber eyes sweeping over me briefly before returning to the papers in front of him.

"Selene," he said, his tone neutral. "It's late. What brings you here?"

I moved closer, letting my hips sway slightly, drawing his attention to the curves outlined by my gown.

"I've come for our usual session, Your Majesty," I said, my voice low and warm. "To provide you with nourishment. The healers say regular feeding will aid in your recovery, help ensure the transformation remains stable."

It wasn't entirely a lie. The healers had recommended continued access to wet nurse milk to strengthen his system after such a dramatic transformation.

"I appreciate your dedication," Mordred said, setting down the paper he'd been reading. "And I'm grateful for all the years you've sustained me. Truly. Your service has been invaluable."

"It was never just service," I said softly, moving even closer until I stood beside his chair. "You know that, my King."

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or memory. But there was also something else. Something that looked almost like... displeasure?

"Nevertheless," he said, his voice cooling slightly, "I won't require feeding tonight. I'm not hungry."

The words hit me like a physical blow. In all the years I'd known him, he'd never refused me. Never.

"Your Majesty," I said, unable to keep a note of desperation from creeping into my voice, "the healers were very clear. Regular nourishment is essential, especially in these early days after such a profound transformation. You need—"

"I said no, Selene."

The words were sharp, final, and unmistakably tinged with irritation.

But I couldn't give up. Not now. Not when I was so close to having him back.

I moved forward decisively, my hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. My fingers trembled slightly as they worked the fastenings, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric, the solid muscle of his chest.

"Please," I whispered. "Let me help you. Let me take care of you, the way I always have."

I could feel his body tense beneath my touch, could sense the conflict in him. Part of him had to remember, I was sure of it. Remembered the pleasure we'd shared, the comfort I'd provided during those brief windows of lucidity.

I unfastened the last button and pushed his shirt open, my hands splaying across his bare chest. His skin was warm, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my palm.

"Selene—" he started, a warning in his tone, but I didn't let him finish.

I cupped my breasts, lifting them toward his face, offering myself to him the way I had so many times before. The nightgown's low neckline made it easy to expose myself fully, the candlelight catching on my skin.

"Please," I breathed. "I've waited so long."

For a moment, I thought he might give in. Thought I saw something soften in his expression, some flicker of the desire that had once burned between us.

Then his hands came up, gripping my wrists firmly but not painfully, and he pushed me away.

"No," he said, his voice hard and unyielding. "Not tonight. I need... I need time, Selene."

The rejection stung worse than any physical blow could have. My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I forced myself to maintain my composure.

"Of course, Your Majesty," I said, my voice only slightly unsteady as I stepped back and adjusted my gown with shaking hands. "I understand. Whenever you're ready, I'll be here."

"Thank you," Mordred said, but his tone was distant, distracted, as though his mind was already elsewhere. "You may go."

I left his chambers with as much dignity as I could muster, but the moment the door closed behind me, I sagged against the wall, my breath coming in short, painful gasps.