Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 160

Natasha's POV

"Natasha?"

I looked up to find Caelan standing at the entrance to the gazebo, his expression concerned. He approached slowly.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, settling onto the bench beside me. "I saw Mordred leave rather abruptly. Did something happen?"

I opened my mouth to lie, to say everything was fine, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, to my horror, I felt tears welling in my eyes.

"I'm fine," I managed, my voice thick. "I just... I need a moment."

"Take all the time you need," Caelan said softly, his presence steady and comforting beside me.

We sat in silence for a long moment, and then I couldn't hold back the question any longer.

"How did you know?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "That I'm an Endurer. I never told you. So how did you know?"

Caelan was quiet for a moment, then he turned to face me fully, his expression serious.

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I've heard the stories about what happened months ago at Howling Citadel—how you survived the King. How the King, even in his beast form, protected you. Multiple times."

My breath caught. "And?"

Caelan said. "The way he demanded only you to tend to him, only you to enter his den." He paused.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Tonight, when I saw how Mordred looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the way he couldn't seem to stay away from you—I knew. You're not just an Endurer, are you? You're his fated mate."

The words hung in the air between us, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

"How..." My voice came out as barely a whisper. "How did you figure that out?"

"I saw the way he looked at you," Caelan said, his voice gentle but firm. "Multiple times tonight. The intensity, the possessiveness. I've never seen Mordred look at anyone that way. No one else could connect those dots because they don't know your true sex. But I do."

"But..." I started, my voice breaking. "I'm a human with a male who would rather die than acknowledge her as his mate..."

Caelan's expression softened with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Natasha. Truly."

We sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again, his tone shifting to something more clinical, more concerned.

"If you're truly what I think you are—his mate and an Endurer—then you must have gone into heat several times already. Am I right?"

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I nodded.

"And how did you survive those heat cycles without being discovered?" Caelan asked, his eyes searching mine. "The scent an Endurer gives off during heat is unmistakable to any Lycan. It drives them wild with lust. Unless you... unless you found a way to satisfy the heat through intercourse."

I looked away, unable to meet his eyes, my face burning with shame and embarrassment.

"I almost was discovered," I admitted quietly. "Several times. But I... I managed to find him. Mordred. When he was still the beast."

Caelan's eyes widened. "You mated with the beast?"

"Sometimes he came to me," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Sometimes I went to him. When the heat became unbearable, when I thought I'd go mad from it, I'd slip into his den and... and he'd take me. Over and over until the heat passed."

The memory of those nights—the darkness, the primal hunger, the way the beast had claimed me so thoroughly—made my body flush with renewed heat.

"I see," Caelan said softly, and there was no judgment in his voice, only understanding. "And now that Mordred is no longer the beast? What will you do when your next heat comes?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. I hadn't let myself think about it, hadn't allowed myself to consider what would happen when the heat came again and there was no beast to turn to.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice small.

We sat in silence for a long moment, and then, before I could lose my courage, I forced myself to speak.

"I was hoping..." I started, then stopped, my cheeks burning hotter. "I was hoping you might... that you could help me. When the heat comes."

Caelan turned to look at me, his expression unreadable.

"You're the only lord in this kingdom I trust," I continued, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I'd rather it be you than... than someone else. Or multiple someones." My voice trembled as I pushed forward. "I've heard that during heat, females don't care how many males mount them, as long as they're knotted repeatedly. You'd be better than some random soldier."

The shame of saying it aloud made my face burn, but I forced myself to continue.

"I don't want anyone else. If I can't have the one my soul craves, then... then I want it to be you. No one else." The thought of being with anyone else made my skin crawl. "I'd rather suffer through it alone than let a stranger touch me."

Caelan shook his head without hesitation. "No. I won't do that."

My heart sank. "But—"

"You don't actually want me, do you?" Caelan asked gently, his eyes searching my face. "Not in that way. You don't have romantic feelings for me."

I couldn't deny it. He was right. I cared for Caelan, trusted him, valued his friendship. But I didn't desire him. Not the way I desired Mordred.

"You're kind," I said softly. "And you're my friend. The only Lycan male who makes me feel safe."

"Exactly," Caelan said. "Which is why I won't do it. I won't take advantage of you when you're in heat, when you're not in your right mind, when you're desperate and vulnerable. That's not friendship, Natasha. That's exploitation."

"But what else can I do?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. "The suppressants don't work during heat. Any Lycan within miles will smell me. I'll be discovered, and then—"

"Then we'll find another solution," Caelan said firmly. "Here's what we're going to do: the day after tomorrow, we'll visit my physician. We'll see if there's any way to mask the scent of heat, or at least minimize it. And if there isn't, we'll make arrangements to ensure you're in a safe, secure location when it happens."

He took my hands in his, his grip gentle but steady. "Even if I don't... participate, you'll be protected. And if you need to choose another male to help you through it, you'll be allowed to make that choice yourself. Someone you actually want, not just someone you're settling for out of desperation. Alright?"

I wanted to argue, to insist that there was no other solution, that I needed him to agree to this. But the kindness in his eyes, the genuine concern in his voice, made the words die in my throat.

"Alright," I said finally, though my voice was heavy with doubt.

I didn't believe there was a solution. The physician wouldn't have anything that could help. And when the heat came—and it would come, probably soon—I would be exposed. Discovered. Destroyed.