Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 193

Davelina's POV

Fergus collapsed on top of me, careful not to crush me with his full weight, both of us breathing hard. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, could feel his cock still twitching inside me.

"That was..." I started, then trailed off, unable to find words.

"Necessary," he finished with a weak laugh. "Medicinal."

I laughed too, despite everything. "Very medicinal."

He lifted his head to look at me, and I saw that his eyes were clear now, the madness completely gone. "It worked. The poison... I can't feel it anymore. Your milk, your body... you healed me."

"Good," I whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "I'm glad."

We lay there for a long moment, just holding each other, savoring the intimacy and closeness. But eventually, reality intruded.

"We should clean up," Fergus said reluctantly. "Before someone comes to check on us."

I nodded, though I didn't want to move. Didn't want this moment to end.

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Natasha's POV-- The Next Morning

I woke feeling better than I had in days.

The heat was completely gone, leaving behind only a pleasant soreness and a strange sense of emptiness. My body had recovered, the supernatural healing of an Endurer knitting together the damage that would have killed any normal human.

I stretched in the luxurious bed, marveling at how different I felt. Strong. Whole. Myself again.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. "Miss Natasha? May we come in?"

"Yes," I called, pulling the covers up to my chest.

Two maids entered, carrying buckets of steaming water. They filled the large copper tub in the corner of the room, adding fragrant oils that made the air smell of lavender and roses.

"Lord Caelan thought you might like a bath," one of them said with a smile. "And we've brought fresh clothes for you."

I looked at the clothes they'd laid out and felt a pang of something like regret. They were men's clothes—Nathan's clothes. The disguise I'd worn for so long.

Part of me wanted to refuse, to stay as Natasha, to embrace the femininity I'd been forced to hide. But I knew that wasn't practical. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So I bathed, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles, washing away the last traces of the heat. The maids helped me dress, binding my breasts tightly with strips of cloth, helping me into the loose shirt and breeches that hid my curves.

When I looked in the mirror, Nathan stared back at me. The boy I'd pretended to be for so long.

But I knew the truth now. I knew what I was—an Endurer. A rare creature that could survive a Lycan's brutality. A woman who'd spent two days in the bed of a king and lived to tell the tale.

Though I'd never tell that tale. Some secrets were meant to be kept.

I made my way downstairs, where Lord Caelan was waiting in his study.

"Natasha?" He smiled kindly. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, my lord. Thank you for everything you've done for me. For keeping me safe, for caring for me during... during that time."

"It was my honor," he said. "Though I must admit, I'm glad to see you recovered. You gave us quite a scare."

"I'm sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble at all." He stood and walked me to the door. "But Nathan, be careful. There are dangerous men in this world, and you've already attracted the attention of one of the most dangerous."

I knew he meant Mordred, and I felt my cheeks heat at the memory.

"I'll be careful," I promised.

He saw me to the gate, and I set off down the familiar path that led back toward Ashclaw, toward Fergus's estate where Davelina worked.

The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Birds sang in the branches, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. It should have been peaceful, calming.

But I felt uneasy.

There was something wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it, but my instincts—honed by years of survival—were screaming at me.

I heard a rustling in the bushes to my left. Just the wind, I told myself. Just an animal.

But then I heard it again, on my right this time. And the birds suddenly went silent, taking flight in a flurry of wings.

Someone was following me.

My heart began to race. I picked up my pace, walking faster, my eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement.

There—a shadow, darting between the trunks. And there—another one, keeping pace with me.

I broke into a run.

Behind me, I heard shouts, the sound of heavy footsteps crashing through the underbrush. They weren't even trying to be quiet anymore.

I ran faster, my lungs burning, my legs pumping. The path ahead was clear, and if I could just reach the main road, reach civilization, maybe I'd be safe.

The sounds behind me were getting fainter. I was outrunning them, I realized with a surge of hope. I was going to make it.

I slowed slightly, gasping for breath, and allowed myself a moment of relief.

That's when I saw the shadow ahead of me.

A figure stepped out from behind a tree, blocking the path. I skidded to a halt, my heart in my throat.

The figure was tall and broad, dressed in dark clothes. In his hand, he held something—a club? A hammer?

I tried to turn, to run in another direction, but my momentum carried me forward.

The last thing I saw was the weapon swinging toward my head.

Then darkness.