Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 197

Natasha's POV

I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, trying to get away from the carnage, trying to find something—anything—to cover myself with.

My torn shirt was lying a few feet away. I grabbed it with shaking hands and tried to wrap it around myself, but the fabric was so shredded it barely covered anything. I pressed myself against a tree at the edge of the clearing, trying to make myself as small as possible.

Behind me, the sounds of battle filled the air—snarls and screams, the wet sound of tearing flesh, bones cracking.

I couldn't look away.

The three men had shifted into their wolf forms, and they were fighting Mordred with desperate ferocity. They moved together with practiced coordination, attacking from different angles, trying to overwhelm him with numbers.

But Mordred was like nothing I'd ever seen.

He moved with a speed and savagery that seemed impossible, almost supernatural. The scarred one lunged for his throat, and Mordred caught him mid-leap, his jaws closing around the man's foreleg. I heard bone crunch, heard the man's howl of agony that cut off abruptly as Mordred shook him violently.

Then Mordred threw him—actually threw him—into a tree with such force that the trunk cracked and the man's body made a sickening thud.

The other two attacked from opposite sides. The toothless one went low, sinking his teeth into Mordred's hind leg. The younger one went high, aiming for Mordred's neck.

Blood sprayed—Mordred's blood—and for a moment I thought they might actually hurt him.

My heart clenched painfully. *No,* I thought. *Please, no.*

Then Mordred spun, faster than should have been possible for something so large, and his claws raked across the younger one's face. The man yelped and fell back, blood streaming from deep gashes that had destroyed one of his eyes.

Mordred twisted, seemingly unbothered by the teeth still buried in his leg, and got his jaws around the back of the toothless one's neck. He bit down hard and shook violently.

I heard the snap of breaking bone, and the toothless one went limp, falling to the ground in a twitching heap.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying not to be sick.

The scarred one was back on his feet, limping badly but still fighting. He circled Mordred warily, looking for an opening.

"Your Majesty," he tried, his voice distorted by his wolf form but still comprehensible. "Please, we were just following orders. Lord Sebastian said—"

Mordred didn't respond. Didn't even acknowledge the words.

He just charged.

This time there was no holding back, no restraint. His claws found the scarred one's belly, tearing through fur and flesh and muscle with brutal efficiency. The man's intestines spilled out onto the ground in a steaming heap.

The scarred one looked down at his own guts with an expression of disbelief.

"No," he gasped. "No, please—"

Mordred's jaws closed around his throat and tore it out.

The man collapsed, choking on his own blood, his paws scrabbling weakly at the ground before going still.

The younger one was trying to run now, half-blind and terrified. But Mordred caught him within seconds, his jaws closing around the man's spine just below his skull. One sharp jerk, and the body went limp.

Only the toothless one remained, paralyzed from the broken neck but still conscious, his eyes wide with terror as Mordred approached.

He shifted back to human form—whether deliberately or because his body was giving out, I couldn't tell. He lay there, naked and broken, his legs useless.

"Please," he begged, tears streaming down his face. "Please, Your Majesty, I have a family. I have children. Please, mercy—"

Mordred shifted back to human form as well, standing over the man. He was covered in blood from head to toe—his enemies' blood, his own blood from the bite on his leg.

He looked terrifying. Magnificent. Like a god of vengeance.

But he said nothing. His face was a mask of cold fury, utterly implacable.

"I'm sorry!" the man sobbed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she was yours, I didn't know—"

Mordred knelt beside him, still silent, and grabbed his head with both hands.

The crack of breaking bone echoed through the clearing, and the man's body went still.

Silence fell.

The few people who'd remained—too shocked or too curious to run—stood frozen, their faces pale with horror.

"The King has gone mad," someone whispered.

"He killed his own people," another voice said, louder. "For a human. For a witch."

"Look at him," a woman said, her voice shaking. "Covered in blood, standing over their bodies. He's lost his mind again."

Mordred turned, and his eyes found me.

I was huddled against the tree, wrapped in the torn remnants of my shirt, shaking violently. Blood—not mine, but theirs—had splattered across my skin.

Our eyes met, and for a moment the world seemed to stop.

I saw the rage in his eyes begin to fade, replaced by something else. Concern? Confusion?

He started toward me, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

I flinched.

I couldn't help it. He looked like a monster, covered in blood, his eyes still glowing faintly red.

He stopped immediately, and I saw something flash across his face. Pain? Hurt?

But the words wouldn't come. My throat was too tight, my body shaking too hard.

Before either of us could speak, I heard the thunder of approaching horses.

Within moments, the clearing was filled with riders. I recognized Sebastian's black and red banners.

Behind me, Lord Fergus and Gregor came too.

Along with so many Lycan people.

They'd all come. Drawn by the commotion, by reports of violence.

Sebastian himself was at the head of his contingent, his expression a mix of satisfaction and calculated concern. Fergus and Gregor rode together, their faces grim.

"Well, well," Sebastian said, surveying the carnage with undisguised interest. "What do we have here?"

One of the minor nobles riding with him—a young lord I'd seen once—pointed at me. "Isn't he that slave boy? I can't believe he really has tits! Holy lycans!"

My stomach dropped.

Mordred turned to look at me, and I saw confusion in his eyes. "Slave?" he repeated, his voice rough. "And a boy?"

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only stare at him with mounting dread.

"Why..." He took a step toward me, and I pressed myself harder against the tree. "Why can you summon me? Why do I feel this... this connection to you?"