Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 64

Natasha's POV

The morning came too soon.

I barely slept the night before—just lay on the narrow cot in my tiny room, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with fear and dread about what was coming.

*The gladiatorial games. Today.*

*I have to survive today. Whatever happens, I have to survive.*

Around dawn, the doors started opening. Guards moved through the slave quarters, calling out names. Summoning people.

"All female slaves report to the preparation hall!" one guard shouted. "Immediately!"

Then, moments later: "Male slaves designated for service—report to the south corridor!"

*That's me. I'm one of the ones designated for service.

I got dressed quickly—the cleanest clothes I had, which still weren't very clean. My hands shook as I wound the binding around my chest, making sure it was tight and secure.

*Can't let anyone see. Can't let anyone know.*

I left my room and joined the flow of other slaves moving through the corridors. There were so many of us—more than I'd realized.

We were separated into groups. The female slaves gathered from islands across the archipelago—maybe a hundred of them—were led in one direction. The male slaves designated for service—about twenty of us—were led in another.

The archipelago must have held hundreds of slaves, maybe more.

I looked for Lucy among the women but couldn't spot her. There were too many, and they all wore the same drab clothing, their heads down.

*Please be safe, Lucy. Please.*

---

The preparation hall was a large room with stone walls and high windows. Several Lycan guards stood watch while an older human woman—stern-faced and efficient—moved among us with assistants.

"Listen carefully," she announced. "You will all be fitted with service collars. These mark you as attendants, not entertainment. Do not remove them. Do not damage them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," we chorused.

The assistants moved through our group, fitting each of us with a leather collar. Not the thick, heavy kind worn by labor slaves. These were thinner, almost decorative, with a small metal tag that bore some kind of symbol.

When they reached me, an assistant—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes—fastened the collar around my neck. It was snug but not choking.

"This marks you as a server," she said quietly. "Keep your head down. Don't make eye contact with the lords or their guests unless directly addressed. Pour wine, bring food, clear dishes. If one of them wants... more from you—" She paused, her expression sympathetic. "—you comply. Quickly and without complaint. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered.

She moved on to the next slave.

*Comply quickly and without complaint. Just like Lucy said.*

*They're going to rape us. It's not a question of if, but when.*

My stomach turned, but I forced the nausea down.

*Survive. That's all that matters. Survive.*

---

After we were all collared, the guards led us out of the fortress through a side gate I'd never seen before.

Outside, the morning sun was bright and harsh. I squinted against the light, my eyes still adjusted to the dim corridors inside.

We walked along a wide path made of crushed stone. Other groups of slaves were ahead of us—the female slaves, maybe a hundred strong, walking in a long column. Behind us came more male slaves, but these looked different.

Fighters. Gladiators.

They were thin and malnourished, their skin covered in old scars and bruises. Most had hollow, dead eyes. The look of men who knew they were going to die today.

*God. Those poor men.*

The path led us toward a massive structure in the distance—the Blood Fang Arena.

I'd heard about it from other slaves. A huge circular amphitheater where Lycans gathered to watch humans kill each other for sport. But hearing about it and seeing it were two different things.

It was enormous.

The outer wall was made of dark stone, maybe thirty feet high, with arched entrances at regular intervals. Above the wall rose tiers of stone seating that circled the entire structure. And at the highest point, on the north side, stood a large rectangular building with a flat roof.

*The viewing platform for the lords. That's where we'll be serving.*

As we got closer, I could hear the sounds of the crowd. Thousands of voices—shouting, laughing, jeering. The arena was already filled with spectators.

*Thousands. There must be thousands of them.*

We reached one of the entrance arches. The female slaves ahead of us disappeared inside, swallowed by the darkness. Then it was our turn.

I stepped through the arch and into a dim corridor. The sounds of the crowd were louder here, echoing off the stone walls. The corridor sloped upward, spiraling around the inside of the arena.

We passed other corridors that branched off—some leading down toward the arena floor, others leading up toward the seating areas.

Finally, we emerged onto the main concourse—a wide walkway that circled the inside of the arena.

And I got my first look at the crowd.

*Holy God.*

Thousands of Lycans filled the stone seats, packed in so tightly they looked like a solid mass. Lesser Lycans mostly. They wore rough clothing and shouted obscenities at each other and at the empty arena floor below.

The better seats—closer to the arena floor—were occupied by higher-ranking Lycans. Officers and minor nobles, dressed in finer clothes. They drank from flasks and talked among themselves, occasionally glancing down at the arena with anticipation.

And at the very top, on the rectangular platform attached to the north side of the arena, I could see figures moving. The lords and their most important guests.

*That's where we're going. Up there.*

The female slaves were already filing up a narrow stairway that led to the platform. We followed behind them.

As we walked, the crowd noticed us.

"Look at them!" someone shouted.

"Fresh meat!"

"I want that one—the blonde!"

Hands reached out from the crowd, trying to grab at us. The Lycan guards escorting us snarled and pushed them back, but more kept reaching.

I kept my head down and walked faster, my heart hammering.

A Lycan in the front row lunged forward, his hand closing around a female slave's arm. She screamed as he pulled her toward him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Not yet!" one of the guards barked, striking the Lycan across the face with the hilt of his sword. "They're marked as servers! You'll get your turn later!"

The Lycan released the woman reluctantly, licking his lips as she stumbled away.

*Jesus Christ. They're like rabid animals.*