Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 84

Natasha's POV

I woke to pain.

Sharp, throbbing pain in my abdomen where the guard had kicked me. Duller aches everywhere else—my ribs, my back, my head.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was or what had happened. Then it all came flooding back.

*Davelina. They took Davelina. The guards dragged her away and I couldn't stop them.*

I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. The pain in my stomach flared, white-hot and nauseating. I gasped and fell back onto the hard floor.

*How long have I been unconscious?*

The light coming through the tiny window high up on the wall was dim and orange-tinted. Not morning. Late afternoon, maybe. Or early evening.

*I've been out for hours.*

The door to our room creaked open. I tensed, expecting guards or worse.

But it was Lucy who stumbled through the doorway.

"Lucy!" I tried to sit up again, more carefully this time. "Thank God. I thought—I was worried—"

The words died in my throat as I got a good look at her.

*Oh no. Oh God, no.*

Lucy looked terrible. Her dress was torn and bloody. Her lip was split, still oozing. One eye was swollen nearly shut, the skin around it purple and black. Her arms were covered in bruises—finger marks, like someone had grabbed her violently. And she was limping badly, favoring her left leg.

Scratches covered her neck and shoulders—some shallow, some deeper. Her hair was matted with what looked like dried blood and other fluids I didn't want to identify.

"Lucy," I breathed. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

She didn't answer. Just stood there swaying slightly, her good eye staring at nothing.

I forced myself to stand, ignoring the screaming pain in my abdomen. Crossed the small room to where she stood.

"Lucy," I said gently, touching her shoulder. "Talk to me. Please."

She flinched at the touch. Then, slowly, her eye focused on me.

"Nathan," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. Raw. Like she'd been screaming for hours. "You're here. You're still here."

"Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?"

Lucy's face crumpled. She started crying—harsh, painful sobs that shook her whole body.

I pulled her into a careful hug, mindful of her injuries. She buried her face in my shoulder and wept.

"It's okay," I murmured, though the words felt hollow. "You're safe now. You're back. It's going to be okay."

*Lies. All lies. Nothing was okay. Nothing was safe.*

But she needed to hear it anyway.

We stood like that for several minutes while Lucy cried herself out. When the sobs finally subsided into hiccups and sniffles, I helped her to my cot and made her sit down.

"Tell me what happened," I said quietly. "Who took you? Where did they bring you?"

Lucy took a shuddering breath. Her hands were shaking so badly she had to clasp them together in her lap to still them.

"Lord Tyrion," she said. "He chose me. After the feast—he pointed at me and said he wanted me for the afternoon and evening."

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering despite the warmth of the room.

"His guards brought me to his quarters," she continued. "In a tower by the sea. Beautiful rooms. Expensive furniture. Silk curtains. Like something from a noble's house back home."

Her laugh was bitter and broken.

"I thought—I hoped—maybe it would just be sex. Just him fucking me once or twice and then letting me go."

She looked down at her hands. They were still trembling.

"But I was wrong," she said flatly. "So wrong."

I sat down beside her on the cot, taking her hand. "What did he do?"

Lucy was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was completely emotionless. Flat. Like she was describing something that had happened to someone else.

"He has a collection," she said. "Tools. Implements. Things designed specifically to cause pain. He showed them to me when we first entered his chambers. Laid them all out on a table so I could see what he was going to use on me."

She swallowed hard.

"Whips made of different materials—leather, chain, wire. Canes of varying thickness. Paddles with spikes on them. Clamps with teeth. Needles. Knives. Branding irons. Things I didn't even have names for."

Tears were streaming down her face again, but she kept talking. Like she needed to get it out. Needed someone to know.

"He started slow," she continued. "Made me undress myself. Stand in the middle of the room while he circled me. Touching me. Commenting on my body like I was livestock he was evaluating."

Her free hand moved unconsciously to her breast, covering it protectively.

"Then he made me kneel. Hands behind my back. And he started with his hands. Slapping my face. Not hard enough to really injure. Just hard enough to hurt. To make tears come to my eyes."

She gestured to her swollen eye.

"He liked watching me cry," she said. "It made him hard. He'd stroke himself through his trousers while he hit me. Tell me what a good little pain-slut I was. How much I deserved this for being born human and weak and female."

I squeezed her hand tighter, fighting back my own tears.

"After the slapping came the caning," Lucy continued. "He made me bend over a chair. And he hit me. On my ass. My thighs. The backs of my legs."

She pulled up her skirt slightly with her free hand, showing me the backs of her thighs. They were covered in dark red welts, many of them broken and bleeding. Some were already turning purple with deep bruising.

I felt bile rise in my throat.