Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44: Derek’s Monsters

Shouts and screams tore through the air. The clash of metal rang out sharp and brutal, mixing with guttural snarls that echoed off the walls of the banquet hall. Blood was everywhere, splattered across white tablecloths, pooling on the floor, dripping from the edges of overturned chairs. Chaos had swallowed the celebration whole.

Someone had shoved Derek into a cramped, dark space, a closet or perhaps a storage crate. He pressed against the wooden slats, body shaking so hard his teeth rattled. Through the thin gaps he watched the massacre unfold.

Lycans in their massive, powerful shifted forms lunged at the masked intruders, but something was terribly wrong. Their movements were sluggish, heavy, as though invisible chains dragged at every limb. They looked drugged, weakened, their once-lethal strikes falling short.

The masked men moved with cold precision, driving silver-edged swords straight through Lycan hearts. Then Derek’s gaze caught on a woman being dragged away by three burly figures.

That woman was his mother.

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He tried to scream, but his mouth felt sealed shut, too heavy to open. He searched frantically for his father. His father’s head lay severed on the floor nearby, lifeless amber eyes staring at nothing.

Derek fought to move, to tear the men apart with his bare hands. He burst from the closet, staggering forward on legs that barely held him. His fists clenched so tight his nails cut into his palms.

Derek kept marching forward.

One of the masked men turned. The silver blade flashed as it thrust straight toward Derek’s chest.

A voice cut through the din of the massacre, raw and piercing.

"Derek!"

He gasped, his eyes snapping open.

He realised he was still in his study. The brandy glass had tipped over on the desk, a small puddle of brown liquid soaking into some papers. He was slumped over his desk, his body drenched in a cold, sticky sweat. He was still wearing his ceremonial clothes from the previous day. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake the images away. The screams still echoed in his ears. The scent of blood and smoke lingered in his memory.

Outside the window, dawn was already breaking over the treeline of Dravengard. Nana’s words from the previous night rang in his head, clearer than the morning birds.

"No truth, no throne, Drek."

He sat there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he tried to separate the nightmare from the reality. The dream was always the same, never letting him have a full night rest.

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