Vanished Sisters The Lycan King's Slave Island novel Chapter 16

Chapter 16

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Fergus’s POV

The corridor to the Wolf’s Den reeked of sulfur, old blood, and something arker–the oppressive weight of a beast’s presence that made even

my Lycan instincts scream to turn back.

I forced my feet forward.

Torches flickered weakly along the walls, their light barely penetrating the gloom. Ancient suppression runes carved into the stone pulsed faintly, reinforced a dozen times over the decades. They barely held.

The guards and slaves I passed pressed themselves against the walls, trembling. They knew better than to meet my eyes. The Two–Colored Eye Demon, they whispered. Silver–gray wolf with one blood–red eye, one amber. Lord of the North.

I turned toward the deepest level of Howling Citadel. To the place the slaves called Girl’s Hell.

To Mordred’s cage.

Two elite Lycan guards snapped to attention at the massive iron door.

“My Lord.”

I raised one hand. “Leave. Clear this corridor.”

The younger guard glanced nervously at the door. “My Lord, are you certain-

“Now.”

My red eye flared. They bowed and retreated, footsteps echoing until silence fell like a suffocating blanket.

I waited until I was utterly alone.

Then I examined the barrier.

Blackstone–reinforced iron, covered in deep gouges and claw marks. These loors had held Mordred for decades, but the truth was plain in those scars: he could break through any time he wanted.

The beast stayed inside because some fragment of will chose to remain. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed the offerings we sent.

I unlocked the magical seal. The door groaned open.

Darkness.

To a human, this would be pitch black–a void that swallowed sound and nity.

But I had night vision. The massive chamber was clear. Suppression runesined the bare walls. At the far end, secondary iron bars separated the main chamber from a deeper den.

I stepped inside. The door sealed behind me with a heavy thud.

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Chapter 16

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The oppressive presence intensified–crushing weight that made my wolf instincts howl. The scent hit next: blood, sex, musk, something primal that made every hair stand on end.

A growl rumbled from my chest before I could stop it.

Control yourself. Any sign of threat, and he’ll tear you apart.

In the corner, I saw her.

Develina. The girl delivered last night.

Curled on the cold stone in fetal position, utterly still Her white gown tom and stained with blood and fluids. Blonde hair matted and tangled

Another one dead.

I approached slowly, every sense alert. That presence hadn’t moved, but I felt it watching from beyond the bars.

The scent hit me full force as I drew closer–the Primal Beast’s overwhelming musk, marking her so thoroughly it drowned out everything else.

My wolf stirred restlessly. My jaw clenched. The urge to snarl, to challenge rose like bile.

I forced it dowIL

Don’t provoke him.

From the deeper shadows, something moved.

A massive shape rose–easily over three meters tall, covered in midnight–black fur bristling like steel needles. Twin blood–red eyes locked onto me, glowing with empty hunger.

Mordred. Or what was left of him.

He moved toward me with slow, deliberate steps, each footfall shaking the floor. Deep, rumbling growls. Drool dripping from massive jaws.

Stay calm. Show submission. Any aggression and you’re dead.

The beast circled me, sniffing. Testing.

I kept my hands at my sides, palms open. Non–threatening.

But my Alpha instincts rebelled violently. Being circled by another male made my blood boil with the need to fight, to dominate.

I could challenge him-

No.

The scar across my chest was permanent reminder of how that ended.

Mordred stopped directly in front of me, towering over my form. His breath washed over my face–hot, fetid, wrong. He leaned down, massive muzzle inches from my throat.

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Chapter 16

This was the test.

Slowly, I tilted my head aside, exposing my neck. Ultimate submission.

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I am not your enemy.

The beast pressed his nose against my throat, inhaling deeply. His teeth grazed my skin–sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

He exhaled–hot and wet–and pulled back.

Not satisfied. He wanted a reaction. Wanted me to fight, to give him excuse to kill.

I refused.

Pain lanced through my chest–the old scar burning. My wolf howled in rage and humiliation.

I held still.

Finally, Mordred snorted and turned away. He lumbered back toward the deeper shadows, disappearing into his lair.

The pressure lifted. I could breathe.

I exhaled slowly.

I turned to the girl.

Time to retrieve the body-

My hand touched her shoulder. I froze.

Warm.

Not residual warmth. Warm with life.

I felt the faint rise and fall of her ribcage. Breathing.

Impossible.

I stared down, mind struggling to process.

Bruises, claw marks, bite impressions covered her body. Blood and fluids stained her thighs. Clearly violated with extreme brutality.

But alive.

And intact. No torn limbs. No ripped throat. No shattered bones.

I’d seen what Mordred did to victims. Women died from internal hemorrhaging, crushed organs, blood loss, shock. Even the strongest couldn’t survive more than hours.

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