Vanished Sisters The Lycan King's Slave Island novel Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Natasha’s POV

林会16%日

I tightened the rope belt around my waist with mechanical precision. Three days. Three days since Davelina had been dragged toward the

Wolf’s Den.

Three days of silence.

My hands trembled as I secured the knot. The rough fabric of my oversized work tunic hung loose over the binding cloth wrapped tight around my chest–tighter than before, tight enough to bruise. The pain helped. It reminded me to be careful, to move like a boy, to keep my head

down.

During the day, I could almost convince myself she was still alive. I shoveled coal, hauled water, scrubbed floors–anything to keep moving, to exhaust my body so thoroughly that thought became impossible. The other male slaves barely glanced at me. To them, I was just another scrawny boy, weak and forgettable.

But now, in the grey pre–dawn light filtering through the barred window of the sleeping quarters, the fear crept back in like cold water rising.

I pressed my palm against my mouth, forcing down the bile rising in my throat.

The corridor leading to the work assignments was already crowded with slaves when I joined the morning line. We shuffled forward in silence, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. The air stank of unwashed bodies and fear.

I kept my gaze on the stone floor, counting the cracks in the flagstones to keep my mind occupied. But my ears caught fragments of whispered conversation from the men ahead of me.

“…North Lord inspected the mines yesterday. Killed two workers who weren’t fast enough…”

Better him than the South Lord. At least Fergus follows rules. Sebastian just-”

The whisper cut off abruptly as a Lycan guard passed.

I’d learned the names over these three days. Not from asking–I knew better than to draw attention–but from listening. From piecing together the power structure of this nightmare island through stolen glances and overheard conversations.

Lord Fergus ruled the North–grey fur, mismatched eyes of red and amber Cold, brutal, but systematic. He had rules. If you followed them, you might survive.

Lord Gregor controlled the East–rust–colored fur, calculating golden eyes I’d seen him once in the distance, watching a ship unload new slaves with the detached interest of a merchant evaluating livestock.

But it was the third name that made every slave’s voice drop to a whisper.

Lord Sebastian.

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20:38 Thu, Feb 12 D G

Chapter 17

林命16%日

At the corridor junction where the work crews split off toward different areas, Lucy appeared beside me so suddenly I nearly flinched.

“Natasha,” she hissed, using the name only she knew. Her eyes were wide with urgency. Listen carefully.”

I turned my head slightly, not enough to draw attention. “What-

“There might be inspections today. High–ranking visitors.” Her fingers trembled as she handed me a worn cloth sack. “Coal dust. Rub it on your

neck, your wrists. Everywhere.

My stomach twisted. “Why? What’s happening?”

“Sebastian.” She said the name like a curse. “Fergus might be cruel, but he… predictable. He wants his mines productive, so he keeps his workers alive–barely, but alive. But Sebastian…”

Her voice cracked. Another slave jostled past us, and Lucy grabbed my arm pulling me into the shadow of a support pillar.

“Sebastian,” she continued, her words coming faster now. “He sees us as toys. Disposable toys. His slaves die every day–starvation, flaying, worse. Some he eats when he’s bored of raping them.” Her grip on my arm was painfully tight. “If you see him, even if you have to crawl on your belly, get away. Don’t let him notice you.”

The coal dust bag felt heavy in my hands. “How will I know-”

“Black fur. Purple eyes. Young for a Lord, but the cruelest.” Lucy’s gaze dared toward the corridor behind me. “Go. Now. And Nathan-” She used my false name deliberately. “Remember what I told you. There is no safe place here. Not for anyone.”

She melted back into the crowd of servants before I could respond.

The furnace room was hell made tangible..

Heat rolled off the massive coal–fed ovens in waves that shimmered the air The roar of flames mixed with the clang of iron shovels and the ragged breathing of two dozen male slaves. Ash drifted like grey snow, coating everything–skin, clothes, the very air itself.

I grabbed my shovel from the rack and took my place at the coal pile. Theron handle was already warm from the ambient heat. My muscles protested as I lifted the first load–they were still sore from yesterday, and the day before, and every day since I’d arrived.

But the physical pain was almost a relief. It drowned out thought. It covered the other aches–the bruises from the binding cloth, the lingering tenderness between my legs from that shameful night.

I fell into the rhythm. Shovel, lift, throw. Shovel, lift, throw. The coal crashed into the furnace mouth with a sound like breaking bones. Sparks flew. Sweat soaked through my tunic within minutes.

Around me, the other workers moved like ghosts–shirtless, their torsos blackened with coal dust and soot until their skin looked burned. Their eyes were empty, focused on nothing but the next shovelful. Some had scas. Some had brands on their shoulders marking them as furnace i

workers.

I kept my tunic on despite the heat. Even with the binding cloth, I couldn risk it. Not here. Not anywhere.

Just become invisible, I told myself with each shovelful. Black as coal. Hards stone. Nothing they’d want to look at twice.

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Chapter 17

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The heat was suffocating, but it served a purpose. It pressed down on me a weight, crushing the other be the one that had wo three nights ago with its terrible hunger. As long as I was hers, drowning in physical exhaustion and external fee, that internal fame stayed

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