Vanished Sisters The Lycan King's Slave Island novel Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Natasha’s POV

成命 16%

I floated in darkness–thick, suffocating darkness that clung to my skin like wet tar. The air reeked of rust and sulfur, mixed with something

else. Something that made my throat tighten and my stomach churn.

Musk. Male. Predator.

Then I saw them–two orbs of burning crimson, rising from the void like twin suns bleeding through storm clouds.

Eyes.

As my vision adjusted, the nightmare took shape. A massive wolf, black as coal, hung suspended in emptiness. Thick chains–etched with glowing runes–pierced through its shoulder blades and limbs, pinning it in place like some grotesque crucifixion. The wounds didn’t bleed.

They burned.

The beast thrashed. Metal shrieked against metal, the sound drilling into my skull. Its jaws opened–rows of fangs like daggers–but instead of

a roar, a broken whimper escaped its throat.

Those red eyes locked onto me.

No rage. No hunger for violence.

Just… need. Raw. Desperate. Pleading.

My body moved without permission, drifting closer. I reached out, fingers trembling, almost touching the wolf’s wet nose-

The beast exploded upward. One chain snapped with a sound like thunder. A massive paw–claws extended–swiped toward my face.

I screamed.

I bolted upright on the straw pallet, hand clamped over my mouth to muffle the sound. Sweat soaked through my rough tunic, cold against my

skin.

Just a dream. Just a-

But the heat lingering on my face felt real. Like the wolf’s breath had actully touched me.

I pressed trembling fingers to my cheek. Nothing. Just cold sweat.

Around me, the slave barracks stirred. A few grunts. Someone coughing in the darkness. I forced myself to breathe slowly, quietly, until my heartbeat stopped hammering.

Another day. Now get up. Move. Don’t think about it.

I reached for the white binding cloth, now stained grey with coal dust, and wound it tight around my chest. The pressure hurt–my breasts were still hurt–but pain was better than exposure.

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Chapter 20

Better than that.

必令16%业

I shoved my arms into the rough shirt, pulled on the patched trousers. My hands shook so badly I had to attempt the laces twice.

Focus. Today you work. Today you survive. Today you-

The image of Davelina’s face–pale and terrified as they dragged her toward that door–flashed through my mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The morning bell clanged–harsh and metallic. Bodies shuffled around me. I joined the line of slaves trudging toward the corridors, keeping my head down, shoulders hunched.

Just another scrawny boy. Just another laborer.

Keep it that way.

The Howling Citadel’s black obsidian walls absorbed what little torchlight there was, turning the passage into a tunnel of shadows.

I’d been assigned to cleaning duty today–scrubbing the carved wolf statues that lined the halls leading to the council chamber. A ladder leaned against one massive sculpture, a snarling beast frozen mid–leap.

I climbed. Dipped my rag in the bucket. Started wiping.

Every movement pulled at the binding around my chest. Every breath was shallow, careful.

Don’t let anyone see. Don’t let anyone hear.

But my mind wouldn’t stay quiet.

That dream. That wolf. The chains. The whimper.

Why did it feel so… familiar?

I scrubbed harder, focusing on the stone’s cold surface.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor–sharp clicks of heels, accompanied by heavy boots.

I froze on the ladder, rag pressed against the statue’s snarling jaw.

Two figures emerged from the gloom.

The female Lycan walked with an awkward, backward–leaning gait, one hand cradling an enormous, swollen belly. Her silk gown–once fine- now gaped open at the chest, revealing breasts so engorged they looked painful. Milk stains darkened the fabric.

Behind her, Lord Fergus walked with his usual cold, measured stride.

She clutched her belly with one hand, the other pressing against her leaking breast. Her face twisted in discomfort and fury.

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Chapter 20

ས.16%_

“How much farther? Her voice was sharp, grating. My chest feels like it’s going to explode, Fergus. Do you know how much essence‘ I’m

wasting every hour? Every drop that leaks out could extend your miserable life by a month, and now it’s just soaking my dress!”

Fergus didn’t even glance at her. “Save your complaints, Selene. You know the rules.

“Rules?” She let out a bitter laugh. “The king’s too far gone. Why not share the surplus? Give it to Gregor. Or you. Just a little-*

Fergus stopped abruptly. His red eye flared.

“Shut your mouth.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Every drop of your milk even if it rots on the floor–belongs to Mordred. You suggest

‘redistribution‘ again, and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

Selene’s face flushed crimson, but she bit back whatever retort she’d been forming.

Her gaze swept the corridor–and landed on me.

I shrank against the ladder, clutching the wet rag like a lifeline.

“What’s this?” She kicked the ladder’s base. I nearly fell. “A rat? Fergus, your taste in servants gets worse every year. This scrawny boy can

barely hold a rag.”

She leaned closer, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Look at those skinny arms. Those narrow shoulders. Is this your new ‘bed toy‘? Something delicate you won’t break while satisfying your twisted little-”

“Enough.” Fergus’s tone was ice.

But the damage was done. My stomach turned at the implication. I gripped the ladder tighter, knuckles white.

Selene smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Don’t worry, boy. If you survive long enough, maybe I’ll let you lick my tits clean after the King’s done drooling all over them.”

She straightened, hand rubbing her swollen belly. Her golden eyes–vertical slits like a snake’s–gleamed with malice. “Stay out of my way, mongrel. If your stench contaminates my dress, I’ll grind you into feed.”

She turned and waddled away, Fergus following without a backward glance

I waited until their footsteps faded.

Then I exhaled–a shaky, rattling breath I’d been holding too long.

Bed toy. Twisted. Lick her-

Bile rose in my throat.

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