Vanished Sisters The Lycan King's Slave Island novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Natasha’s POV

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Three days since Fergus’d told me she’s alive.

I believed him. I had no reason not to. But alive could mean so many things in this nightmare. Alive but broken. Alive but empty. Alive but wishing she were dead.

And the worst thought–the one that kept clawing at my insides–was that any moment now, they might take her back to him. Back to that

beast in the darkness.

I paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. The sound grated on my nerves, but I couldn’t stop. If I stopped moving, the panic would swallow me

whole.

“Natasha.” Lucy’s voice was small from where she huddled on her stool, needle trembling in her fingers as she tried to repair a torn uniform.

“You need to sit down. You haven’t slept-”

“Three days, Lucy.” My voice came out hoarse, cracking. “I can’t stand this anymore. I need to know she’s fine. What if they’re preparing her right now? What if tonight is the night they-”

I couldn’t finish. My throat closed up.

The lamp flickered. From somewhere far above, muffled drumbeats thudded through the stone–the Blood Moon Feast in the upper halls. Most of the guards would be up there tonight, keeping order among drunk Lycans and terrified servants.

Lucy set down her needle with shaking hands. “I know you’re scared. I know you want to see her. But Natasha, what can you do? If you go up there and they catch you–if they figure out you’ve been sneaking around, or worse, if they discover you’re not-

“I don’t need to save her.” The words burst out of me. “I know I can’t save her. I’m not that stupid. I just need to see her, Lucy. Just once. Just to know she can still stand. To know her eyes aren’t… dead.” I pressed my palms against my face, trying to push back the burning behind my eyes.

“I need to.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then Lucy stood up abruptly, her stool scraping back. She grabbed my wrist–her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. “If you don’t come back,” she whispered, her eyes wet, “they’ll blame me. They’ll say I le you wander. They’ll throw me into the arena, Natasha. Do you

understand? We’ll both die.”

1 looked down at her hand on my wrist.

Gently, I pulled free.

“I’ll come back,” I said quietly. “I promise. I just need to see her face. Just once.”

The corridor outside the chamber was silent as a tomb.

I went toward the preparation chambers.

The air here was different. Sweeter. Sickly–sweet, like flowers left too long in a closed room. They burned incense down here to cover the smell

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Chapter 23

of fear, but it never worked. You could still taste it underneath–sharp and metallic.

I slowed as I approached the half–open door at the end of the hall.

This was it. The preparation room where Madam Victoria had taken Davelma on our first day here.

My hands clenched into fists.

Please let her be here. Please let her be whole.

I pushed the door open.

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The room was empty.

Luxurious, but empty. Silk curtains hung from brass rods, their edges embroidered with silver wolves. A vanity table stood against one wall, covered in oils and perfumes in crystal bottles. On the cushioned chair sat an ivory comb-

I crossed the room in three strides and snatched it up.

Long golden hairs were tangled in the teeth.

They were still warm.

My breath caught. I ran my thumb over the strands, feeling the faint heat adiating from them. She’d been here. Just now. Minutes ago, maybe

less.

Which meant-

My head snapped toward the other door. The one at the back of the room, half–hidden behind a curtain. It led deeper into the fortress. Down into the forbidden zones where servants weren’t allowed.

Down toward the King’s den.

No. No, no, no-

The panic that had been clawing at my chest for three days suddenly exploded into full–blown terror.

They’re taking her back to him. Right now. They’re taking her back and I’m going to lose her-

I stood there, gripping the comb so hard the teeth dug into my palm, my whole body shaking.

I can’t save her. I know I can’t. But I can see her. One last time. I can tell herm sorry. I can tell her I love her.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I shoved the comb into my pocket and an for the back door.

The spiral staircase was narrow and dark. The walls pressed in on both sides, rough stone that scraped my shoulders as I descended. Torches

burned in brackets every few steps, but their flames were wrong–blue–tinged and cold, casting shadows that seemed to writhe.

The temperature dropped with every step.

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