Vanished Sisters The Lycan King's Slave Island novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67

Natasha’s POV

O:D

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“I don’t want to do this,” the thin man said. His voice was barely audible over the crowd, but I could see his lips moving. “Please. I don’t

want to die.”

“Neither do I,” the older man replied. He yanked his spear from the corpse and raised it.

They circled each other. Both exhausted. Both terrified.

Then the thin man lunged. The older man sidestepped and thrust with his spear.

But the thin man anticipated the move. He twisted, letting the spear pass harmlessly by, and drove his sword into the older man’s throat.

Blood erupted from the wound. The older man dropped his spear and clutched at his neck, trying to stop the bleeding. It was useless.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring between his fingers. His eyes found the thin man.

“Thank you,” he mouthed. Then he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

The thin man stood alone in the arena, surrounded by corpses, covered in blood that wasn’t his own.

The Herald’s voice boomed out. “WE HAVE A VICTOR!”

The crowd roared its approval. Some cheered. Others howled. A few threw objects into the arena-flowers, cloth, scraps of food.

The thin man just stood there, staring at the bodies around him. He was shaking violently. Then he dropped to his knees and vomited.

“TAKE HIM AWAY!” the Herald commanded. “AND PREPARE THE NEXT BATCH!”

Guards entered the arena and dragged the thin man away. He didn’t resist. Just let them pull him across the blood-soaked ground, leaving

a trail behind him.

Other guards began removing the corpses. They grabbed the bodies by the arms or legs and dragged them toward one of the ga

long smears of blood on the dirt.

Five men dead. And this is just the first round.

How many more are there? How many more have to die today?

I felt sick. My hands were shaking. I wanted to run. To hide. To-

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Chapter 67

“You there!”

I jerked my head up. One of the Lycan nobles-a knight or officer of some kind-was pointing at me.

“Yes, you. The pretty one. Bring me wine.”

Oh God.

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I forced my legs to move. Walked to the nearest table and picked up a pitcher of wine. My hands shook so badly some of it sloshed over

the rim.

I approached the noble carefully, keeping my head down. Poured wine into his goblet.

He grabbed my wrist as I was pulling away.

“Wait,” he said. His voice was rough. Hungry. “I want to look at you.”

I froze. Didn’t dare move.

His free hand moved to my face, tilting my chin up. His eyes-amber with flecks of gold-roamed over my features.

“Very pretty,” he murmured. “Almost like a girl.”

No. No, please don’t-

“Perhaps later, I’ll—*

“Lord Aldric.”

The noble looked up. Lord Fergus had spoken, his tone mild but carrying an edge of warning.

“The attendants are not to be touched until after the games conclude, Sebastian continued. “Those are the rules.”

Lord Aldric released my wrist. “Of course, my lord. My apologies.”

He waved me away. “Go.”

I hurried back to my position near the table, my heart hammering.

Too close. That was too close.

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The second batch of gladiators was brought out. Six more men. These looked slightly better fed than the first group, but no less terrified

The games continued.

More fighting. More blood. More corpses dragged away.

The Lycans drank and laughed and placed bets on who would survive each round.

And we slaves stood silently, serving them, while men died below us for their entertainment.

After the third batch, one of the female slaves-a young woman standing near Lord Fergus-began to cry.

Not loudly. Just quiet sobs that she tried to muffle with her hand.

One of the gladiators in the arena-a man with a black beard-had just been killed. The woman had let out a choked gasp when he fell, then started crying.

She knew him. She must have known him.

Lord Sebastian noticed. He stood up from his seat and walked over to her.

“You,” he said. “Why are you crying?”

The woman didn’t answer. Just kept sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

“I asked you a question.” Sebastian’s voice was sharp now. “Why. Are. You. Crying.”

“M-my husband,” the woman gasped. “That was my husband. You killed my—”

Sebastian backhanded her across the face. The blow sent her sprawling to the ground.

“Your husband?” Sebastian laughed. “You don’t have a husband anymore. You’re a slave. You own nothing. Not even your own body.”

He looked down at her with contempt. “Stand up.”

The woman struggled to her feet, one hand pressed to her bleeding mouth.

“Take off your clothes,” Sebastian ordered.

The woman’s eyes went wide. “W-what?”

“You heard me. Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” His voice was cold. Clinical. “Strip naked. Right here. Right now.”

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Chapter 67

“Please, the woman whispered. “Please, I-

“Do it. Or I’ll gut you where you stand and hang your entrails from the railing for everyone to see.”

The woman’s hands shook as she reached for her dress. She pulled it off slowly, revealing thin undergarments beneath.

“Everything, Sebastian said.

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