Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings

~Zirah~

The van's tires screeched as it came to a sudden halt. My heart stopped, then began beating wildly, each thundering beat drawing me further and further away from reality. Every single fiber in my body protested as I hunched on the unforgiving, cold metal floor of the van, hands bound in front of me. I fought to break free from the binds, desperately hoping to escape my fate.

But no matter how much I struggled, I could not free myself from the inescapable situation. My heart thundered against the cage of my ribs, threatening to shatter the fragile silence enveloping us. I mustered a glance at my mates, sprawled in a disturbing parody of sleep. Their peaceful faces were a harsh contradiction to the dire reality we were entangled in, and each of them stirred a whirlwind of despair and rage within me.

King Slavic's cruel taunts reverberate in my skull, a maddening echo that amplifies the dread knotting my stomach. His icy eyes, brimming with malicious pleasure, still haunt me. He's the embodiment of my darkest nightmares, a relentless shadow tainting my existence. "This will keep you docile,” he sneered, brandishing the syringe that held our captivity within its clear contents.

In a torturous loop, I have watched the King's minions as they administer the damning drug, their faces cold and detached. The sickening sight of the needle sliding under their skin, the agonizingly slow push of the plunger, releasing its payload into their veins, churns my insides. Each time, I grind my teeth against the searing anger, balling my fists until my nails dig into my palms, struggling against the instinctive need to retaliate.

However, as the van doors close and we leave the vampire Kingdom. A spark of realization kindles within me as I perceive the drug's effects receding quicker than before. Is it my surging anger, stoking the flames of my metabolism, purging the drug from my system? An unexpected wave of adrenaline ripples through me, sweeping away the fog clouding my mind, and honing my senses. My heart hammers against my ribs, an erratic drum echoing through the hollow silence of the van. Once again, the van is moving, the motion making me feel queasy. I have no idea what is going on, but we left Regan's Kingdom in a hurry when they finally realized I spoke the truth, and Regan indeed is not tied to me. Slavic then ordered his men back to his Kingdom, where I watched them continuously drug my mates, and load the van full of supplies. He's running, that much I am sure of, something has him spooked and there is no doubt in my mind that what has scared him into retreat is Regan. Wrath.

The jarring halt of the van yanks me from my thoughts. I brace against the abrupt stop, straining to decipher the murmur of hushed voices and the shuffle of restless feet. The harsh, blinding light sears through my eyelids from the sudden wrenching of the van doors, followed by the invasion of a biting wind as the bright morning light floods in, blinding me for a moment. I squinted to make out the figures standing outside, but all I could make out was the silhouette of a much taller figure, a shadow of a man with a gun in his hand.

I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, and every molecule in my body screamed for me to run, but I knew that it was a futile effort. With a sigh of dread, I resigned myself to my fate. One that looked grim right now. The rough yank of my arm drags me closer to the doors when the other van door groans open, unveiling a desolate landscape that stretches into oblivion. Mountains stand tall against the morning sky, their peaks shrouded by a veil of mist and fog.

Rough hands yank me to my feet and propel me out of the van. I stumble over the uneven terrain, the biting wind slicing through me, causing involuntary shivers to course down my spine.

Tumbling out onto the unforgiving rocky ground, I taste the tang of blood in my mouth as my body scrapes against the sharp stones.

The pain is immediate, stinging my hands and knees, but it's only a whisper compared to the gnawing fear that anchors itself in my gut that I feel for Zeke and Lyon. Before I can regain my footing, a horrifying sight arrests me.

In the distance, Malachi's limp, bloodied body is manhandled toward a roller door embedded in the side of the mountain. His skin, pale as death itself, is smeared with dirt and blood. His body, usually a tower of strength, is reduced to a lifeless burden between the henchmen who carelessly drag him. The agony etched on his face, the brutal wounds and bruises marring his skin, send my heart lurching.

“No,” the plea escapes from my lips, barely a whisper stolen by the ruthless wind. It's a futile attempt, devoured by the crushing emptiness around me. The roller door groans open, consuming Malachi into its monstrous abyss. The image of him disappearing into the dark void within the mountain is the last I witness before the door grinds shut, leaving me stranded amidst this desolate wasteland. When I am shoved violently, sending me sprawling face down in the dirt.

Shaking my head, I glare over my shoulder to see King Slavic.

“"How...how can she move, I thought I told you to make sure they are drugged, so she's kept weak?” Slavic's question cuts through the icy air, his bewilderment laced with suspicion as I get to my hands and knees, peering around. His eyes, colder than the mountain winds, drill into me as though seeking answers that I'm not ready to give.

“It seems, Your Majesty,” one of the guards pipes up, an uncertain note in his voice that feeds my growing satisfaction, “That the Mandrake root is waning on her. It held Zeke and Lyon, but... her bond seems to have built up a tolerance,” a nearby guard answers the King.

The humor of the man's words bubbles up in my chest, catching me off guard. The words spill out of my mouth, laced with scornful laughter.

“Is that fear I detect, Slavic?” I taunt, savoring the fleeting surprise etched on his face.