Page 8 of Destined to the Lycan
“How hazardous?” a male called out, drawing my attention.
He was sitting behind the largest table in the inn, surrounded by eight other people, two of them females. Even sitting down, I could tell he was extremely tall. His broad shoulders and ropey muscles screamed of tremendous strength. While all the other Lycan males would put most human men to shame withtheir impressive physiques, this one stood out from the rest. I suspected he was the alpha of his pack.
“Very hazardous,” I replied.
He gave me a slow once over and gestured for me to approach. Once again, there was nothing inappropriate in the way his silver eyes glided over me. I would describe it as clinical, as if he was attempting to gather information about me that would give him a better sense of who he was dealing with.
As a merchant, I often did the same with customers, especially those who asked me for the type of candles used for advanced arcane rituals. While being a strong proponent of minding my own business, I would not sell a product to someone I believed intended to use it for evil or harmful purposes. Dark mages often wore some form of symbols of power or artifacts to enhance their magic. It gave a good sense of what type of practices they were into. Similarly, you had the penny pinchers who were dressed in fancy garb but always tried to haggle for a cheaper price.
However, as I wove my way through the busy tables, a few of the Lycan patrons stiffened, some even recoiling as they crinkled their noses or scrunched their faces. Before I could question that odd reaction, one of them addressed me in a shocked voice, making my steps falter.
“You’re sick!” the male exclaimed. “The stench of death is all over you.”
I flinched, my chest constricting that the poison should have progressed so much inside me that it was so easily detectable already to beings with highly sensitive noses. Refusing to give in to despair, I lifted my chin defiantly as I stared at the younger male. He seemed to be about my age, late twenties or early thirties. Although a little less imposing than the one who I suspected to be their Alpha, this man was still sturdily built. His dirty blonde hair curled gloriously around his handsome face.He also had the silver eyes of a wolf, but with a longer, more oval-shaped face instead of the squarer jaw of his counterpart.
“Yes, I am dying. Thus, the urgent need for this mission. I need the counter poison to the one that’s killing me.”
“And what counter poison would that be?” the first, older male asked, reclaiming my attention.
I closed the remaining distance to him and nervously ran my fingers through my curly hair. His nostrils flared as he inhaled my scent, imitated by the other people around him, the ones farther away leaning in to get a better whiff. The air of pity that descended over many faces had my innards twisting even more.
“Are you after the Orestan flowers from the Dark Vale?” he asked when I didn’t answer right away.
I shook my head and licked my lips, bracing for how they would respond to my answer.
“No, it’s something far more challenging to acquire. I need to be bitten by the snake tail of the Cursed Demon Wolf Ranael,” I said as firmly as I could.
A deafening silence settled over the room while everyone stared at me in disbelief. I couldn’t tell whether seconds or minutes went by. It just felt like an eternity to me. And then the booming sound of a male voice laughing behind me triggered a domino effect with everyone else swiftly joining in.
“You’re insane!” the younger male exclaimed behind me. “The current poison clearly broke your brain, woman!”
“Enough, Ulric,” the older male said sternly, silencing everyone else.
“I mean no disrespect, Rolf,” Ulric said in a somewhat conciliatory tone. “But this poor woman is obviously not thinking clearly. Who in their right mind would deliberately seek out Ranael?”
“I’m not insane,” I countered forcefully before shifting my attention back to the older male who he had called Rolf. “Hisvenom is the only cure for what ails me. I got the confirmation from the Weaver herself.”
A general gasp rose in the room followed by some incredulous whispers amongst the patrons. Rolf narrowed his eyes at me, his face displaying a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
“The Weaver granted you an audience?” he asked in a dubious tone.
“Yes, she did,” I replied, holding his gaze unwaveringly.
“How the fuck did you pull that off?” he challenged, apparently still unsure if he was impressed or still doubtful of the truthfulness of my statement. “And at what cost? The Weaver doesn’t help anyone unless they have something of great value for her.”
“Indeed,” Ulric interjected. “What could she possibly want from a dying girl, pretty though you are? Did she ask for your soul?”
Biting my tongue not to tell him to piss off, I gave him an irritated look. “The compensation for her assistance is between me and her. It’s no one else’s business. All I want to know is whether someone among you will be my guide.”
As one, everyone turned to look at Rolf, confirming my suspicion that he was one of their alphas. My heart sank when he shook his head with a commiserating expression.
“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” he said in a soft, almost paternal tone. “Taking you to him would be a murder-suicide. Ranael will eat you as an appetizer and your guide has his main course. Only a fool would go on such a mission. I’m sorry. I can set up a meeting for you to speak with one of our shamans. Maybe they can offer you an alternative cure that we will be glad to help you with. But not this.”
“Thisis my only hope,” I said in a pleading tone.
The way his face closed as he held my gaze without flinching crushed me. I knew that look. Rolf would not be swayed.Desperate, I glanced around the room, attempting to make eye contact with anyone present. But every single person averted their eyes.
“Won’t anyone else help me?” I asked around.
