Page 61 of Lycan King's Claim
Elsewhere, the Council members, each one trained as intensively as any SWAT member, unleash their might on Vin's forces. Bullets zip through the air, ricocheting off walls, tactical flash bangs momentarily blinding and disorienting the enemy as we move closer, following Carina's directions.
“Ah, Xandros, your efforts are in vain.”
I shout back, letting my fury dictate my words, “If you've harmed Sienna, Vin, your death will be slow.”
His laughter grates on my nerves. “Where was this fire when you were pushing her away? When you broke her?”
Rage blurs my vision, yet my movements remain precise and sharp. I sidestep a lunging guard, only to disarm another, all while making my way toward Vin. When I reach him, our blows are brutal. Every punch is meant to incapacitate. But it is clear, by the number of warriors he has on his side, he was waiting for this exact moment. However, as his guard is taken down, the more Vin starts to falter under the onslaught.
As the Council members methodically neutralize threats, their training evident in every precise move, Vin and I are locked in a deadly dance. Our strikes are lethal, intent clear: end the other. He manages to nick me with a blade hidden up his sleeve. The sting, the hot rivulet of blood coursing down my arm, only fuels my rage.
Our blows send shockwaves through the bunker. His fist connects with my jaw, mine with his ribs. Blood splatters on the cold floor with each hit. We are monsters of our making, each unwilling to relent to show weakness. But the rage boiling in me, the pent-up anger and concern for Sienna, gives me an edge. With a roar, I drive my fist into Vin's chest before reaching up as he stumbles, driving it upward.
He gasps, choking on his blood, and I rip my hand out, his blood spilling onto the floor, and I hear Anita roar her anguish as his body crumples to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carina pause at the sound of her mother's heartbreak, the sound making Carina stop as she went through to the next room. “Don't look back, Carina,” I manage to hear Javier call to her. She doesn't and continues to help search rooms while we take down the rest.
As the last guard falls. It's only then that Carina's voice pierces the aftermath. “Sienna!” She shrieks, and my heart jolts in my chest as Carina urges us deeper into the foreboding bunker.
As I reach a heavy door, Carina hesitates, and I nearly run into her, her anguish palpable. When she stumbles in, the sight that greets us robs the breath from my lungs—Sienna, bound, her beautiful form a canvas of death. Bruises and cuts mar her delicate face, and dried blood mats her hair.
Rushing to her, I grip her legs, lifting her, so her cuffed hands are released by the hook in the ceiling. I cradle her limp body, my fingers trembling as I search for a pulse. It's there, faint and inconsistent.
Carina’s voice is a broken whisper, “Is she…?”
“She's alive but fading fast,” I say, panic making my voice shake. “The bond… I can't sense it.” A cold dread settles in my gut, threatening to consume me.
Desperate, I press my lips to her neck, letting my canines and fangs slip out; my teeth sink into her, marking her once more, trying to draw from our mate bond and lend her strength. But it’s like reaching into an abyss.
“We need a medic! NOW!” I shout, voice desperate, tears threatening.
Javier steps in, his usual calm demeanor cracking. “She's in here!” Javier yells out.
Every second feels like an eternity as the room is suddenly flooded with medical personnel, and she is ripped from my arms. I growl, my bond turning savage as they prod and pull on her. Javier's hands hit my chest as he shoves me back. “Let them work,” Javier tells me, and I stare on helplessly, clutching my hair. I try to calm down as they jam needles into her and force tubes down her throat.
The hospital room feels like a vacuum, cold and sterile, in stark contrast to the vibrant world outside. I sit by Sienna’s bedside, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor the only sound accompanying the soft, steady breaths she takes. Days blend into nights. She remains silent, unresponsive. The weight of this silence is immense, and the plush chair I've taken to sleeping in offers little comfort.
She looks so fragile in the dim room light. Her usually rosy cheeks were now pale, her vibrant eyes hidden behind closed lids. My fingers trace her hand, her skin surprisingly warm, contrasting with the cold touch of the various tubes running through her. I've lost track of the number of tests they've run on her. MRIs, CT scans, endless blood tests — they blur together in a never-ending cycle of hope and disappointment.
Awaking from a restless sleep, I stretch my limbs and begin my usual pacing. It's then the door opens, revealing a male nurse carrying a tray with clean linens and other medical supplies. My eyes narrow as he moves closer to Sienna, starting to unbutton her hospital gown.
“Stop!” I command, my voice sharp. “Who are you?”
“Just here to help, sir.” The nurse replies, but halts in his movements.
“I don't want you touching her,” the words come out cold and sharp.
The nurse raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, another nurse, this one female, intervenes, “It's alright, Daniel. I'll handle it.”
But as she approaches Sienna, I block her path. “I'll do it,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She hesitates, looking from me to Sienna and back. “It’s standard procedure, sir.”
“Then show me,” I demand. “Teach me. I don't want anyone touching her like that, I'll do it.”
For a moment, there's a silent standoff. But then, she relents, guiding me through the steps of cleaning Sienna while ensuring her dignity. As we work, she explains the functions of each tube and how to ensure they remain clean and functional.
As the hours pass, I become Sienna's most devoted caretaker. The nurses respect my wishes, keeping their distance and only intervening when absolutely necessary.
Another creak of the door pulls me from my thoughts. It's the doctor. Clipboard in hand, he looks at Sienna, then at me. “Any change?”
