Page 59 of Prey of the Lycan Queen
“Regan, please, your driving is scaring me,” Leila urges. Yet the more they talk to me, the more I think they’re trying to trick me. I can’t tell if I am hearing things or if they are actually talking to me.
I can make it. Not only that, but I have to. The fate of my kind depends on it. My brothers and my mate depend on it. I steel myself, turning my gaze back to the treacherous road ahead. “Please, Regan, listen to her,” James urges.
I glance in the mirror to see Gnash peering at me, his eyes holding far too much knowledge for a wolf. My eyes then go to my father, then Leila, who still looks petrified. Reluctantly, I pull the truck over, and James sighs loudly.
“Thank you,” he states, jumping out of the truck before I can change my mind. I slide across the seat.
“We’ll find them, Regan,” Leila murmurs, and I nod, but her thumping heartbeat and James’s wariness sets me on edge more. I shouldn’t be around them. I open my door. “Regan? What are you doing?”
I don’t bother answering. Instead, I jump into the truck bed with Gnash. Immediately, the wolves press closer, and I exhale, letting them shield me from the harsh wind and rain with their bodies. I bang my fist on the roof of the cab. “Go, you’re wasting time,” I tell James. He starts the car, and I rest my head back on the window.
Chapter Forty-Two
I awaken to the familiar smell of earth. At first, the chill sweeping over my skin reminds me of my cave home, but it doesn’t take long for reality to sink in.
The metal walls surrounding me glisten in the dim light, and the sound of distant footsteps sets me on edge. I’m alone in a cage, deep in the mountain’s belly.
Crawling to the bars, pain vibrates through my chest and limbs. I can precisely see and feel where Lyon was shot.
However, the fact I am alive means he is too, somewhere in this place. I look out, seeing nothing but flickering darkness from the overhead lights and tunnels.
Voices bounce off the tunnel walls, but I can’t pinpoint where they are coming from. Leaning against the bars, I groan, assessing the deep bruising on my chest from when Lyon’s lung collapsed. Just above my hip, my shoulder, ribs, and collarbone are all marred with bruising, and the more I look at them, the more it stirs my anxiety about Lyon’s condition.
Separated from my coven and mates, I am a lioness without her pride, but I’m not without hope. Through the suffocating fear, I can feel it, growing stronger within me, pulsing in my veins and pressing beneath my skin. The instinctive, primal part of me rouses in anticipation, a beacon of power in the darkness. We just need to stall until then, but that is easier said than done considering I have no idea where anyone is.
A faint thud vibrates from one of the tunnels, and I tense, ears straining to identify it.
I take a deep breath, pushing away from the wall and bars to stand on my feet. Every single step sends pain through me that I try to pretend doesn’t exist as I shuffle toward the cell door.
Through the darkness, a shadow emerges from one of the tunnels. Being closer now, I can make out its silhouette. Tall body. Broad shoulders. Long legs. The thump of boots on the rocky floor sounds with each movement the figure makes as it grows closer.
“I truly wished you weren’t the oracle. I would rather not do this, but they will pay for taking her from me.” I’ve heard this man’s voice before, and I try to remember why it sounds familiar.
That’s when I realize who is staring back from beneath a hoodie.
“Elias?” I ask, and he steps out of the shadows.
“You should have listened to Shelley. You should have run when you had the chance.”
I grip the bars and snarl at him. “Shelley was a traitor!”
Elias nods. “You’re right, she was, but she was ensuring the curse would never break. But then you went ahead and marked Regan,” he spits.
“Is that why you’re doing this? Because you have some feud against the kings?”
“Feud?” He laughs sinisterly. “No, I want revenge! They took her from me! Just like they took them from all of us!” he shouts. I stare at him, trying to figure out who he is talking about. Is he another of Shelley’s lovers? “I had a mate once . . .” he trails off, walking closer. “Her name was Myra, and she was pregnant. We were going to have a little girl,” he states.
“But what?—”
“Five pounds, six ounces when she was born. So perfect, so precious. Myra was so excited. We didn’t give much thought to Litha’s threats until the day Electra delivered our daughter. I was on guard duty watching over Electra. My mate had come to see me while on duty. Your mother warned me. Litha . . .”
I swallow, stepping back from the bars. “How did Electra deliver your daughter? She was locked away.”
“Exactly, I was responsible for watching her and Litha. I snuck Regan in to see her. I turned a blind eye because I liked your mother. She tried to help us by giving Myra a potion to ensure she wouldn’t be affected by the curse. Myra was one of Electra’s handmaidens. She was bringing me lunch when King Theron sent the guards to retrieve Litha. They were under order and she got in the way, they knocked her down the stairs. Unable to do anything but what they were commanded. They charged down the dungeon stairs, and trampled her. She went into labor right there at the guards’ feet, but under the king’s orders, they didn’t even acknowledge her. Litha begged them to let her help my wife, but they dragged her out, leaving me with Queen Electra to help deliver my daughter. Litha was taken away kicking and screaming. She said she would fix it, that she would make them pay, and boy did she! The entire lycan race paid for their sins,” he chuckles darkly.
I gasp, feeling bile rise in my throat.
“This isn’t personal, not in the way you think. I liked your mother. We even helped Electra cover up you being alive,” he tells me. “My daughter would have been the same age as you.”
