Page 62 of Prey of the Lycan Queen
Slavic turns his icy gaze to me with a chilling smile. “So, the high priestess begs. Are you ready to bring back my son?”
“I . . . I haven’t shifted yet. I don’t even know if I can. My magic is . . . It’s not fully awakened,” I confess, desperation lacing my words.
The king’s lip curls in a snarl.
“I have no magic, you made sure of that. The more you hurt Zeke, the weaker you make me.”
“Then you will use a channel. Elias!” Elias is shoved forward, his eyes wide with terror.
“Or?” Slavic nods to his men, and I see them lift their hands to whip Zeke’s unconscious body.
“I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do it,” I scream, and Slavic smirks in victory, my own skin welting as my bond tries to heal my mate.
I extend my shaking hand, placing it on Elias’s chest. I can feel the gentle thrum of his heart. I grip his energy and pull at it until it channels through me, a conduit to the impossible.
“I need you to resist,” I whisper to Elias, my voice breaking. “The power, it’s too much. If you fight it, I might have a chance.”
Malachi’s screams cut through the heavy silence as he struggles against his bonds, his voice filling the air with a raw, animalistic roar of defiance. “Zirah, it’s too much power. It’s too much! You haven’t shifted! You’ll kill her! What good will she be if she’s dead?” Malachi snarls angrily.
Ignoring the frantic warnings, I press on, tears streaming down my face. A horrifying realization dawns on me when I wipe my face and find my hand smeared with fresh blood from my nose. My heart hammers, and my vision pulses, the world taking on a sickening red hue.
Just as I begin the incantation once more, I witness the unthinkable. Malachi, in his desperate bid to protect me, breaks his restraints and lunges at the king. His heroic act is met with a cruel, swift attack as the guards pounce on him, their blades slicing and stabbing him repeatedly while I scream and try to get to him. Slavic grabs me, and I thrash, watching as they drive their knives through him. His pain-stricken face turns to shock as his blood spills on the ground. His body jerks and collapses. His eyes, once filled with fierce determination, are now vacant, staring at nothing. The life force within him is extinguished.
“No!” I scream, my voice a shrill, Kelly is seized and dragged toward Slavic. The threat is clear in his eyes. She’s next.
I attempt the blood spell again, trying to channel my coven’s connection, binding Slavic to his son, but it’s like pulling at the seams of my existence, tugging at the very fabric of my being. The magic surges, overwhelming, uncontrolled, and then crashes.
With a savage roar of determination, I channel the last of my energy into the blood spell. I push past my limits, ignoring the blood now pouring from my eyes. My vision blurs, a terrifying mix of red and black. The world begins to spin, a gruesome merry-go-round of blood and despair.
I feel it—the magic surges, threatening to explode. Fueled by a flurry of emotions. I channel the surging power coursing through my veins into the blood spell, desperation clawing at my sanity. I’m walking a thin line between control and chaos, the magic threatening to rip me apart from within.
My vision blurs, white-hot pain lancing through my skull. I can feel it—the blood vessels in my eyes rupturing, blood trickling from my nose. I’m pushing past my limits, and I’m burning from the inside out.
The blood spell hits its crescendo, a chaotic symphony of power, despair, and vengeance. The intensity is blinding, deafening. The world around me spins, tilting on its axis. I push past the pain and loss, focusing on what I must do.
“She’s too weak, she needs rest,” Kelly’s voice sounds miles away, her words a muffled, distant echo.
I gasp, my heart hammering against my rib cage, my breath coming out in ragged, shallow pants. Then my knees buckle, the cold stone floor rushing up to meet me just as my vision tunnels. I fall forward, my world growing dark, and Kelly’s cries ring in my ears. My consciousness slips away, carried off by the icy claws of oblivion.
But there’s no rest for me, not when the lives of my coven hang in the balance. I can only hope that the full moon will lend me strength. King Slavic will pay for his cruelty. I will make sure of it.
Chapter Forty-Five
As Regan and I navigate the eerily quiet streets of the Bloodtaric, I can’t shake the knot of dread coiling in my gut. This once thriving epicenter of my kind now echoes with an unsettling quiet. We need to save Zirah and the coven, yet the task feels akin to stepping into the jaws of a sleeping beast. King Slavic has always been merciless, which is why Regan has always handled meetings with him.
We keep to the shadows, our steps silent as we scout the quiet streets. As we delve deeper into the heart of the kingdom, we come across several of Slavic’s followers. They speak of their king and the guards rushing away, and it doesn’t take us long to realize that Zirah isn’t here.
He is one of the most feared and hated kings by the humans, yet his followers are blindly loyal. I can feel their eyes on us as we make our way through the city. There is no chance of keeping my connection to Regan and the lycans a secret any longer.
As we wander into a local shop, an older woman with wise eyes and weary lines etched into her face glances around nervously. I peer over my shoulder as she stares out the front window. “We are being watched,” I warn Regan, but he is already aware.
“We’re looking for your king. Everyone we have spoken to said he left in a hurry, yet none are willing to say where he went,” Regan tells the woman. She hobbles into the back silently, returning with an old, tattered map. She unfolds the map with trembling hands and traces the lines with one gnarled finger.
“King Slavic has a bunker he likes to use. It’s also where countless precious metals are stored,” she tells him.
“Is this road the only way in there?” Regan asks with a wobble in his voice.
She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “There are tunnels in and out everywhere. It’s also a makeshift army base.” Dread washes over me.
