Page 64 of Prey of the Lycan Queen
Regan steps out of the truck, his face a hardened mask of fury. He extends his arm at the last second as one bike tries to veer around him, effectively clotheslining him. I cringe, expecting his arm to snap, but the bike hits the front of the truck and falls over the man lying flat on his back.
The guards on the bikes don’t stand a chance. They’re knocked off their bikes, tumbling onto the asphalt, and reduced to a pulp after Regan and his wolves are done with them.
Regan stands there, chest heaving, as his eyes blaze with an untamed force. His lips curl into a triumphant smirk. “Is that all you got?” he taunts the guards, his voice echoing in the silence as the cars pull in, and despite knocking on death’s door, Regan grins wickedly.
I can’t help but smile at the sight. Here he is, Regan, looking every bit the indomitable force he is. A god among mortals. A beacon of strength.
As the vehicles close in, Regan moves with mechanical precision. There is no fear, only focus. The raw power that radiates from him is like a storm personified.
The last of the oncoming motorcyclists freeze in their tracks, but it’s too late for them. One after the other, Regan hurls from their bikes, their bodies contorting in the air before thudding onto the asphalt for his wolves to finish off. Men climb out of their cars, red eyes glinting as the darkness finally swallows what is left of the light.
While they circle him, Regan stands alone, an unyielding monument amid the wreckage of bikes and bodies. “That’s the best you’ve got?” His taunt reverberates in the aftermath, a challenge to the men approaching. Snarls ripple through the air as the three giant wolves move to stand by him with their heads down and teeth bared.
The men attempt to attack, but they are outmatched by Regan and the wolves. Regan takes a step forward with Shadow right beside him. His eyes never leave his opponent as Gnash and Hunter circle them, creating a terrifying perimeter of teeth and claws.
He stands in the middle of it all—the man with nature’s greatest predator on one side and humanity’s worst on the other. Heaven help anyone who dares cross him now.
Shouts fill the air as he steadily raises his arms toward them, sending an eerie chill up my spine at what might come next when I realize he is calling on his wolves. The wolves easily rip through limbs as they fend off one appalling blow after another from the attackers, snarling at anyone who dares come near.
Regan moves quickly, dodging blows intended for him before taking out assailants one by one without breaking a sweat. His movements look almost rehearsed. Without a single wasted motion or false step, he brings each of his enemies to the ground.
Soon enough, he and his wolves are the only ones left standing among the blood and carnage. The next second, Leila jumps from the truck and throws up.
“Girls . . . always so squeamish around blood,” Theron says, his tone almost bored. She lifts her head and glares at him just as the driver’s door opens and Regan climbs into the truck. The coppery smell of blood sweeps through the truck cab as he slams the door and looks at me, his chest still heaving. Every inch of him is covered in the blood of his enemy. Some of those men I knew, and some were more deserving of their fate than others.
“Well, I think you got ’em all,” I tell him, and he grunts when the truck creaks and shifts, signaling that the wolves have jumped into the truck bed. Leila shrieks and jumps, looking visibly shaken.
“I can’t believe I was petting those beasts,” Leila murmurs, eyes cast out the back window to the truck. “Ew, he’s eating him,” she gags. Theron twists in his seat while Regan starts the engine.
Theron huffs proudly. “Good boy,” Theron murmurs.
“Good boy? He’s eating a head.”
“He likes the sound of the skull as it pops,” Regan answers the question that wasn’t asked. Leila blinks at him, and in the tense silence, Gnash’s powerful jaws crush the skull with a loud pop.
Regan smiles.
“I’m gonna be sick again,” Leila whines.
“Not back here you’re not,” Theron snaps at her.
“Eyes ahead, Leila, ignore the gross display behind us. Popping candy. It’s only popping candy,” I tell her as Regan drives toward the mountain.
Chapter Forty-Seven
I’ve lost track of time, this place only offers rock and darkness, yet I feel the full moon’s approach, feel my change is almost here. King Slavic seems to realize that I am powerless with Lyon and Zeke sedated. He’s stopped drugging them, knowing the only way for me to access my magic is by being able to draw on my mates for strength.
I’ve been confined to this cell, and every so often, he drags Zeke out and tortures him until I try to resurrect his son again. Hours have passed since the last time he had his men carve into Zeke, making me fear his return.
A distinct prickling sensation crawls under my skin. The moon’s call resonates within me, its siren song humming through my veins, awakening the primal force that lies dormant. It’s close, and that thrills me and terrifies me simultaneously.
Beside me, Zeke trembles, his body beaten and broken from King Slavic’s sadistic torture. His hand, though calloused and rough, gently cups my face, and his thumb traces comforting circles on my cheek. “Hush, love. If they hear you, they’ll know you’re about to shift,” he whispers, his breath fanning my face with the scent of anxiety and concern.
Ignoring the piercing pain that rattles my bones, I tighten my grip on Zeke’s hand and take a deep, grounding breath. On my other side, I watch Lyon’s chest rise and fall in his sedated state. I wish for him to wake up and smile at me, to reassure me he’s going to be okay, but with the way his body jerks and twitches, I know he’s still working through the drugs and hallucinations.
Zeke’s form is marred by bruises and wounds, reminders of the brutal torture inflicted by Slavic. I stifle a low moan with my hand. “I know you’re in pain, love,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with the cold, damp air.
“It hurts,” I groan, twisting and wriggling through the agony. My body bends to the inevitable, succumbing to the transformation that beckons. The pain is raw and visceral, ripping through me in searing waves, reshaping my form with ruthless precision.
