Page 10 of A Mysterious Slave for the Lycan Prince

“We can’t stay here; it’s not safe,” I say, pausing to assess Ryllis. “Do you think you could do that, honey? Come with me?”

She nods.

I gently free her from the remaining ties and wrap my cardigan over her trembling form. Goddess, she is so small and fragile. I need to think of something, or they will break her permanently. Every day, I’m scared the Ryllis I know will fade away until she is nothing but a hollow shell. I can’t allow that to happen.

“Let’s go, Ryllis,” I whisper, feeling her fingers clutch my hand tightly. I wrap an arm around her waist for extra stability before leading her away.

Take the other way,Sereia commands, stopping me from heading back the way I came.

I don’t question Sereia. She definitely knows best in these situations, and her goal is to keep me safe. “Shhh,” I whisper to Amaryllis. “We are getting you out of here.”

I’m moving a lot slower with Amaryllis at my side. Taking her is a big risk for both of us, but I need to get her away. We make it down the corridor and turn right. I follow Sereia’s directions until we hit the staircase and reach the second floor. My body visibly relaxes, and I take a few calming breaths before my heart shatters.

Right in front of us, my eyes make out the tall, muscular figure guarding the only exit out of here. Even if I didn’t know exactly who was in front of us, the fact that he is huge, has olive skin from being outside all the time—somewhere all omegas and slaves are forbidden to go—and clearly shows no signs of malnourishment, screams privilege, and a high rank. Suddenly his body stiffens, and any hopes he hasn’t noticed us disappear instantly.

“Shit,” I whisper, pulling Amaryllis behind me. “Don’t move.”

Fuck. I wish I could link Ryllis, but thanks to our shithead of an alpha, every omega and slave here is under his alpha command. So, the wolfsbane dulls our wolves’ senses, and to ensure we know our place, his command further prevents us from communicating through a mind link. Goddess! I wish I could castrate him and his rotten offspring…and his psycho warriors.

The guard turns, revealing his perfectly chiseled face. Arman is an elite warrior of this pack. He and his sister Leila are very strong and capable, so they enjoy many privileges and they are practically treated like royalty. I hate this pack and everyone in it with a rank, but as ugly as they may all be on the inside, I have to give credit where credit is due; this guy looks good. In fact, he is breathtakingly beautiful. I curse my inner thoughts because I’m sure he won’t seem so attractive after he beats Amaryllis and me to death for sneaking around.

“Lord Arman,” I stutter awkwardly, unsure what to do. “We…we…lost our way. Is this the way to the kitchen? We are on kitchen duty.”

Yeah, wow. Smart thinking, Freya, really smart. Who the heck is supposed to believe that? The kitchen is on the ground floor, and we’re on the second!

Just continue,Sereia says calmly.

WHAT?I can’t believe she just said that. Arman is a freaking elite warrior. He is easily the strongest male wolf here, aside from the alpha. A single punch from him might kill Ryllis.

Trust me.Sereia urges.

I swallow deeply. I trust her; I do. But sometimes I wish I could see her face, and see her expression. My wolf is just a voice to me. There is no visible fur or even shape attached to her like there is to Amaryllis’ wolf. Ryllis told me that when she connected to her wolf at the beginning, she could see her wolf in her mind. Her wolf disappeared and she lost the connection completely when she was demoted to a slave.

Arman stares at us, his eyes a rare shade of dark brown. He looks at me first; then, his gaze shifts to Amaryllis’ trembling form. Something flickers in his eyes, something close to anger. Shit’s about to get real.

I hold my breath, wondering how the hell I’m going to get both of us out of here alive when Arman unexpectedly turns around like he didn’t even see us.

I…what…

I take Amaryllis’ hand into mine and shuffle toward him. I want to thank him for letting us pass and for not making our situation worse, but I don’t want to test my luck. Just as I walk by, though, Arman grabs my arm.

Here it comes…he is going to break my arm, albeit easily.

“Make sure she gets attended to in the infirmary,” he says without looking at us.

Wait…what? My confusion is immense. What the heck is going on? True, Arman never participates in any parties the other warriors organize, and he’s never had a slave sent to his room. I know this because the other warriors sometimes make fun of him for being boring. They drop snide comments when they think he isn’t listening because they’re too scared to say anything to his face. I’ve never crossed paths with him, but this still shocks me.

“I can’t take her there,” I stutter. “Because…” My voice trails off; how am I going to explain to him that she is not safe there right now.

His thick black brows furrow. “Then take her to her room. If anyone asks for her, tell them I demanded her services.”

My eyes widen. “Are you…are you serious?”

“Tell them whatever you want to. They are not going to ask me about it anyway.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He snorts. “Don’t thank me,” he says bitterly. “It’s not like I’m doing anything. Now go!”

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