The Lycan's Desire

Episode 003

The carriage swayed under her, and she gripped the sides of her dress. Her joints were whitening, and her heart was beating wildly. Everything was swallowed up in darkness outside, and she heard only the creak of the wheels and the shuffle of the boots on the wooden floor.

She took a chance to glance at the guard standing next to her. He looked down without blinking, which gave her a shudder. She drew her knees-up, endeavored to curl herself down, but the atmosphere was so heavy with tension that it was sickening and keen.

The fellow at the front, who had arranged all this, spoke in his low, precise voice. Has the supply moved yet?

Murmur, murmur, the guards said, with clipped words. Althea could not understand them. She had never been to such a place. Her eyes were so weary, her body gripped by tiredness, yet she struggled to keep them open, all the nerve in her. The shaking of the carriage and the monotony of the voices at length lulled her into a fitful sleep.

The carriage gave her a jolt, hitting her on the side. She drew a breath and seemed to see the world go by in the twinkling of an eye. She suddenly felt that she had dozed. Still at their mercy was she still in b*****e.

"Are you hungry?" The voice was calm, measured. There was something about it that would cause her stomach to clench.

"No." Her lips were tightened in a narrow line, but her stomach ached in protest. It was an open lie, and she was aware of it. He watched every action of hers, every response.

He looked at his watch and then gave orders to the driver. The wagon-train came to a halt, the guard went out, and when he came back a few minutes later, he brought along a plastic bag. He handed it over silently.

Suspicion crept over her skin, and Althea looked at the bag. "What... is this?"

"Eat. You will need it." His voice itself was so calm that it could not calm her. She opened the bag reluctantly. There is a plain sandwich, a small fruit, and a bottle of water inside. She could not decide whether to be grateful or to be afraid. Feed her, then kill her? Or was it some other sort of test?

She chewed and chewed, and then the guard who stood beside her moved with the speed of lightning and had a cloth over her nose and mouth. She fought and tore him with her nails, but the odor of the substance used in making the fabric was strong. Her body grew weak, her eyes blurred, and the darkness snatched her body in a choking grip.

She was pulled back to herself by the smell of lavender and chamomile. The warm water flowed over her skin, stretching and knotting her muscles. Her head was rubbed by gentle fingers that seemed to be coaxing her lips to moan softly.

The richness of everything around her made her forget herself as she looked. An expensive bathtub and gold accents are accompanied by maids who walk silently, mechanically. One had controlled the temperature of the water, another had washed her arm, a third had manipulated her hair, but their faces could not be read.

The recollections of the infidelity, of the wagon, of the forcible excursion, were flooding back. And dread and dismay were at war. Where had she ended up?

"What is this place?" Her voice was trembling, demanding. She searched the reference of the nearest maid. The maid looked at her and went on with her work without speaking.

"Answer me!" The voice of Althea was in anguish. She yanked her arm away.

A tug of warning drew her hand away, and the maid's voice was chilly. "You are a slave like us. Simply because we bathe you does not imply that you should be able to bark orders. This is not your pack. You betrayed yourself, princess—the Lunaris Citadel Welcome.

Althea's heart lurched. The Lunaris Citadel. All groups dread the throne of the Lycan King. How had she ended up here?

"Brid, enough." The head maid, Selene, came forward, her voice reproving but cool. But Althea only dimly heard her. Her thoughts were racing together to construct her impossible quandary.

The Lycan King--strong, vicious, feared by everyone. There were tales of eyes like fire, power inconceivable, and a temper that could smash down any fool who had the temerity to stand against him. And now she was in his territory, totally naked.

The maids had finished bathing her and dressing her in a thin, sheer gown that just covered her thighs. It clung to all of her curves, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable.

"Why am I wearing this?" Her voice shook, and then it failed her.

She was reflected in the mirror, and that flicker of pity had passed through Selene. You shall present yourself to the king tonight. Do not run from him."

Althea's breath hitched. Offer herself? Her stomach was knotted. "W-what do you mean?"

The door was opened very loudly with a creak. One full-armored guard intervened, forceful and inflexible. He was in the room, and it warned him.

"The king is waiting." His voice was like marble, hard. "Follow me."

Her legs felt like lead. Each step to the door was a trial; each passage was darker and colder than the preceding one. The atmosphere grew heavy, anxiety-filled, and crime-ridden. There was no need to tell her--she could feel the king before she even beheld him.

"Get in." The sentence uttered by the guard sliced across her like a gut-punch. She flung the big door open and walked into the darkness. The bang of the door at her back echoed back like an ominous harbinger.

It was a great chamber with a shadow along its walls of old stone. He stood in his presence and was felt. First came the smell--dusty, fertile, dangerous, impregnated with crude power. She stood still, with a churning stomach, and could not move, could not breathe freely.

She tried to steady herself. I can do this. I can survive this.

She lost her heart when the eyes looked into her, and they were golden-red, piercing, and uncompromising. He could read all her thoughts, all her fears, all of her hidden secrets that lie deep in her soul, panic came, a tidal wave which she could not resist.

She did not have time to keep pace with her body. She turned and grabbed at the door in desperation.

"Let me out!" she cried.

There was a deep, guttural growl in the room, which paralyzed her. His presence seemed to her as an oppression. His huge form was smashed down upon her back, hard, impertinent. His breath blew upon her, and it was threatening and comforting.

Where are you running to, little prey? It was a husky whisper of his voice, oozing with warning, and trembling along her bones.

Althea's hands trembled. All her instincts cried to resist, to escape, but all her bodily fibres were stiff with fear and horror.