7 Days With The Cursed Lycan King

Awakened

Kelsey’s POV

Kelsey’s flashlight beam trembled as the low growl reverberated through the narrow stone passage. It wasn’t an echo. It was close. Too close.

She pressed her back against the cold, damp wall, heart slamming so hard she could feel it in her teeth. Her camera hung from its strap around her neck, and she instinctively lifted it, switching to video mode with one hand while gripping the flashlight like a weapon in the other.

Stay calm. Document everything. This is the story.

The air tasted ancient — thick with dust, moss, and something metallic that made her stomach turn. The walls were covered in intricate carvings that seemed to shift in the flickering light: wolves running under a full moon, human figures transforming, and strange symbols that looked almost like a language long forgotten.

She took a slow step forward, then another. The passage opened into a larger chamber. In the center stood a stone sarcophagus, its lid cracked and partially slid aside. Moonlight from a fissure high above filtered down like a silver blade, illuminating the space just enough to be eerie.

Kelsey raised her camera and began recording. “This is Kelsey Jones, The People’s Gazette. I’m inside what appears to be an ancient crypt in the foggy mountains of the northern Carpathians. The carvings suggest some kind of… cult or forgotten civilization. There are reports of disappearances here for centuries. If anyone finds this footage—”

Another growl, deeper this time, came from the shadows behind the sarcophagus.

She whipped around. Nothing. Only darkness.

Her reporter brain screamed to run, but the desperate part of her, the one facing unemployment, parental disappointment, and a mountain of debt pushed her forward. She approached the sarcophagus. Inside, resting on faded velvet that crumbled at her touch, lay an ornate dagger. Its blade gleamed unnaturally, etched with runes that seemed to pulse faintly.

She reached out, fingers brushing the hilt. A jolt shot through her — not pain, but something electric. Images flashed behind her eyes:

A woman who looked like her, laughing in the arms of a tall, dark-haired man. Moonlight. Blood. A scream.

Kelsey gasped and yanked her hand back. The dagger clattered to the stone floor.

That was when the ground trembled.

Runes along the walls ignited with crimson light. The fissure above widened, bathing the chamber in blood-red moonlight. A deep, resonant voice seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The window opens… The mate returns…

Kelsey stumbled backward, camera still recording. “What the hell is this?”

Heavy footsteps echoed from the passage she had entered through. Multiple sets. Then a single, commanding voice cut through the growing wind.

“Secure the intruder.”

Before she could run, strong hands grabbed her from behind. A cloth pressed over her mouth, not chloroform, something sweeter, heavier. Her vision blurred almost instantly.

The last thing she saw was a pair of glowing blood red eyes watching her from the shadows, intense and ancient.

Then darkness swallowed her whole.

Kelsey woke to the crackle of a fireplace and the scent of aged wood and something rich, leather and smoke. Her head throbbed. She was lying on an impossibly soft bed in a room that looked like it belonged in a gothic fairy tale.

Heavy velvet drapes, dark wooden furniture carved with intricate wolf motifs, and a massive window overlooking misty mountains under a blood-red moon. Her hands weren’t bound, but the heavy oak door was clearly locked.

She sat up too fast and nearly fell back as dizziness hit. Her camera and phone were gone. Her backpack too. Only her clothes remained.

“What the actual f**k…” she whispered, voice hoarse.

Memories rushed back — the crypt, the dagger, the glowing runes, those terrifying red eyes.

She scrambled off the bed and tried the door. Locked, as expected. She moved to the window. It was high up — too high to jump — and the drop below was sheer cliff and forest.

Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced it down. Reporter mode. Observe. Document mentally. Find weaknesses.

Footsteps approached from outside the door. Heavy. Deliberate.

Kelsey backed away, grabbing the only thing she could find — a heavy iron candlestick from the mantel and held it like a bat.

The door unlocked with a loud click and swung open.

He filled the doorway.

Towering. Broad-shouldered. Jet-black hair falling to his shoulders. A scar ran from his left temple down across his cheek. His blood red eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. Power radiated from him like heat from a forge.

Silas.

She didn’t know how she knew his name, but it came to her as clearly as if someone had whispered it in her ear.

“You,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “Who the hell are you and why did you kidnap me?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft, final click. His gaze never left her face, studying her like she was both a miracle and a curse.

“You shouldn’t have come to the crypt, Aylin.”

Kelsey’s grip tightened on the candlestick. “My name is Kelsey Jones. And if you don’t let me go right now, I swear I’ll…”

“You’re not leaving.” His voice was low, rough, and absolute. “Not for the next seven days.”

He took another step closer, and something deep inside her, something she didn’t understand — stirred in response.

The air between them crackled with danger… and something far more terrifying.