7 Days With The Cursed Lycan King

The Beast Awakens

Kelsey’s POV

The snarling grew louder, closer — a guttural sound that vibrated through the stone floor and into Kelsey’s bones. She pressed herself harder against the heavy wooden headboard, eyes locked on the door. The candlestick lay useless on the floor where Silas had left it. Her mind raced through every survival article she’d ever skimmed: Stay calm. Look for weapons. Find an exit.

There was nothing.

Another roar shattered the silence, this one laced with pain rather than pure rage. It sounded almost… human. Almost like Silas.

Kelsey’s breath caught. The dreams flashed behind her eyes again, the woman who looked like her, the man with Silas’s face, the blood. None of it made sense, but her body reacted anyway, a strange mix of terror and an inexplicable urge to move toward the sound.

The heavy bolt on the outside of her door scraped open.

She grabbed the candlestick anyway, holding it like a baseball bat as the door swung inward.

Silas stood in the threshold.

Or what was left of him.

His powerful frame had grown larger, shoulders broader, muscles straining against the dark shirt that was now torn at the seams. Jet-black hair fell wildly around his face. His silver-grey eyes glowed with an unnatural crimson edge, pupils slitted like a predator’s. The scars on his face and chest looked deeper, angrier, as if freshly reopened. His hands — curled into fists — ended in elongated claws that dug into the wooden frame, splintering it.

He was breathing hard, chest heaving, barely holding onto control.

“Stay… back,” he growled, voice distorted, more beast than man.

Kelsey’s reporter instincts warred with raw fear. She should scream. She should try to run. Instead, she found herself lowering the candlestick slightly.

“What’s happening to you?” she whispered.

Silas took one staggering step into the room, then another. The air around him felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. “The eclipse… the first night. The curse demands blood.” His gaze locked onto her with terrifying intensity. “I won’t take yours. Not yet.”

He dropped to one knee near the fireplace, claws scraping against the stone floor as another wave of pain hit him. A vicious snarl tore from his throat as his back arched, bones shifting visibly beneath his skin.

Kelsey’s heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. This wasn’t some delusional cult leader. This was real. Impossible, terrifying, and real.

Against every survival instinct, she took a hesitant step closer. “Silas… tell me what to do.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name on her lips. For a brief second, the crimson glow in his eyes flickered, and something almost human broke through — raw desperation and centuries of loneliness.

“You calm it,” he rasped. “You always did. Even if you don’t remember.”

Kelsey didn’t understand what he meant, but when another pained roar built in his chest, she acted on pure instinct. She moved forward and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.

The moment her palm touched him, a jolt passed between them — warm, electric, familiar. The feral tension in his body eased slightly. His breathing slowed. The claws retracted just enough that they no longer gouged the floor.

Silas let out a shaky exhale, his glowing eyes lifting to meet hers. Up close, she could see the torment there — the man fighting the monster.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” he warned, voice rough but clearer now. “Not when I’m like this.”

“And yet you’re not ripping my throat out,” Kelsey shot back, her reporter mouth running ahead of her fear. “So maybe I’m doing something right.”

A ghost of a dark smile tugged at the corner of his scarred mouth. “Still defiant. Even after all this time.”

He rose slowly, towering over her once more, but the feral edge had receded… for now. His hand came up, claws fully gone, and brushed a strand of her messy dark hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness.

“Seven days, Kelsey Jones,” he murmured. “Seven nights like this. And at the end… you will have to choose.”

Kelsey’s skin tingled where he touched her. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to demand answers. But more than anything, she felt the strange, terrifying pull deep in her chest, the same one from her dreams.

Before she could respond, Silas stepped back, the moment breaking.

“Sleep,” he ordered, already moving toward the door. “Tomorrow will be worse.”

The door closed behind him with a heavy click.

Kelsey sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at her hand, the one that had touched the beast and lived.

What the hell had she just done?

And why did part of her want to do it again?