Page 5 of Destined to the Lycan (The Shadow Realms #3)

Amara

I set off right before noon on the morning after the full moon.

My initial plan had been to leave at sunrise, but a nasty storm delayed my departure.

Once more, I debated whether to simply ride my horse or use a carriage.

In the end, my phaeton made the most sense as the hood would provide some protection if the weather acted up again, on top of providing more room to bring additional clothes, basic hiking equipment, and the paraphernalia that would assist me in the summoning ritual.

The three-story hostel made of dark wood and beige bricks dominated the other, much smaller buildings of the village.

At a glance, I counted about twenty establishments, most of them reminding me of tourist traps, aside from the convenience store and blacksmith.

Based on the research I performed over the past three days while waiting for the full moon to end, only a handful of families actually lived in Kairn.

Namely the innkeeper Misty Starlight and her family, as well as the sheriff Darion Lovell.

Everyone else lived with one of the Lycan packs who owned their individual section of the surrounding territory.

The large doors of the inn parted open, giving me a glimpse into the busy dining area.

The delicious scent of roasted meat wafted to me, accompanied by the sound of music and the undefined noise of animated conversations.

A large male immediately made a beeline for me and waved a huge hand in greeting.

I did a double take once I realized that he was just a teenager.

The unusual silver color of his eyes, and the furry tip of a pointy ear peeking through his luscious black hair gave away the fact that he wasn’t human.

I had never met a Lycan before. But it didn’t take a genius to recognize this boy as one.

“Greetings, Madam. Will you be staying the night?” he asked, his slightly higher-pitched voice further confirming his youth.

“Yes. It’s getting much too late to venture into the wild,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“Wise decision,” he concurred, his smile broadening.

Although he didn’t have fangs, his pristine white canines were clearly sharper and more prominent than with a regular human’s.

I gladly accepted the hand he extended to help me down my carriage.

His nostrils flared, and a troubled expression quickly hidden flashed over his boyish features, dimming the happy warmth he’d initially displayed.

I almost asked him what was wrong, but he swiftly turned away from me to pick up my belongings and carry them inside.

I patted my horse on the neck then followed the young man inside.

Although conversations didn’t stop when I entered, quite a few of them slowed down as many of the patrons eyed me with undisguised curiosity.

Most of them were males, with less than a quarter of them being females.

To my surprise, only a handful of humans mingled amongst the guests.

It suddenly struck me that the Lycans used this place as their usual hang out.

This boded well as it was always a good sign when the locals regularly frequented an establishment. It meant good service and quality.

Being somewhat of an introvert, so much attention focused on me made me self-conscious. At least, none of the stares were intimidating. While curiosity dominated, a few of the males eyed me with blatant admiration devoid of the lurid edge that would have made it vulgar or disrespectful.

For a reason I couldn’t explain, instead of making my way to the counter and addressing the innkeeper, I just stopped a few steps inside the room, facing the crowd.

I cleared my throat, and all the conversations ended, even the couple of musicians providing entertainment stopped. With every eye locked on me, I swallowed hard and summoned all my courage before projecting loudly so all could hear.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I’m looking for a guide to take me on a hazardous mission. I will pay well,” I said.

Many people perked up, interested eyebrows raising as they gave me an assessing look.

“How hazardous?” a male called out, drawing my attention.

He was sitting behind the largest table in the inn, surrounded by eight other people, two of them females.

Even sitting down, I could tell he was extremely tall.

His broad shoulders and ropey muscles screamed of tremendous strength.

While all the other Lycan males would put most human men to shame with their impressive physiques, this one stood out from the rest. I suspected he was the alpha of his pack.

“Very hazardous,” I replied.

He gave me a slow once over and gestured for me to approach. Once again, there was nothing inappropriate in the way his silver eyes glided over me. I would describe it as clinical, as if he was attempting to gather information about me that would give him a better sense of who he was dealing with.

As a merchant, I often did the same with customers, especially those who asked me for the type of candles used for advanced arcane rituals.

While being a strong proponent of minding my own business, I would not sell a product to someone I believed intended to use it for evil or harmful purposes.

Dark mages often wore some form of symbols of power or artifacts to enhance their magic.

It gave a good sense of what type of practices they were into.

Similarly, you had the penny pinchers who were dressed in fancy garb but always tried to haggle for a cheaper price.

However, as I wove my way through the busy tables, a few of the Lycan patrons stiffened, some even recoiling as they crinkled their noses or scrunched their faces. Before I could question that odd reaction, one of them addressed me in a shocked voice, making my steps falter.

“You’re sick!” the male exclaimed. “The stench of death is all over you.”

I flinched, my chest constricting that the poison should have progressed so much inside me that it was so easily detectable already to beings with highly sensitive noses.

Refusing to give in to despair, I lifted my chin defiantly as I stared at the younger male.

He seemed to be about my age, late twenties or early thirties.

Although a little less imposing than the one who I suspected to be their Alpha, this man was still sturdily built.

His dirty blonde hair curled gloriously around his handsome face.

He also had the silver eyes of a wolf, but with a longer, more oval-shaped face instead of the squarer jaw of his counterpart.

“Yes, I am dying. Thus, the urgent need for this mission. I need the counter poison to the one that’s killing me.”

“And what counter poison would that be?” the first, older male asked, reclaiming my attention.

I closed the remaining distance to him and nervously ran my fingers through my curly hair.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled my scent, imitated by the other people around him, the ones farther away leaning in to get a better whiff.

The air of pity that descended over many faces had my innards twisting even more.

“Are you after the Orestan flowers from the Dark Vale?” he asked when I didn’t answer right away.

I shook my head and licked my lips, bracing for how they would respond to my answer.

“No, it’s something far more challenging to acquire. I need to be bitten by the snake tail of the Cursed Demon Wolf Ranael,” I said as firmly as I could.

A deafening silence settled over the room while everyone stared at me in disbelief. I couldn’t tell whether seconds or minutes went by. It just felt like an eternity to me. And then the booming sound of a male voice laughing behind me triggered a domino effect with everyone else swiftly joining in.

“You’re insane!” the younger male exclaimed behind me. “The current poison clearly broke your brain, woman!”

“Enough, Ulric,” the older male said sternly, silencing everyone else.

“I mean no disrespect, Rolf,” Ulric said in a somewhat conciliatory tone. “But this poor woman is obviously not thinking clearly. Who in their right mind would deliberately seek out Ranael?”

“I’m not insane,” I countered forcefully before shifting my attention back to the older male who he had called Rolf. “His venom is the only cure for what ails me. I got the confirmation from the Weaver herself.”

A general gasp rose in the room followed by some incredulous whispers amongst the patrons. Rolf narrowed his eyes at me, his face displaying a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

“The Weaver granted you an audience?” he asked in a dubious tone.

“Yes, she did,” I replied, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

“How the fuck did you pull that off?” he challenged, apparently still unsure if he was impressed or still doubtful of the truthfulness of my statement. “And at what cost? The Weaver doesn’t help anyone unless they have something of great value for her.”

“Indeed,” Ulric interjected. “What could she possibly want from a dying girl, pretty though you are? Did she ask for your soul?”

Biting my tongue not to tell him to piss off, I gave him an irritated look. “The compensation for her assistance is between me and her. It’s no one else’s business. All I want to know is whether someone among you will be my guide.”

As one, everyone turned to look at Rolf, confirming my suspicion that he was one of their alphas. My heart sank when he shook his head with a commiserating expression.

“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” he said in a soft, almost paternal tone.

“Taking you to him would be a murder-suicide. Ranael will eat you as an appetizer and your guide has his main course. Only a fool would go on such a mission. I’m sorry.

I can set up a meeting for you to speak with one of our shamans.

Maybe they can offer you an alternative cure that we will be glad to help you with. But not this.”

“ This is my only hope,” I said in a pleading tone.