Page 4 of Lycan King’s Captives (Lycan King Reign Duet #1)

E ach breath I take makes my lungs wheeze. My skin burns with a heat I can’t explain, my muscles tense, and I can’t seem to relax. I feel as if I’m suffocating, and I can’t do anything to stop it. My heart is racing, and I’m struggling to keep calm as I urge my eyes to open.

The sound of running water reaches my ears. I blink, and my eyes flutter open to see the moldy roof of our bathroom.

My mind is too preoccupied with the thought of how much pain I’m in.

The water is freezing cold, and I lurch upright, clutching the sides of the tub.

The sound of chains clanking nearby makes me scan my surroundings; only then do I see my hands bound to large bolts my uncle has fixed to the bathroom wall.

One bolt leads to the chains holding my hands together.

I try to scream, but my voice is hoarse.

My uncle enters the room, and his face is stern and unreadable in the dim light. He takes a step toward me, and I flinch, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. He raises his hand and points a crooked finger at me. “Quiet, I have a headache!”

Time seems to meld into one long moment as I take in his expression, my heart racing.

He crosses the room and stands above me.

The tension between us is palpable, and I can feel it in the air, like a static charge, as I wait for him to make the next move.

All my senses are heightened as I anticipate what is to happen next.

“What?” I ask, yanking on my hands, trying to free them.

“Fucking, finally!” My uncle sneers, dumping a bag of ice into the water. His voice seems so much louder and more nasal than I remember. Even my eyesight seems stronger as I take in the brush marks on the wall from painting the bathroom last year.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking with fear.

“Mal called. He said you ran from him. I found you outside, passed out. What Lycan scratched you, huh?”

“Mal?” I stammer.

“Don’t worry. I told him you weren’t here,” my uncle informs me, and I stare at him. I don’t answer, my gaze glued to his. He sighs and shakes his head, then turns around. When I try to break free, he turns back.

He grabs my arm, and I scream, trying to break free. He raises his hand, and I flinch, expecting a slap, then he digs his fingers into the flesh of my right arm, then feels my forehead, and curses, “You’re still burning up!”

“You didn’t tell him where I was?” I ask, thankful.

“Of course not. I’m not telling him his goods are ruined.

Gotta fix you up before I hand you over,” he tells me, then turns around and retrieves a paper bag.

He opens it, dumping the contents into the water.

My brows furrow in confusion as I look at the wolfsbane floating around.

He grabs a giant mixing spoon, the one that hangs above the stove usually, and starts stirring the water, creating a murky, purple-colored concoction.

He takes a small bottle from the side of the tub, pours some of the liquid in, and continues stirring. “This will fix you up,” he says.

“Huh?” I whisper, trying to figure out what he’s doing.

“The wolfsbane will help neutralize the toxins in the water and your blood,” he tells me. I gape at him, wondering what the heck he is talking about.

“Why is it necessary? I am not a Lycan.”

“It’s for the infection, kid. I’ve seen grown men turn rabid with infection. Surprised you haven’t fazed. Most people turn rabid before it kills them. “However, this will quickly fix it,” my uncle calmly explains.

I try to remember what I know about Lycan infections; however, the buzzing from the light is extremely distracting.

Lycan infections are caused by the toxin that attacks the body, causing severe pain and weakness, then usually kills the host. The virus is spread from the poison in the Lycan’s claws, making it extremely difficult to fight off without help, but this is the first I’ve heard of it causing people to go rabid.

It is sometimes possible to cure an infection with wolfsbane.

Though infrequent, accounts exist detailing its success.

It makes me wonder if there is any chance for me since an ordinary Lycan didn’t scratch me; I was scratched by the prince.

“That’ll rid you of the poison long enough for him to collect you. I don’t give a fuck if you die or kill him once the trade papers are signed.” My uncle tells me.

No sooner than that, my skin burns as he tells me, “I can’t hand you over like this.” I try to jump out of the water, wondering what is happening, only to find chains strapped to my ankles which are attached to the wall, preventing me.

My scream is deafening as my skin begins to sizzle and burn. He has doused me in a wolfsbane concoction that is designed to temporarily block the effects of any poison from entering my system. The pain is intense, as if I’m ablaze.

All this will do is give him a window of opportunity to make the trade and for Mal to collect me, ensuring I am not dead by the time he returns me to the prince.

My uncle grabs a face washer, jamming it in my mouth.

I try to spit it out when he punches me, my head whipping to the side and smacking the tiles.

I see darkness for a moment only for him to duct-tape the face washer in my mouth.

I try to reach for it with my chained hand when he yanks on the chains held with a bolt to the wall.

I am forced back under the water, my feet being dragged higher and forced on my back. I scream as the wolfsbane burns me, and I thrash when he yanks on the other chains, suspending my hands in the air.

“Quiet, you’ll ruin the game!” he spits at me while I try to breathe around the duct tape. He then walks out, leaving me in agony as I scream in pain. I’m not a Lycan. Why is this stuff burning me?

Time escapes me as minutes seem like hours as the poison in my system writhes through me.

My skin is blistered and bleeding in places, and the wound on my arm seems to be slowly closing over.

I don’t know what that means, nor do I care.

I long for death. It would be better than this pain.

I sense my life ebbing, my vision blurring, senses dulling, and I can barely move.

Then darkness descends, and I am no more.

I have no idea how long I have been in here when the door opens and my uncle enters. He presses a clammy hand on my head and curses. “Fuck, I can’t hold him off any longer. He’s been calling for three days! He stopped by and checked your room to ensure you weren’t here,” my uncle Sven informs me.

Three days? I’ve been submerged in this tub for three days. My heart races as my uncle hurriedly pulls my limp body out of the tub. He wraps me in a towel and leads me out of the room. As I am led away, I can still feel the cold lingering on my skin.

He tosses me into my room, shutting the door, and I fall onto my mattress. I glance around the room, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Everything seems to have stayed the way I left it.

The same posters are on the wall. My clothes are strewn everywhere.

The furniture is upturned still. I shiver as I drag the blanket over the top of me.

Some part of me is urging myself to remember something crucial.

My memory fails me; I only recall the bitter cold sinking into my bones until it turns into blistering heat.

My breathing becomes harsher, my vision blurs, and I can hear my uncle on the phone downstairs.

The more I focus on his voice, the clearer it gets.

“I got her, Mal, I put her in her room,” I hear him tell him.

His voice shouldn’t reach me; he is too distant.

How is that possible? My senses are heightened, which is when I taste the coppery scent of blood on my tongue.

My teeth, cutting into my tongue and cheeks, are sharper than usual.

I need to get out of here!

No sooner than I think it, I am standing upright. Confused, I blink around my room, trying to figure out how I moved so quickly when the door opens.

“Mal’s on his way. Get some dry clothes on,” my uncle tells me. His voice sounds different, and I stare at him. He even looks different. I can see every pore on his face; his skin appears yellower than normal, thanks to jaundice from his drinking.

“Did you not hear me?” he bellows at me before stalking over. He raises his hand to backhand me. I watch it move toward my face like it’s in slow motion when I grab it. I blink at his wrist clutched in my hand, seeing it shake as he tries to break out of my grasp.

His strength? is no match for me when a strange sound tears out of me.

His eyes widen in horror when suddenly I hear a snap, and he screams a blood-curdling scream.

I let him go, wondering why he made such a noise, and he staggers back, clutching his wrist. I stare at my hands in confusion when the scent of blood reaches my nose.

When I look at my uncle, I sniff the air.

His wrist is bleeding, with the bone jutting out of his arm he attacks me.

Only when he does, it’s like time slows.

With every move he makes, I anticipate and see it coming.

The next thing I see is his crumpled form on the ground, my hand inside his chest, my fingers wrapped around his heart when I jerk it, just as a loud bang follows.

In shock, I blink at what I did and what I am holding.

I killed him.

I killed my uncle.

With his heart in my grasp, I release it, horrified and sickened. His heart hits the floorboard with a loud squelch sound. That’s when I hear a deep, husky voice behind me, making me spin to see the intruder.