Page 37 of Prey of the Lycan Queen (Unwanted #2)
Chapter Thirty-Six
The inky blackness of unconsciousness ebbs away as I sluggishly claw my way back into the land of the living.
Strands of consciousness intertwine, weaving a confusing web of reality and dreams. It’s like trying to catch a gust of wind with bare hands—passing and elusive.
My body feels heavy as if I am submerged in an ocean with weights around my ankles.
As my thoughts return, I cling to the remnants of earlier memories, and my limbs respond with the speed and grace of driftwood in the undertow. I’m trapped within the confines of my body. Every attempt at movement is squashed by an unseen force. It’s like being a ghost in my own vessel.
When my eyes first open, I am confused by the gray paneling. It takes me a few moments to recognize my surroundings. I’m in the back of a van, and a chilly breeze sweeps across my feet, but I don’t feel movement or hear an engine.
Feeling disoriented, I peer around, capturing mental snapshots of the grim reality I have found myself in. Lyon is sprawled on the floor, unconscious. His chest heaves in a rhythmic pattern as he dances between life and death, walking on a blade’s edge. My stomach sinks at the sight of him.
Zeke is anything but himself at the moment. He leans heavily against the van wall, his eyes open but vacant. His hands are bound to the van’s steel wall, and another chain loops tightly around his neck. It gnaws into his flesh, revealing a haunting truth—one wrong move, and he’ll strangle himself.
My head feels heavy, and as I attempt to lift it and turn, everything spins.
My feeble attempt to move draws the attention of a guard, who heartlessly stomps the heel of his boot into my ribs.
The impact forces me onto my back, opening a clear view of his demonic red eyes.
A savage sense of satisfaction crosses his pale face, like a cat playing with a cornered mouse.
“She’s awake,” he calls out, his voice a sinister sound in the silence. Footsteps approach, vibrating through the van’s metallic floor and resonating in my bones. Another figure clambers into the back of the van, his silhouette blotting out the little light filtering in.
Scattered pieces of their conversation whirl around me. Their words dip and flow, leaving me to wade through the murky waters of my thoughts as my hearing rings. Yet, with each passing second, their voices grow clearer.
The van’s open doors reveal a sight that propels my heart into my throat. I recognize this place—Regan’s kingdom. The torture dungeons stand hauntingly close, but the bricks have been blackened by flames after Regan burned those inside.
“He can’t have gotten far,” the first guard muses.
I strain to make sense of their disjointed talk while my mind races to unravel what the hell is going on.
As if on cue, a new person steps into the back of the van.
He towers over me, his eyes glinting ominously under the dim light.
A cruel smile plays on his lips as he kicks Lyon in the ribs.
“He still hasn’t woken?” the man asks, glancing at the two guards.
They shake their heads, and the man sighs.
“He’s barely alive. Just leave him. He probably won’t last long,” he dismisses with an icy indifference.
The harsh reality of his words grips me—if Lyon succumbs, the others will follow suit, and so will I. The grim revelation is driven home by the new man.
“Not my issue. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just kill them and be done with it. Not that it will matter if we can’t figure out where Regan dropped.” His statement leaves a dreadful echo hanging in the silence.
Soon, another man steps into the back of the van, making the space feel even more crowded. The mere shadow of this man sends an icy shiver down my spine. King Slavic.
“My King,” the guards say simultaneously, dipping their heads to him.
“Some city people said he left, that he tore out of the city late last night. How are our prisoners?” His smile is sinister as he crouches over me and grips my face. His fingers dig into my flesh. “Gosh, you look like your mother,” he states, turning my head from side to side, assessing me.
“Not as strong, though. Your mother was a force to be reckoned with, but you just had to get yourself tied to the Lycan Kings,” he mocks.
“So, we have no idea where he went, My King?” the vampire guard asks, and my eyes go to him. I can smell his fear; it perfumes the van, and my eyes go back to King Slavic.
“They’re linked. Malachi said she marked them all, so wherever he is, as long as we keep these two down, we’ll have time to perform the ritual. He won’t be coming for anyone if these two are incapacitated” the king says.
I can’t help but laugh, the noise sounding odd as it escapes my throat. He has no idea that Regan will be coming for him. The king’s blood-red eyes peer down at me with a devious sparkle.
“My Queen, do share what you find so funny. You’re helpless while your mates are paralyzed, and your coven?
” My laughter cuts off abruptly when he mentions my coven.
Now King Slavic is laughing. “Oh, you didn’t know?
I’m guessing by the look on your face, this is news to you?
” he laughs, squeezing my face harder, his nails digging into my skin.
“I have your coven, and soon I’ll have the four kingdoms.”
With as much force as I can muster, I lunge against his hold and spit in his face. His smile shifts into a sneer as he drags one hand down his jaw. With his other hand, he grabs my throat, wrapping his slender fingers around my neck.
“Stupid little girl!” His hand tightens on my throat until I can barely breathe.
“I’m going to drug your mates with so much mandrake root and amphetamine, then I’m going to watch them hallucinate and tear you apart.
” I glare at him. “But first, I need something else. I need them to bring my son back,” he snarls.
“So, if you could point me in the right direction to find Regan, it would be much appreciated; I’m a little bored with this game of hide and seek,” he chuckles.
Something within me sparks. A sense of defiance bubbles up, kindled by his derisive words. “You foolish man,” I sneer. He smirks at my response, clearly underestimating the storm brewing within me.
He dares to ridicule me, belittle my ties with my mates, and lay claim over my coven. “You forget, My King ,” I spit. “I am not my mother. You are right. I am something else. I am the curse she created.”
He raises an eyebrow, the first flicker of doubt crossing his features. “I know exactly who you are, Zirah,” he retorts, a note of challenge lacing his words.
I laugh, the sound eerie and resounding in the confined space of the van. His guards glance nervously at me, and the tremor in their eyes only stokes the embers of my rebellious defiance.
“And you,” I start, turning my attention to the guards. “Are all dead,” I chuckle. The guards glance at each other, and the king raises an eyebrow at me. “Hell hath no fury...” My eyes flick from one guard to another, ensuring my words sink in. “Like Wrath.”
“Regan is somewhere passed out in a ditch, turning cold and probably pissing his pants right about now,” King Slavic states.
This idiot has no idea the monster he is playing with. “Imagine, if you will,” I challenge the king, my voice dripping with icy scorn. “A wrath that’s been wronged. A wrath that’s been provoked. But now imagine...that same wrath ignited by the desire to save his virtue. To save me.”
“She lies, ignore her ramblings. She is hallucinating from the mandrake root,” the king states, rising to his feet.
“Do you really believe your castle walls, your armies, or even your power would be enough to halt him?” I laugh as the king’s face turns ashen. His bravado falters as he considers my words.
“Gather your guards, fortify your defenses, and you better start praying. For when Wrath arrives, not even the Fates can save you.”
“You think your words scare me?” he laughs, leaning down.
“They should, My King .” He falters for a second. “Wrath is not tied to me. I rejected our bond, but he’ll come for me anyway. He’ll come for his brothers, and when he does...” I smile. “You’ll meet your son in the afterlife.”
His hand whips through the air and connects with my face. My head jerks to the side, but I don’t feel the sting. However, I do taste my blood as it fills my mouth. My tongue runs over my bit lip. I smirk, knowing I got under his skin.
The king hastily exits the van. His men follow suit, leaving me alone. The deafening slam of the door reverberates through the van, plunging me into darkness.
King Slavic better run, for if Regan doesn’t kill him, I will the moment I feel my magic again.