Lycan Queen's Prey Chapter 50

~Zirah~

The van's tires screeched as it came to a sudden halt. My heart stopped, then began beating wildly,

each thundering beat drawing me further and further away from reality. Every single fiber in my

body protested as I hunched on the unforgiving, cold metal floor of the van, hands bound in front

of me. I fought to break free from the binds, desperately hoping to escape my fate.

But no matter how much I struggled, I could not free myself from the inescapable situation. My

heart thundered against the cage of my ribs, threatening to shatter the fragile silence enveloping us.

I mustered a glance at my mates, sprawled in a disturbing parody of sleep. Their peaceful faces were

a harsh contradiction to the dire reality we were entangled in, and each of them stirred a whirlwind

of despair and rage within me.

King Slavic's cruel taunts reverberate in my skull, a maddening echo that amplifies the dread

knotting my stomach. His icy eyes, brimming with malicious pleasure, still haunt me. He's the

embodiment of my darkest nightmares, a relentless shadow tainting my existence. "This will keep

you docile,” he sneered, brandishing the syringe that held our captivity within its clear contents.

In a torturous loop, I have watched the King's minions as they administer the damning drug, their

faces cold and detached. The sickening sight of the needle sliding under their skin, the agonizingly

slow push of the plunger, releasing its payload into their veins, churns my insides. Each time, I grind

my teeth against the searing anger, balling my fists until my nails dig into my palms, struggling

against the instinctive need to retaliate.

However, as the van doors close and we leave the vampire Kingdom. A spark of realization kindles

within me as I perceive the drug's effects receding quicker than before. Is it my surging anger,

stoking the flames of my metabolism, purging the drug from my system? An unexpected wave of

adrenaline ripples through me, sweeping away the fog clouding my mind, and honing my senses.

My heart hammers against my ribs, an erratic drum echoing through the hollow silence of the van.

Once again, the van is moving, the motion making me feel queasy. I have no idea what is going on,

but we left Regan's Kingdom in a hurry when they finally realized I spoke the truth, and Regan

indeed is not tied to me. Slavic then ordered his men back to his Kingdom, where I watched them

continuously drug my mates, and load the van full of supplies. He's running, that much I am sure of,

something has him spooked and there is no doubt in my mind that what has scared him into retreat

is Regan. Wrath.

The jarring halt of the van yanks me from my thoughts. I brace against the abrupt stop, straining to

decipher the murmur of hushed voices and the shuffle of restless feet. The harsh, blinding light

sears through my eyelids from the sudden wrenching of the van doors, followed by the invasion of a

biting wind as the bright morning light floods in, blinding me for a moment. I squinted to make out

the figures standing outside, but all I could make out was the silhouette of a much taller figure, a

shadow of a man with a gun in his hand.

I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, and every molecule in my body screamed for me to

run, but I knew that it was a futile effort. With a sigh of dread, I resigned myself to my fate. One that

looked grim right now. The rough yank of my arm drags me closer to the doors when the other van

door groans open, unveiling a desolate landscape that stretches into oblivion. Mountains stand tall

against the morning sky, their peaks shrouded by a veil of mist and fog.

Rough hands yank me to my feet and propel me out of the van. I stumble over the uneven terrain,

the biting wind slicing through me, causing involuntary shivers to course down my spine.

Tumbling out onto the unforgiving rocky ground, I taste the tang of blood in my mouth as my body

scrapes against the sharp stones.

The pain is immediate, stinging my hands and knees, but it's only a whisper compared to the

gnawing fear that anchors itself in my gut that I feel for Zeke and Lyon. Before I can regain my

footing, a horrifying sight arrests me.

In the distance, Malachi's limp, bloodied body is manhandled toward a roller door embedded in the

side of the mountain. His skin, pale as death itself, is smeared with dirt and blood. His body, usually

a tower of strength, is reduced to a lifeless burden between the henchmen who carelessly drag him.

The agony etched on his face, the brutal wounds and bruises marring his skin, send my heart

lurching.

“No,” the plea escapes from my lips, barely a whisper stolen by the ruthless wind. It's a futile

attempt, devoured by the crushing emptiness around me. The roller door groans open, consuming

Malachi into its monstrous abyss. The image of him disappearing into the dark void within the

mountain is the last I witness before the door grinds shut, leaving me stranded amidst this desolate

wasteland. When I am shoved violently, sending me sprawling face down in the dirt.

Shaking my head, I glare over my shoulder to see King Slavic.

“"How...how can she move, I thought I told you to make sure they are drugged, so she's kept weak?”

Slavic's question cuts through the icy air, his bewilderment laced with suspicion as I get to my hands

and knees, peering around. His eyes, colder than the mountain winds, drill into me as though

seeking answers that I'm not ready to give.

“It seems, Your Majesty,” one of the guards pipes up, an uncertain note in his voice that feeds my

growing satisfaction, “That the Mandrake root is waning on her. It held Zeke and Lyon, but... her

bond seems to have built up a tolerance,” a nearby guard answers the King.

The humor of the man's words bubbles up in my chest, catching me off guard. The words spill out

of my mouth, laced with scornful laughter.

“Is that fear I detect, Slavic?” I taunt, savoring the fleeting surprise etched on his face.

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