Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings

Book 2 Chapter 1

~Regan~

I can't stand still. The damp dungeon feels like it is closing in on me. My chest is tight as I pace back and forth, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. Zeke sits in a corner, nursing his injuries, his face a mask of pain and anger after we tried to break the bars on the cell.

The steel was spelled decades ago. You'd think it would have worn off by now. But clearly not as I look at my hands. The bars are infused with water hemlock and wolfsbane, which causes nasty burns. All three of us burned to pieces. My hands feel like rubber because the burns are that deep.

Lyon stares vacantly at the remains of the curse on the blackened walls. A curse I have committed to memory, not that it has done me any good over the years. However, Lyon is trapped in the confines of his mind, staring at it like he can figure out the curse if he stares at it long enough. And the guards are useless.

We can't even command them since my father ordered them not to take our orders. We tried. One guard even passed out resisting our commands and hasn't woken up. He's been bleeding from his ears on the cold concrete ground. He isn't as old as the two vampires guarding Elias or us, and his healing ability is not as quick as they normally are from resisting our commands.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echo through the corridor. Malachi appears, his eyes wild with fear and urgency. He's been running; that much is clear. He glances around, spotting the guards, who swiftly turn to see the intruder. Gnash gets up beside me, growling as his fur brushes my leg. For a few tense seconds, the guards stare at him warily. Malachi snarls, "Stand down." Malachi orders.

"They can't. My father commanded them," I tell him, and Malachi curses and shakes his head while the guards nervously look at each other.

"Forgive me," Malachi tells them, and without hesitation, he launches himself at them.

His movements are swift and precise, like those of a well-trained fighter, and he should be. He trained these men, so he plays them like a fiddle, using their own moves against them. Hence, the student won't surpass the teacher in this case. Not when that teacher is of noble blood too.

I watch in awe as he takes them down one by one as he moves through them effortlessly. A spinning kick sends one guard crashing into the wall while another is flipped over Malachi's shoulder, landing hard on the cold stone floor. In a matter of seconds, the guards are unconscious, their bodies sprawled across the corridor, except for one.

Breathing heavily, Malachi grabs the collar of the last conscious guard, Elias. His face only inches away from the guard’s face. "Where's the key?" he demands. His voice is a growl.

Elias, bloodied and bruised, manages to wheeze out, "King Theron... he has it." With a furious growl, Malachi delivers a knockout punch to his face, sending him slumping to the floor.

Turning to us, I can see the panic etched on his face when he speaks, "We need to get you out of here. Your father has lost his damn mind!"

My heart pounds in my chest as I step forward, gripping the steel bars of the cell. "What's happened? Where is she?" I demand, my voice laced with the panic that is strangling me.

Malachi hesitates, his eyes full of worry. "In the town square," he finally answers. Zeke moves toward the bars.

"In the town square?" Malachi nods, glancing up at the bars and at the hinges.

"Malachi!" He pauses.

"What's going on?" I demand.

"History is about to repeat itself if I don't get you out of here," Malachi states, touching the bars and hissing as he jerks his hands back.

My grip on the bars tightens, and I can feel the heat from the wolfsbane and water hemlock infused into the metal, burning my skin. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the pain, the need to save Zirah, overriding everything else when Zeke pushes me aside and grips one bar, and I take the other.

All I can smell is our flesh burning when the bars finally creak, bending, and Gnash seeing the gap leaps through it instantly, followed by Hunter and Shadow. Gnash hesitates, almost as if he is waiting for us, but the gap is too small. It is a tight fit for them to escape through.

"Get to your master," I command Gnash. "And kill anyone that gets in your way, friend or foe," I tell Gnash, and he whines but obeys, darting up the basement steps before tearing off out of the dungeon. "

Quick!" I tell Zeke, whose hands are a bloody mess. Sweat coats him, and his arms are burned from leaning on the bars.

Lyon shoves Zeke out of the way, half his skin remaining on the bar as his hands tear away from it—determination on his face. Lyon and I use our combined strength to bend the bars further apart. The strain on our muscles and the burning sensation of the poisonous metal is almost unbearable.

But we pry them apart just enough to slip through the gap.

"Zirah?" I ask Malachi.

"About to be burned at the stake," Malachi states. The news terrorizes me, and my heart races faster.

My heart races as my brothers and I sprint through the dark, narrow streets, our legs pumping with adrenaline. We chase after our wolves, Gnash, Hunter, and Shadow, as they lead us to the town square.

As we burst into the town square, we're met with a frenzied, chaotic scene. The crowd is packed tight, their faces twisted with a mixture of hatred, fear, and excitement. Their shouts and jeers are deafening, creating a noise that grates my nerves and fuels my anger.

We push our way through the mass of bodies, our hearts pounding with desperation as we fight to reach the center of the square. The sight that greets us when we finally break through is horrifying. Zirah, the woman I love, is tied to a stake and surrounded by menacing guards. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, and I know we don't have much time.

Our wolves launch themselves at the guards, tearing through them with ferocious snarls and powerful jaws. The crowd gasps and recoils in fear, their cries of surprise and terror adding to the chaotic chorus that fills the air.

"Father, stop this madness!" Zeke's voice is filled with desperation, his eyes wide and pleading.

"She's not Litha! She's not responsible for the curse!" I argue, trying to make him see reason.

But my father remains unmoved, his cold eyes locked on Zirah as the flames rise higher. He orders the few guards that haven’t run from us to continue, as they douse the pile of wood with fuel, I feel my heart stop. This can't be happening. I can't lose her.

My brothers and I attack the guards, trying to reach Zirah before it's too late. The flames explode, and she screams as fire engulfs her legs. Her screams pierce the air, tearing through my heart and breaking my soul as I try to get to her.

Yet amidst the chaos, the crowd breaks, making everyone pause to look as Kelly steps forward, hands raised, then another woman, and another, their voices joining together, echoing through the place. They stand around the square, taking center stage, their magic resounding through the air. I watch in shock as they chant, their words weaving through the stormy night like a bewitching melody.

"In the shadows cast by a fire’s glow, where sinners hide, and virtues grow..."

Their voices grow louder and more powerful with each line, and as I glance at their faces, I realize who they are. Right under our noses all this time, they’re the daughters of the original coven. Litha's Coven. My heart clenches with a mix of awe and fear.

As the coven daughters step forward, one by one, I watch them continue the rites of their mothers and grandmothers. Once again, they stand defiant against our father and his tyranny. Their magic is strong, and as they chant, I can feel the energy pulsing through the air, a tangible force that makes my skin tingle.

"A goddess of virtues, a high priestess witch, born from flames..." I rush toward Zirah, flames licking my skin as I help Zeke with the chains.

While Zeke and Lyon work to break Zirah's chains, however, her head falls forward on my chest I know we’re losing her. I make a desperate decision, I sink my teeth into her neck, hoping that marking her will somehow save her from this fate.

The taste of her blood fills my mouth, but something is wrong. Instead of the warmth and connection I expected, I choke on the metallic taste like its charcoal and burning embers scorching my throat, leaving a rancid taste in my mouth. My body is weakening as I realize that marking her isn't healing her but poisoning us all.