Page 9 of The Lycans: Vol Four

I dug my nails into the earth and pushed my upper body up, my ribs broken and screaming, my head pounding from whatever blunt object they used to crack my skull, and the knife wounds deep and covering every inch of my body. My face was on fire, and I lifted a hand to touch my cheek, hissing when I felt the massive wound. When I pulled my hand away and looked down, I saw my fingers coated in blood.

My body would heal, but the face wound was deep, and despite my Lycan regenerating properties, some injuries were too heinous to heal fully.

But scars or not, the only thing I cared about was finding my mate.

I slowly rose and shook my head, the world spinning slightly as I stumbled, trying to catch my bearings. I focused and inhaled deeply, trying to scent her, trying to figure out what direction they’d taken her in.

But the scent of the gore from the fight, the aroma of the flora and fauna of the forest, and my disoriented head made sifting through the hundreds of scents surrounding me almost impossible.

I walked forward, weaving, feeling as if I’d drunk a barrel full of ale.

I swiped my hand out, digging claws into the bark of a nearby tree, my nostrils flaring as I breathed even harder.

And then I saw something glisten on the ground, catching the light. I froze, my disoriented mind, my unfocused vision trying to make clear what I was seeing.

With my hand still on the trunk to steady myself, I bent down and picked up the delicate chain, holding it up so I could see the pendant swing slightly.

An anchor.

I curled the necklace in my palm, tipped my head back, and roared so loudly, so ferociously, I knew those fuckers who had taken my female heard me… and would know to fear me, because I was coming for them.

I didn’t care how long it took or if it killed me in the end. I was going to find Larkin, and when I did, I was going to exact my vengeance on the ones who took her and destroy them with my bare hands.

2

Larkin

The present

Ihad never experienced death myself, but I thought about it plenty of times, fantasized about closing my eyes and never opening them again.

And many times over the years, I felt like I was close, that the pain was too much, too bone-crushing, too life-stealing.

Never in my life had I dreamed I’d ever wish for the sweet bliss of never taking another breath, or never feeling my heart race with excitement or happiness. But gods… I thought about it a lot.

I hated myself, cursed the feeling of wanting to take the “easy” way out. Because no matter how much they hurt me, how many bruises they gave me, how many bones they broke, I wanted to survive.

Because I wanted to see him again. Sometime in my life—if fate, or destiny, or the will of the gods decreed it—I wanted to see Odhran again.

Because that one short moment in time that I spent with him all those years ago wasn’t enough. How funny life was, that one interaction with him so long ago would change me so much.

I didn’t know mere hours with my fated mate could make me feel something so pure and harmonious, could fill one with a life experience that could never be matched.

I shifted onto my side and tucked my hands under my cheek, staring at the cell bars in front of me. My body ached, my ribs were sore—healing from being broken—and the soles of my feet were skinned and torn. They’d taken a whip to my feet days ago, strapped me down and allowed a group of salivating humans to watch me cry and scream out as my soles were torn and my flesh flayed from them.

But despite my broken body, the hollowness and sadness, I felt a sliver of strength still burning inside of me.

Recently, they’d given me long stretches of time to recuperate, to heal so they could do their horrendous deeds to me all over again. But I’d take this time to reflect, to reminisce, and to think of a better time and place that I refused to imagine I’d never experience again.

For decades, I’d been in this vicious cycle, this torturous routine where they used and abused me for the sole purpose of entertaining their customers. I’d had my bones broken, knives slicing into my flesh, and whips arching across the air before landing on my back. I’d been electrocuted, tortured to the point my tears had run dry and I passed out.

I’d experienced agony for longer than I’d been alive before they took me, so much that it was my norm. Yet despite feeling broken and ruined so many times, I kept up my strength and told myself I wouldn’t give up, no matter how good eternal sleep sounded.

Time had no meaning down here, locked within a cell, three walls nothing but reinforced concrete and one made of mystically protected metal bars. Not that it did any good if it was woven with magic or not. As a water nymph, it wasn’t as if I had the physical strength to open them, the power to pull them apart or crush the cement.

I stared at the lone hanging fluorescent bulb in the hallway, the buzzing from the electricity moving through it seeming overly loud. I was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come.

I stayed on my side for so long my body started to ache. With a groan, I pushed myself up and curled my fingers around the edge of the thin cot mattress. My toes barely touched the cold cement floor.