The Lycan King

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Chapter 3

The day had worn on me, and I curled up on my good side and shut my eyes tight. Part of me felt guilt at being the reason one of their own was killed, but there was still a part that figured that was one less lycan we would have to be afraid of in the world. One less lycan did not help my current circumstance.

When the door burst open, I could not muster the energy to sit upright. If one of them wanted to kill me, they could...and easily.

The heavy strides of boots against wooden floors echoed in the room, though they were not heading towards me. I breathed a sigh of relief before I let my eyes open and slide through the darkness to the shadow of the powerful man that lurked there.

A rounded bench seat was crafted into a circular bay window that dominated the side of the room across from the entrance. He allowed himself to practically drop on the bench there, and I held my breath to see if it would even be able to hold the weight of this man. His eyes held mine as he leaned forward, his forearms leaning against his knees as his hands dangled between them.

Even in the dark, it was clear that he was covered in blood. It permeated the air and nearly made me expel the contents of my stomach as the coppery iron undertones flooded my nostrils. Even his beautiful crown of hair was marred with the offensive, congealed substance.

I wish I was as immune to the vivid blue orbs that watched me carefully. A small quiver started in my gut, but I chalked it up to the nauseating fragrance that filled the room.

Mina para, you must learn our ways, and your place among us.” There was a sadness that lingered in his eyes, and a grim determination. “I no more want to take the life of a lycan that I called friend than I want to exact a customary consequence for your behavior.” With those words spoken, he stood. He moved across the bedroom to a door on the far side of the room.

“And just what consequences would that be,” I asked without lifting my head from the bed, holding my breath as I waited for his answer.

“Death,” he said simply. He switched a light on in the room just beyond where I sat to illuminate a large bathroom. “His blood will not sully yours. When I return, we will determine how much you understand our ways.”

“You mean like a pop quiz?” It came out weary when I meant for it to be snarky. There just was not enough energy to argue or even move.

As he spoke, he entered the bathroom. “No, mina para. I will take that which is mine.” The door closed as he spoke the last word, not allowing for any comment or argument.

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