The Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings

Instead of following the king into the granite castle, I am led around the back. We follow a paved path lined with hedges before it opens into an expanse of cobblestone. In the distance, the guards stand at attention outside the royal stables.

Broken sobs and high-pitched wails grow louder as I’m led closer to the guards. My stomach flutters, and I wonder what they are doing to the women held hostage here. A guard shoves me through the open door, and I find the crying women standing naked before a line of empty stables.

An older woman wearing a black tunic and white apron is scrubbing their flesh and turning it pink. I am shoved forward again toward another woman with a less severe face. She is younger, and her hands are surprisingly gentle as she grabs my arms to steady me.

Her dark auburn hair is tied back, revealing soft moss-green eyes and delicate features. She appears to be a little older than me.

“How do you expect to put on a show for the kings smelling like you rolled with pigs!” The older woman scolds a prisoner as she scrubs her with a pumice stone. I glance at the poor girl with teary eyes and wonder if I should offer to swap places with her. The other girls are lined up behind her, their naked skin still red from the vicious scrubbing.

They are shaking in fear as they use their hands to cover their nudity from the leering gazes of the men standing to one side, sending disgusting glances their way. They aren’t even trying to be subtle about it.

One man is openly looking at the girl from my community who is only a few years older than me. His blood-red eyes watch her as a predator would watch its prey. His tongue flicks over sharp fangs protruding from his pale lips, and I realize these men are vampires.

Shaking my head, I turn to face the young maid tugging at my clothes in frustration. “What’s this made of?” she mumbles to herself as she struggles to undress me.

The older woman in a black tunic snaps her head in our direction, narrowing her snake-like eyes on us, and it’s obvious she’s a shifter of some kind. The young maid tries to work faster under the scrutiny of the shifter’s venomous stare, and as I watch her, one thing becomes abundantly clear; the young woman pulling on my clothes is also human.

From what I can see, she has normal eyes and teeth, and she can’t be a lycan because female lycans don’t exist anymore. Granny used to tell me about the times when some were still in existence, but that was before a brokenhearted witch cursed the lycans when her sister was killed.

The story goes that the witch’s sister was half lycan and half witch until her mate turned her into a full lycan. She was mated to a king, or so Granny said, and consumed with anger, the king accidentally killed her. Her coven helped her place a curse on lycans so that they could no longer bear daughters, and when the last female lycan died, it would force them into extinction.

Lycan men are brutal, possessive beasts, and as their female numbers dropped, they were forced to share.

It served them right, my granny had said, for they didn’t deserve the blessing of the Moon Goddess, only the death of the Grim Reaper.

Stupidly, the men didn’t believe the witch. Ego wanted to prove that they could father a girl, prove that her curse was a sham and an empty threat. It wasn’t until they realized they could only bear sons that they truly understood the gravity and implications of going against the High Priestess witch.

In revenge, the lycans killed her entire coven, but the curse remained, and ever since, their greed for lycan women made them murderous savages. Wars were fought over those remaining, and they were hunted to extinction.

Lycans spent many years mating with humans and werewolves, but since the curse, no partial lycan baby born has ever been a girl. Granny used to talk about the day when the four lycan kingdoms would fall and no more lycans would exist, and I couldn’t wait for that day. Only now, I may not live to see their downfall.

The human woman yanks on my sleeves when a loud feminine shriek rings out. My head turns to see the vile vampire trying to pull a girl away from the other women.

“Neil! Leave the girl!” the stern woman snaps at him.

“Just want a taste, Lina,” he growls and whines in the same breath, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Mm, she smells . . .” He buries his face in her neck while she stands frozen with her eyes wide like saucers. “Virginal,” he purrs.

“Pathetic,” I mutter, not realizing I spoke out loud.

His head lifts. “What did you say?” he snarls, shoving her away. The human woman trying to untie my top grips my arms tightly, and when I turn, her frightened eyes lock onto mine in warning.

Death is not something I have ever feared, and this vampire will not be the one to instill it in me.

“I said you’re pathetic. It’s amazing how predators feel so strong hurting the weak.” I spit at him, shocked at the venom in my voice and how steady and clear my words sound.

He laughs, “And what are you, little girl, predator or prey?”

“Both!” I answer.

The young woman tugs at my leather top, twisting the laces to untie them. I pull away, and she gives me a questioning look as I undo my clothes myself. I don’t want them ruined. I only just made these with a deer hide I found.

“Really? Because you look like prey to me, pathetic, weak!” he shouts, shoving the young woman back in line.

“Yes, it depends on what I am hunting,” I tell him, unperturbed by his advancing undead figure.

Pushing the maid’s hands away, I undo the laces at the front, sliding my arms out of the long sleeves and removing my shorts that I also made. I nearly slap her when she tosses them aside.

Hearing a gasp, I turn to see the vampire has stopped, and his eyes roam over my naked body with a look of surprise on his face. Even the snake-eyed woman has stopped the vicious scrubbing to stare at the markings that lace my skin and glow beneath the dim lighting.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” Malachi’s voice startles me. I glance over my shoulder at him.

Malachi tilts his head, and his eyes travel over my naked body almost thoughtfully. “I knew that woman was a witch, but I didn’t realize you were.” His eyes trail the glowing marks down my arms, and his hand reaches out to touch them before he stops abruptly and clears his throat.

“I’m not a born witch. But I had an excellent teacher,” I answer him before my eyes flick to Neil, the vampire leech. “But we can test that, Neil. I’m sure everyone here knows how easy it is for a witch to send an entire species into extinction. Well, almost.” I sneer at the man.

Granny was the real witch, so in a sense, it is in my DNA, but I wasn’t born with her powers. My mother was only half witch and my father was human, but before I was born, the lycans killed him.

“I guess she is right then, Neil. I’m sure we all remember just what a witch is capable of.” Malachi smirks at the vampire, who grumbles something and saunters back to his undead groupies. “Though, here in the high Kingdom, being a witch will only get her killed quicker. You best pray that you die in that maze. The kings have hunted all witches into extinction, or I thought they had until I found you and the old witch. Besides, parlor tricks won’t work on the kings or help in the maze, and since you aren’t a born witch, it means you hold no true power.” I tilt my head to the side.

“If that is what you want to believe,” I tell him. Though he is right, I am not at all powerful like Granny was, but I can still do damage. Maybe not to anyone here, but all energy can be manipulated.

“Maybe the king is right, and you do stand a chance, not that you will have one once you meet his sons. Witch or not, no magic taints the kings or will save you from them. You best pray Regan doesn’t see those markings. He hates witches the most.” Malachi chuckles darkly. I shake my head, uncaring for his words, then turn to find all the women staring at me. Well, not at me, but at the runes burned into my flesh.

Nothing hurt more than when I received those brands. My arms are covered in them. Afterward, Granny crushed and ground crystals and water lily petals into the fresh burns while cleansing and blessing me. They look more like tattoos that slither up my arms in intricate patterns. I screamed my throat raw, and when the one on my lower back and the one up my spine was pressed against my skin, I fainted.

Granny said they were for protection, to awaken my chakras, enhance my senses, and give me a fighting chance. I was just shy of eight years old when I received them. I step in line behind the women. They shuffle their feet to move away from me as if I carry a disease.

Now I am a predator to these human women, yet they would never be my prey; I value all life, unfortunately, even the dick wad with wandering hands. Sighing, I wait for my turn. Clearly, even when walking to my death, I won’t be granted a friend.

Lina snatches me away from the others, digging her nails into my flesh as she manhandles me. She doesn’t like that I’m not screaming and crying. She begins to scrub my skin raw with the pumice stone just as she had scrubbed the girl before me, and the way I watch her face as she works seems to make her uncomfortable.

The human maid scurries between the other prisoners, giving them towels and clothes as their sopping wet hair drips on the floor, but I don’t look away from Lina’s snake-eyes. Her grip tightens, and she scours my flesh as if the ruins could be peeled from my body with enough force. If she’s trying for a reaction, she won’t get one from me.

Lina scoffs in disgust and throws her pumice stone back into the bucket of cold water, and as the young maid approaches me with clothing, I snatch them from her.

As I’m untangling the clothing, I hear drunken slurring from outside the stables. Deep baritone voices fill the air, and Malachi smirks at me. “The king’s sons have arrived to see this year’s tributes.” He chuckles, moving to push the massive doors open even wider.

Malachi glances back at me. “I would dress quickly. The kings don’t like witches—born witch or not. Your skin screams you practice the art.”

I slip the thin white long-sleeved dress on, the fabric clinging to every part of me, leaving nothing for the imagination. No wonder no one survived the mazes. Who the heck could run in a dress this tight? It clings to me like a second skin. I am just pulling down the skirt when two men stagger into the room, smelling heavily of liquor.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” one man asks. His suit is a little wrinkled, and his dark brown hair is tousled like he has spent a good chunk of the night running his fingers through it.

“Ladies, this is King Zeke from Covethollow Kingdom, one the three kingdoms under the High Kingdom rein,” Malachi quickly introduces.

The other women cower, backing away as Zeke saunters into the room, followed by another man with the same dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a very similar muscular build. It is apparent that they are brothers, possibly twins.

The man doesn’t seem as drunk as he eyes us and sneers in disgust, his eyes roaming over us like we are bugs he wants to crush. He purses his lips, clearly disappointed with this year’s human sacrifice. “This is King Lyon of Vaingold Kingdom.”

He turns his head to look at Malachi, who motions toward us. “Are introductions necessary Malachi? They’ll be dead soon anyway why bother?” Lyon asks. Yet, as he does, a third man enters the stables. Everyone instantly straightens as he strides in, eyes straight ahead and hands behind their backs.

This man even makes my heart flutter in my chest. There is something sinister and disturbing behind his demonic gaze. His aura is just as dark and exudes more power than that of even King Theron. I swallow the urge to whimper. Auras never really affected me, but his is absolutely menacing. “And lastly, King Regan from Darkheart Kingdom,” Malachi continues his formal introductions.

My eyes roam over King Regan, taking in his black slacks and button-up shirt that clings to him, showing off the bulk of muscle hidden beneath it. His smoldering eyes are burning with hatred, yet they are equal parts alluring and terrifying. His short coal-black hair blends into the stubble along his jaw, creating shadows on his cruel yet handsome face.

Some part of me calls out for the man but, despite his attractiveness, there is something sinister and lethal beneath the facade of sophistication that tells me I should run from this monster. He stops next to his brother, but this man is taller by almost half a foot. Despite his intimidating height and bulk of muscle, he moves gracefully, like a lion stalking its prey, about to rip out its throat.

He does not even try to hide his disgust. The man glances at us as he moves closer, each step calculating and predatory. It sends an ice-cold shiver up my spine and fills my stomach with dread.