The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 386: Bloodlust III

Where were we?

The words scraped out of my throat weakly as my eyes fluttered open.

The world swam, darkness bleeding into shape slowly, reluctantly, like it resented being forced into clarity. Stone loomed overhead—jagged, ancient, slick with moisture that caught faint, wavering light. A cave.

Not a small one.

This place was vast, cathedral-wide, its ceiling stretching so high it disappeared into shadow. The mountain itself felt like it had swallowed us whole.

Cold air pressed against my skin, heavy with the scent of earth and minerals, threaded with something sharper beneath it. Old smoke. Older magic.

My body felt wrong. Heavy. Empty. As if something vital had been torn out of me and replaced with fire and ash.

I tried to move, tried to push myself upright, but my arms trembled uselessly, barely responding. I was still in Darius’ arms.

"Why..." My voice barely carried. "Why do I feel like this?"

The question never finished settling before pain slammed into me.

It ripped through my abdomen and up my spine, white-hot and unforgiving.

A scream tore out of me before I could stop it, echoing violently off the stone walls. The sound came back at me in fragments, multiplied until it felt like the cave itself was screaming with me.

My vision blurred. Tears slipped sideways into my hair.

Movement flashed through the haze.

Figures emerged from the shadows. Floating lights bloomed into existence above them—soft orbs of gold and blue that hovered without flame.

Incense burned somewhere nearby, thick curls of smoke rising and twisting, carrying scents that felt unfamiliar and deeply wrong. Bitter. Sweet. Ancient.

At the center of the cavern stood a carved stone table, massive and imposing, its surface etched with symbols worn smooth by time. Bowls of colored flame burned atop it—deep crimson, pale violet, ghostly white—casting shifting shadows across the walls and ceiling.

Fear crawled up my throat. What was that?

Darius said nothing. He held me with ease, as if I weighed nothing at all, and carried me toward the stone table.

Panic flared instantly. "No," I rasped, struggling weakly in his arms. "Don’t—don’t do this."

He placed me at the center of the table. The stone was freezing beneath my back, the cold leaching straight into my bones. I tried to sit up, tried to get away, but his hands pressed me down firmly, unyielding.

"Sage," he said quietly.

I fought anyway, desperation lending my movements a frantic edge. "Let me go!" so much for trust! Were they about to offer me to their gods?

My chest heaved. My hands shook uncontrollably.

Fear settled fully then—true fear, the kind that hollowed you out from the inside. I hadn’t felt it like this since that night six years ago. Since trust had been weaponized against me. Since I had believed someone and died for it.

Darius leaned closer, his face steady, eyes dark with something I didn’t want to name. "You’re safe."

I shook my head violently, the motion driven by pain and memory alike. "You don’t get to say that," I whispered. "Someone else said that once."

For the briefest moment, something flashed across his face. Understanding. "Trust me."

"I can’t."

The words broke as they left me.

I reached inward desperately, clawing for the one presence that had not abandoned me yet. El.

El, please. Tell me what to do.

Her presence stirred faintly. Of course she was weak too. Trust him, she murmured, her voice distant. You are losing power.

The realization hit me hard. I could feel it now—the drain, the unraveling. Whatever this was, it was stripping me down to nothing.

Yet... I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t let go. Control was the only thing I had left.

A woman stepped into my blurred line of sight.

She wore an ancient tunic, linen faded to bone-white, embroidered with the same symbols carved into the stone table. Her hair was braided tightly against her scalp, threaded with beads that caught the floating light. Her eyes were dark and knowing.

"Who are—" My voice cracked.

She reached out and pressed her fingers gently to my forehead.

The gold tint there flared faintly beneath her touch.

"Easy," she said softly. "You are awakening."

I shuddered violently.

Darius spoke again, his voice grounding and terrible all at once. "You’re at my home. In the mountains."

The words barely registered.

"The mountains?"

Shock sliced through the pain, as my mind made calculations. The distance alone should have taken hours—days. How fast was an ancient, truly?

The woman stepped back, lifting her hands. "Trust us."

Then she started a strange chant.

Others joined her. Their voices layered together, low and rhythmic, weaving something thick into the air. I swallowed hard, breath coming too fast.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to fight. Instead, I sagged against the stone, and closed my eyes.

I drifted soon after. Not sleep. Not waking. Something thin and in-between.

Images bled into my mind that didn’t belong to me. A crown heavy with gems pressing into a woman’s brow. A throne carved from bone and gold. A lone figure standing beneath a blood-red sky, power cracking the earth beneath her feet.

The first queen. The thought surfaced unbidden.

Then the nightmares returned—shadows with red eyes stalking me in a world emptied of warmth.

Would the souls blame me? The ones who would die if I failed? Was that what these visions meant?

Pain surged again, dragging me back into myself. Then it receded. Then it returned, sharper. Then duller. A rhythm I didn’t understand.

Hands steadied me. A palm cupped my jaw.

Something pressed against my lips. A hand.

Darius. I knew his scent.

My instincts screamed in warning. If I drank his blood... We would be connected.

My eyes fluttered open.

He was watching me closely, expression intent. "It will bind us," he said quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "Our minds will touch. But we are not mates."

Mind connected.

The words made my stomach twist. It meant access, a second presence. Another voice inside my head.

I hesitated. I didn’t want anyone there. El was already too much.

Pain crashed into me again, overwhelming, forcing a sob from my chest as my body arched helplessly.

"Do it," Darius urged softly. "It will help."

I whimpered, torn between fear and desperation.

Then my lips parted on their own. Pressure built in my gums until it ached. My fangs elongated.

I bit down.

The moan that tore from me was involuntary, shameful and raw.

His blood flooded my mouth—warm, rich, intoxicating. It coated my tongue, sparks racing through me like lightning. Power surged, ancient and immense, filling the hollow places inside me, stitching torn seams back together.

And a connection snapped into place.