Page 16 of The Lycan King's Captive

Cyrus’s gaze shot to mine, and then he stepped over the wolf and strode toward me, his glowing yellow eyes piercing the night.

8

CYRUS

Abby’s eyes swam with questions as I walked toward her, my feet squelching in the mud. I could only imagine what she was thinking. In the space of a few days, she’d been turned into a werewolf against her will, held captive, and plunged into a violent world she knew nothing about.

And there was, of course, what had passed between us in her cell. I wasn’t fooling myself that her killing of Carl had erased that trauma.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry—and not just for that. She deserved an apology. Explanations.

But fighting the wolf had tapped my strength. His claws hadn’t nicked anything important, but my side bled freely and the wound wouldn’t close until I could find something to eat. In the meantime, I needed to conserve every bit of energy, which meant telepathy was out of the question. Fortunately, Abby didn’t resist when I beckoned her forward, and she fell in beside me as I started to run.

I set a slower pace this time, partly because I had no idea where I was going and partly because we both hurt too damn much to go any faster. Abby didn’t complain, but strain showed in her delicate features. Her brows drew together, and two spots of color burned high on her cheekbones. The wind shifted, driving the rain into our faces, the drops like thousands of tiny needles.

But I welcomed the deluge, which covered our tracks and muffled our scents.

The forest seemed to go on forever, and in some places the trees huddled so closely together it was impossible to step without scraping against bark. The terrain was strewn with dead branches, which eventually forced us to walk. We went like that for hours, plodding through the rain as the stars shifted in the sky and the first purple hint of dawn appeared.

My vision blurred, the trees blending into a solid mass of green and brown. As I stepped over a fallen tree, my right leg gave out. I went down like a stone, bark shredding my shin.

“Cyrus!” Abby knelt beside me, her hand curled around my bicep.

I’m okay. I tried to push the thought into her head, but it was like grasping at sunlight playing over water. I could see the words in my head, but I couldn’t project them into hers.

So I had to settle for covering her hand with mine as I tried to convey my thoughts with my eyes.

Rain clung to her lashes, which were long and thick like black fans. Her green eyes were huge in her pale face, and she had a tiny beauty mark at the corner of her upper lip.

How had I missed that before?

A branch snapped, making us both jump and jerk our heads toward the sound.

Abby let out a shaky breath. “Just a deer.”

We stared as a buck picked its way over the ground, its antlers as broad as a man’s arms. It paused and looked in our direction, then leapt a fallen trunk easily and sprinted away.

Show off.

Abby stiffened. “What is that?”

I followed her gaze. Through the trees—just barely visible in the pre-dawn forest—was a cabin.

A breeze picked up. A second later, scents hit my nose.

Venison and kerosene. Gun oil and carbon. Hunters.

Humans.

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my shin, I pulled Abby to her feet and gestured for her to follow.

For the first time, she hesitated to obey, and her eyes were stark as she whispered, “Are you sure it’s okay?”

As I had at the base of the basements steps, I cupped her jaw and gave her the full weight of my gaze, silently asking for her trust.

She stared up at me for a long moment. Then her slender shoulders lifted as she drew a deep breath. “Okay.”

Something inside me loosened. I’d lived my whole life around fighters and dominant wolves. My kind trained to be fierce. To rush into battle regardless of the chances of victory.

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