Page 20 of The Lycan King's Captive

“No,” he said quickly. “Even knowing you for a short time, I don’t think that’s possible. Some werewolves are decent because they were decent human beings before they were bitten. But they’re outliers. For whatever reason, the type of people who tend to survive a werewolf bite are aggressive and violent to begin with. The shift exacerbates those qualities, which is why most packs are rife with power struggles.”

I gripped the blanket with icy hands. I should have died in the basement. Like the queen in Cyrus’s story, the darkness had come for me. And then Cyrus had taken the role of the knight, speaking directly into my mind and pulling me from human to animal. In a way, he was just as responsible for me being a werewolf as Roman.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I said, somehow managing to keep my voice from trembling. “I don’t want power. I just want my life back.”

He left the window, and for a moment I thought he might take me in his arms. But he stopped short, one fist holding the blanket together over his chest. Tattoos swirled around his wrist, the black lines forming an intricate pattern. Once again, disconnect swept me, my brain unable to reconcile his tall, muscled form with the wasted figure from before.

But his eyes were the same. The silver gleamed like metal, his gaze as steady as it had been in the basement. “You’ll have it. This I vow, and I never break my vows.”

Goosebumps prickled my arms. The old fashioned words should have sounded silly. Instead, they were imbued with power that brushed my skin.

“But you have to adjust to a new sort of life,” he said. “I don’t know if the story of the knight and the human king is true. What I do know is that werewolves and lycans kill each other on sight. It was that way in my father’s time and in his father’s time and every time before that.”

I frowned. “But you’re stronger. If werewolves are so inferior, how is there a war at all?”

“Werewolves are stronger, yes, but lycans are vastly outnumbered. Even if every mated pair had two children, the species would stay at zero population growth. When the werewolves lose a wolf, they can make ten others.”

Like Roman made me. The bite on my throat had healed when I shifted, but now it seemed to throb. “Why haven’t you killed me? If I’m a werewolf, then I’m the enemy.”

A hint of breeze was my only warning. One moment we stood apart. The next, he’d pulled me close and grasped my chin with gentle fingers. It happened so quickly I hadn’t seen him move.

“You saved my life,” he rasped, an odd look in his eyes. “And you might be carrying my child.”

My throat went instantly dry, and my heart hammered so hard I worried he could hear it. In the bloody escape from the basement and the long race through the forest, I hadn’t considered what might have resulted from Roman’s twisted punishment. I wasn’t pregnant. I couldn’t be.

“I-I’m not,” I said.

Cyrus brushed a light thumb over my cheek, which had gone hot. “We have to consider the possibility. Once word of your existence spreads, the werewolves will want you. If they know there’s a chance you’re carrying my baby, they’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“What if I’m not pregnant? Will they stop hunting?”

His thumb on my cheek stilled. “Let’s worry about whether you’re pregnant first.”

Ice slid down my spine. I pulled my chin from his grip and stepped back. “I need”—to be alone so I can lose my mind in private—“the bathroom.”

Concern leapt into his eyes. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” I moved away before he could do something intolerable like carry me. I half expected him to call me back, but he was silent as I reached the darkened bathroom, hit the light, and locked myself inside. As I sagged against the door, I parted the blanket and looked down at my flat stomach.

Fuck.

10

CYRUS

I stood in the middle of the cabin with my gaze on the bathroom door.

The locked bathroom door. If that wasn’t a fitting symbol of the state of things between Abby and me, nothing was. She probably didn’t realize I could break the lock as easily as opening a soda can. Or maybe she was just too stunned to think straight. She’d gone white as a sheet when I brought up the possibility of pregnancy. Almost as if she hadn’t considered it at all.

And it had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed not to pull her into my arms. It took even more to let her walk away, especially when she looked so fragile. But I had no right to touch her, and she probably wouldn’t have welcomed it.

I also needed to get us the hell out of the forest. The rain would make it difficult for Roman to track us, but we were still in his territory.

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom. A second later, steam emerged from under the door. At once, an image of Abby standing under the shower spray formed in my mind. As I gazed at the door, I saw nothing but her lithe curves and long legs. In the basement, she’d wrapped them around my hips as I plunged into her heat.

Desire shot south, making my dick perk up. I cursed and yanked the blanket more snugly around me, then made a beeline for the kitchen. I needed to find a phone, not daydream about an encounter I was better off forgetting. Even if Abby was interested in me as more than a former cellmate, there could never be anything between us. Now I just needed my dick to figure that out.

I also needed a goddamn phone, but there was no sign of one in the kitchen. A search of the cabinets turned up canned beans and a few mousetraps but nothing I could use to communicate with the outside world. Swearing, and with one ear tuned to the sounds coming from the bathroom, I returned to the living room—and hit pay dirt when a trunk in the corner turned up clothes, boots, and a satellite phone.

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