Page 42 of The Lycan King's Captive

“…disturbance outside,” he said. “One of the guards thought he heard a scream.”

I rushed to the bedroom. Abby’s bed was rumpled but she wasn’t in it. Her dress from last night was draped over the arm of a nearby chair.

“Abby!” I shouted again, already on my way to the bathroom.

Celeste met me at the door. She held something in her hand.

A pregnancy test. Even from where I stood, I could see the two bold, pink lines.

My stomach dropped somewhere around the region of my knees. “Celeste. What are you doing?”

She ignored me, her attention solely on Garrick. “You didn’t check the test?” She made a tsking sound. “That was a careless oversight, steward. Now Cyrus’s bastard is goodness knows where.”

As she spoke in an oddly cheery tone, a horrible recollection crept over me. I’d heard that tone before, but not from her.

No, I’d heard it from her father. When I was a boy, I’d witnessed him spiraling out of control. Before he’d completely lost control, he’d sounded almost normal—as long as you didn’t listen too closely to what he was saying.

“Celeste,” I said quietly. I lifted my hands so she’d know I wasn’t a threat. “Where is Abby?”

She seemed to consider the question. Then she shrugged. “Does it matter?” She waved the test, and the two pink lines flashed across my vision. “I saved you from yourself, Cyrus. You should thank me.”

I didn’t dare look away. I had to keep her talking. If I could keep the conversation going, I might drag Abby’s location from her. Because there was no question Celeste was behind Abby’s disappearance. And I was a fucking fool because I hadn’t seen her instability. Celeste didn’t love me. I was certain of it. Whatever animosity she harbored toward Abby had nothing to do with jealousy.

This was madness, plain and simple. And that was why it was so goddamn dangerous.

My heart thudded like a hammer in my chest. “Why should I thank you? What did you do, sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes—a careless gesture from a female who was never careless. She was always flawless. Perfectly composed. When she met my gaze again, her irises were bright gold. “Oh Cyrus, don’t you understand? I never wanted to be your queen. I wanted your throne.”

In my peripheral vision, Garrick startled.

“You’re weak,” Celeste said. “Foster is a fool, but he’s right about you in that regard. You met with Roman alone. My father would have never done that.” She smiled. “He and I spoke about it recently. He told me the werewolf slut you brought home was probably pregnant, but I already knew. Women have a sense for these things.”

I swallowed my shock. Celeste’s father had been dead for over a century. My father had snapped his neck and scattered his ashes across two continents to stop him from rising again. Celeste’s bloodline was ancient, but the rumors of madness—and her father’s very public display of it—had kept her single. I’d always defended her. Pitied her. Now I knew those rumors had more merit than even I’d realized.

Celeste looked down at the pregnancy test. “Roman might try to use your bastard against you, but it doesn’t matter. No lycan would ever accept some werewolf brat as king.” She lifted her eyes. “Really, Cyrus, this is for the best. With any luck, Roman will toss your little plaything to his wolves and the trauma will rid her of the child. See? Two problems solved.”

I did my best to keep a neutral expression as I lowered my hand to my side. I didn’t dare look at Garrick as I flashed a subtle hand signal. Stay back.

I could only hope he was paying enough attention to get the message.

“Celeste,” I said, and this time I let the full force of my power fill my voice.

She staggered back. Her lips peeled off her teeth, and for the first time since I’d known her, she looked ugly. She snarled, her face twisted in an unsettling expression. “You’re finished, Rothkilde.”

“I think not.” I was on her in a beat, my hand wrapped around her slender throat. I lifted her up, and I spoke calmly as her face turned red and she sputtered through her rage. “You’ll never sit on any throne, Celeste. But Abby will.”

Behind me, Garrick hollered for the guards. A second later, booted feet pounded through the suite.

I shoved Celeste into the arms of my men. “Take her downstairs to the cell,” I told Garrick.

“Yes, my lord.”

I ripped my shirt over my head.

His eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“Shifting. Then I’m going after Abby. I can track her through the mark on her neck.” But the connection was a short-range sort of thing, and it didn’t always work.

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