Page 9 of The Lycan King's Captive

I released a shaky breath and ran my eyes over her, checking for signs of injury or trouble.

My concerns quickly faded, replaced with admiration and maybe a hint of pride, as if by commanding her to change I was somehow responsible for the result.

Because she was beautiful. Her coat was a rich, solid brown, the fur thick and luxurious looking. Her tail curled around her body, and she rested her head on her front legs. Her nose was black as soot against her lighter-colored snout, and her ears were tipped with fuzz that made my stomach do an odd little flip. Her back rose and fell rapidly as she caught her breath.

“Well done,” I told her. “Take a minute to adjust. Then you can try standing.”

Instead of nodding, she lifted her head.

“Doctor? Do you understand me?” New wolves sometimes experienced an identity crisis when they first transformed. Their animal instincts competed with their human brains, which were much more complex. In rare cases, the instincts won, and the shifter went rogue, living as a beast. If their human half got too deeply buried, they ended up trapped, unable to shift back.

Alarm made me push away from the wall. I gritted my teeth and gathered power, ready to compel her attention. “Doctor—”

Her head swung toward the stairs. Then her lips peeled off her teeth as she growled.

A second later, the door upstairs squealed and footsteps rang out.

Multiple footsteps.

Roman clattered down the stairs, followed by Carl and a dark-haired male I knew only as Robertson. They reached the bottom of the steps in a clump, their expressions so dumbfounded I might have laughed under other circumstances.

The doctor snarled—then she locked gazes with Roman and ducked her head. She let out a canine whimper, as though she’d been hurt.

I spoke into her mind in a rush. “Roman is your sire. You won’t be able to look him in eye.” Or challenge him or resist his commands—at least not right away. But she would probably try, and he would almost certainly punish her for it.

Fuck, there was so much she needed to know. So much I needed to tell her. But shoveling information into her brain wouldn’t help, not when Roman was already stalking to her cage, his eyes alight with interest.

She curled into a tight ball, her tail tucked between her legs. Roman’s lackeys huddled behind him, vying for a glimpse of the new wolf.

Anger burned in my chest. She wasn’t an animal in a fucking zoo. A growl gathered in my throat.

Roman turned, pegging me with a triumphant look. He shouldered through Carl and Robertson and came to the door of my cage. “Seems we have a new female. I bet you can’t stand that, can you, Cyrus? You must feel disgusted sharing your prison with a werewolf.”

I felt disgust, all right, but not because of her. And unlike her, I had no trouble at all holding his gaze. I never would. Not in a million years. Not if he became the most powerful alpha on the continent. In the goddamn world.

There was nothing Roman could do to change that. I let the certainty of it seep into my gaze, my eyes soaking up his triumph and reflecting it back to him.

His nostrils flared, and he staggered back, as if I’d hit him. The second he recovered, he pulled a key from his pocket.

Behind him, Carl’s expression flared with alarm. “Roman, are you sure—”

“Shut up,” Roman bit out. “Get the prod,” he added as he unlocked the door and wrenched it open.

Maybe I should have lowered my eyes. A smart man would have. There was nothing smart about continuing to challenge the male who held my life in his hands, especially after he’d shown he was willing to drag me broken and bleeding to the edge of death. And part of me—a part I didn’t like to acknowledge—shuddered at the mention of the electric cattle prod. That part of me was well-acquainted with pain.

But a bigger part of me refused to give Roman the satisfaction of seeing me grovel. Hell, it wasn’t even refusal. I just flat-out couldn’t. That part of me lived in my spine, and it was incapable of bending.

“Bring him,” Roman said, then stepped aside.

Carl and Robertson entered, and my stomach clenched at the sight of the prod in Carl’s meaty hand. They gripped me under the arms and hauled me up, then manhandled me out of the cell.

In her cage, the doctor kept her head down, as if she was too frightened to watch. That was good. I couldn’t stop her from hearing what was about to happen, but at least she didn’t have to see it.

I braced myself for the men to drag me toward the I-beam that supported the ceiling. It wasn’t the only beam, but it was the only one with two meat hooks embedded in the steel.

Instead, they flung me to the ground outside the cage. I caught myself on my palms and stayed down as my head swam and nausea burned my throat. Abruptly, hunger clawed at my guts. I’d thought I was well past that feeling now, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

Roman’s boots appeared in my line of sight, and his deep voice drifted over me, his tone mocking. “Such a mighty wolf.”

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