Page 5 of Lycan King's Captives
While peeling the torn layers of my jacket, I gasp at the wound, which in such a short amount of time, has turned black and appears severely infected. The wounds are still fresh, oozing with a blackish-red liquid I know is filled with toxins from the prince. The cold sting of the prince’s claws that ripped through my flesh, left behind a sharp reminder of just how close I’d come to death. Death appears to be not off the table as I eye the claw marks, feeling sick to my stomach.
I stumble forward, vomiting in the snow, emptying my stomach. Once I finish throwing up what little was in my stomach, I wipe my forehead, and notice how hot it is. My skin is clammy, and it takes every bit of willpower for me to rise to my feet and force myself to keep moving.
Continuing to push forward, the claw marks on my arm burn fiercely as they sear with the toxins from the Lycan Prince.
The further I walk, the more nauseous I feel as the toxins start to course through my veins and take hold. A violent wave of heat passes through me, my skin becomes clammy and tight until sweat starts to pour from me, while my heart races faster. Eventually, it seems every step is a mammoth task.
The surrounding trees seem to blur together in a never-ending wall of green, and yet I keep pushing forward. Each breath I take is labored, and every step causes intense pain. I still manage to make it back home as the trees begin to clear and spread out around me.
It feels like hours or even days have passed by the time I finally reach the end of my street. My vision is blurry, and I can feel myself burning up as I stagger and stumble toward my house. I blink back the specks, trying to steal my vision as I clutch the hand railing on the steps, steps that seem far steeper than normal. Forcing my body up the first step, I wobble on my feet.
Blinking, I try to clear my vision, which is tunneling fast. A second passes and the next thing I see is the steps rushing toward my face. The impact of my body hitting the stairs is unfelt, but I hear the air leave me in a huff while my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I am swallowed by darkness.
3
Each breath I take makes my lungs wheeze. My skin burns with a heat I can’t explain, my muscles tense, and I can’t seem to relax. I feel as if I’m suffocating, and I can’t do anything to stop it. My heart is racing, and I’m struggling to keep calm as I urge my eyes to open.
The sound of running water reaches my ears. I blink, and my eyes flutter open to see the moldy roof of our bathroom.
My mind is too preoccupied with the thought of how much pain I’m in. The water is freezing cold, and I lurch upright, clutching the sides of the tub. The sound of chains clanking nearby makes me scan my surroundings; only then do I see my hands bound to large bolts my uncle has fixed to the bathroom wall. One bolt leads to the chains holding my hands together. I try to scream, but my voice is hoarse.
My uncle enters the room, and his face is stern and unreadable in the dim light. He takes a step toward me, and I flinch, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. He raises his hand and points a crooked finger at me. “Quiet, I have a headache!”
Time seems to meld into one long moment as I take in his expression, my heart racing. He crosses the room and stands above me. The tension between us is palpable, and I can feel it in the air, like a static charge, as I wait for him to make the next move. All my senses are heightened as I anticipate what is to happen next.
“What?” I ask, yanking on my hands, trying to free them.
“Fucking, finally!” My uncle sneers, dumping a bag of ice into the water. His voice seems so much louder and more nasal than I remember. Even my eyesight seems stronger as I take in the brush marks on the wall from painting the bathroom last year.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking with fear.
“Mal called. He said you ran from him. I found you outside, passed out. What Lycan scratched you, huh?”
“Mal?” I stammer.
“Don’t worry. I told him you weren’t here,” my uncle informs me, and I stare at him. I don’t answer, my gaze glued to his. He sighs and shakes his head, then turns around. When I try to break free, he turns back.
He grabs my arm, and I scream, trying to break free. He raises his hand, and I flinch, expecting a slap, then he digs his fingers into the flesh of my right arm, then feels my forehead, and curses, “You’re still burning up!”
“You didn’t tell him where I was?” I ask, thankful.
“Of course not. I’m not telling him his goods are ruined. Gotta fix you up before I hand you over,” he tells me, then turns around and retrieves a paper bag. He opens it, dumping the contents into the water. My brows furrow in confusion as I look at the wolfsbane floating around. He grabs a giant mixing spoon, the one that hangs above the stove usually, and starts stirring the water, creating a murky, purple-colored concoction. He takes a small bottle from the side of the tub, pours some of the liquid in, and continues stirring. “This will fix you up,” he says.
“Huh?” I whisper, trying to figure out what he’s doing.
“The wolfsbane will help neutralize the toxins in the water and your blood,” he tells me. I gape at him, wondering what the heck he is talking about.
“Why is it necessary? I am not a Lycan.”
“It’s for the infection, kid. I’ve seen grown men turn rabid with infection. Surprised you haven’t fazed. Most people turn rabid before it kills them. “However, this will quickly fix it,” my uncle calmly explains.
I try to remember what I know about Lycan infections; however, the buzzing from the light is extremely distracting. Lycan infections are caused by the toxin that attacks the body, causing severe pain and weakness, then usually kills the host. The virus is spread from the poison in the Lycan’s claws, making it extremely difficult to fight off without help, but this is the first I’ve heard of it causing people to go rabid. It is sometimes possible to cure an infection with wolfsbane. Though infrequent, accounts exist detailing its success. It makes me wonder if there is any chance for me since an ordinary Lycan didn’t scratch me; I was scratched by the prince.
“That’ll rid you of the poison long enough for him to collect you. I don’t give a fuck if you die or kill him once the trade papers are signed.” My uncle tells me.
No sooner than that, my skin burns as he tells me, “I can’t hand you over like this.” I try to jump out of the water, wondering what is happening, only to find chains strapped to my ankles which are attached to the wall, preventing me.
My scream is deafening as my skin begins to sizzle and burn. He has doused me in a wolfsbane concoction that is designed to temporarily block the effects of any poison from entering my system. The pain is intense, as if I’m ablaze.
