The Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings

“Last one,” a deep voice snarls in the distance, abruptly pulling me from the darkness.

My body comes alive with the agonizing pain in my head and ankle. Groaning, I try to tilt my chin to my chest with every ounce of strength I have, and as I do, my eyes flutter open to the blurry shadows before me. I try to wipe the spots from my vision, only to find my hands restrained.

I blink rapidly, rocking forward on the hard bench beneath me and thrashing against my binds in panic. I glance around, taking in my surroundings, and I realize I am in the back of a cattle truck. A huge open door reveals the figures of the giant lycans and werewolves heading in my direction.

Looking up, the moon is high in the sky, peering back at me, almost as if it taunts me.

Hearing a scuffle, I crane my neck to watch the lycans and wolves dragging a girl between them, and with a sharp cry, she’s tossed heavily into the back of the truck. Her body makes a loud thud as she lands on her stomach, and her head bounces off the wooden floor between my feet. Soft whimpering comes from the back of the truck, and when I search the dark corners, I finally see three men huddled together like scared rabbits. I recognize their faces, yet I also do not know their names.

“We’re good to go!” A man yells to the driver as he grabs the handhold and steps into the back. The girl at my feet scrambles for the back of the truck where the three young men are huddled. She must know them.

The man who tossed her slams the huge door shut, caging us in, and sits on the bench across from me. It stinks heavily of blood, sweat, and cow crap. I stare at the tiny beams of moonlight seeping through the grated wooden walls ahead, and my thoughts drift to my granny, and how I couldn’t save her. Everything in me is screaming out for her, yet I do not cry. I do not plead for my life or fight against the situation because I know tears won’t bring her back. I know fighting is pointless, and my pleas will go unheard.

My mind keeps going back to the strange smile she gave me; I know it will forever haunt me. Her parting words are permanently seared into my head. “They found you, but they’ll regret it.”

Images of her body careening over the cliff play in my mind. It is almost as if she knew her fate was sealed and took life back into her own hands.

The truck’s engine rumbles to life, loud in the dead of night. Yet it doesn’t drown out the whimpers of the other prisoners—people I know by sight but not by name.

Our cave was supposed to be safe, out of reach of civilization’s clutches and far away from any harm. I grew up in these mountains, running through the sprawling fields of wildflowers, training on the rocky terrain of the cliffs, and finding peace in the flowing rivers. Out here, we were far from the four lycan kingdoms. Yet all that training was for nothing considering how easily I was captured. Now I am being hauled away to a place my granny chose death over, so I have no idea what hell awaits my arrival.

The other survivors huddled together won’t even look at me, but they hold each other in a way that makes my heart ache. I have no one. These beasts came in the night, surrounded our home, and ripped us from where we slept, but even before then, my granny and I were outsiders.

She tried to tell the others that we were not safe, that our rising population and the people who came and went would give us away. The elders pushed back and silenced her with seclusion. No one was permitted to speak with us, and for years I grew up watching our people from a distance. Sometimes their laughter and whispers would seep through the cave’s crevices, but I never believed the things they would say about my granny. She knew this was coming. Her smiling face swims before my eyes again, so I push my grief down, and stare idly ahead.

The bumping truck jostles me as the driver speeds over the off-road track, the binds around my wrists digging into my skin painfully. I feel queasy until we reach the flat surface of the roads we were always forbidden to go near. Granny used to go this way searching for supplies, but she never took the roads.

When I was very young, she’d bring back books and trinkets from her runs, and I learned all about the kingdoms we were hiding from. I pictured our lives outside the caves sometimes, but I never thought I’d have to do this alone.

Crying sobs and pained moans fill the truck, and my eyes dart back over to the other survivors. I was the last born in our cave village eighteen years ago, the youngest, but the three men and young woman here with me were the closest to my age of all our people.

A feral snarl silences the cries and whimpers, and my eyes move to the man sitting on the bench across from me. Only he isn’t a man at all. No, he is a monster.

Despite his glare’s coldness, his amber eyes seem to burn into me. Strangely, I feel numb instead of scared. Maybe I am in shock. He leans forward, snapping his fingers in front of my face to focus my blank stare.

“You are an odd one, aren’t you?” the man speaks. His voice is deep, and he moves in his makeshift seat across from me, leering as he takes in my barely clothed body.

“No, you just don’t scare me,” I tell him, shocked at how emotionless my own words are. I turn my gaze back to those huddled in the corner. They finally look back, as if seeing me for the first time, but I don’t expect their kindness. They don’t even know me.

My granny taught me everything she knew in anticipation of this day, and as I think of all the death and gore left behind in the caves, I can’t help but be grateful that I was never close with any of them.

“They don’t like you,” he states, glancing at them, and I turn my attention back to the man with amber eyes.

“What makes you say that?” I ask cautiously.

“Because when we entered the cave, they ran and tried to help each other. You and that old woman they left behind,” he states, turning his head and sneering at them. They whimper, pressing closer together as if it would shield them from his anger.

“They were frightened,” I answer, surprised at how robotic my own voice sounds. Anyone would think I am merely conversing with an old friend, not someone responsible for slaughtering an entire community.

“You smell strange. You don’t smell the same as them. They reek of fear. You reek of acceptance. Your reaction to us finding you is wrong,” he says, sniffing the air.

“As I said, you don’t scare me,” I speak slowly. I do not fear him, the kingdoms, or anyone. Death is part of life, so there is no use fearing something we all one day will meet. Maybe that is why I feel so detached from my granny’s death.

“No, there is something else. You smell too different,” he adds, and I sigh, taking in his watchful face. His eyes sparkle back at me, and he licks his lips. The points of his canines stick out a little too long and protrude from his mouth.

“So do you,” I answer. I have always had a keen sense of smell and incredible hearing. It is why I am such a good hunter. Though there’s a certain level of perceptiveness you acquire when you spend your whole life training and waiting for your world to shatter. My granny’s drills were extensive, and because I was so small, she made sure I was equally as fast. Not that it served me well once the cave was invaded. No training could have prepared me for an attack by the king’s guards.

The man scoffs, folding his arms across his broad chest. “What do I smell like?” he chuckles, amused by my answer.

“Death.”

His eyebrows rise in shock before he nods once, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Try to rest before we arrive.”

“Where are you taking us exactly?” I ask curiously.

“Silvercrest Arcana, the High kingdom,” he answers and I sigh, one of the worst kingdoms from what I’ve been told by Grandma.

“Does it not scare you?” he asks. I shake my head.

“It’s just a Kingdom.” Malachi laughs at my words.

“Rest. You’ll need your strength once you enter the maze.” He chuckles darkly, and my fellow cave dwellers whimper and sob harder. I suck in a breath and press my lips in a line. Why must the fates constantly challenge me? Was merely surviving not enough of a challenge?

Granny told me stories of the barbaric ritual called The Maze Games. It’s a sport for them. The lycans give humans a false sense of hope that they could live and be set free if they make it through the night and leave the maze alive. The humans would be led to slaughter, all while trying to navigate the deadly maze full of monsters in hopes of being pardoned of their deaths or offered jobs within the kingdom.

Despite knowing my fate, I follow his instructions, closing my eyes and trying to rest. It may be my only chance of making it out of the maze alive.

Screeching tires startle me awake, and my body jolts as the truck lurches to a stop. My eyes snap open seconds later to the screams of the girl who was tossed in here with me. Her feet drag along the pebbled truck floor as she is hauled out into the night by her hair. Her legs flail out while she reaches above her head to clutch his wrists, trying to relieve the pain of his grip.

He shoves the door open and tosses her onto the asphalt. Without hesitation, she scrambles to her feet and takes off. She barely makes it four steps before another man slams her back to the ground and drags her back. Another lycan male climbs aboard the truck, signaling the three young men to get up and follow him. Seeing how their friend was handled, they don’t put up a fight.

“Only two girls? That is all you found?” From the back of the truck, I search for the angry voice until my eyes land on a man dressed in red jewel-encrusted robes. His graying hair rustles in the cool breeze, and just over his shoulders, I catch a glimpse of turrets and dome windows.

The granite castle walls stretch toward the dark sky with pure menace, but the ivy-like vines with purple blooms creeping up the stone offers a beautiful contrast I didn’t expect. Roses fill the gardens surrounding it, and the sound of trickling water catches my attention. As I turn, I spot a magnificent marble fountain through the grated walls of the truck. In the center of the fountain, there are statues of a man and woman with three boys, and by the crowns on their heads, I know they must represent the king and his family.

I stare in awe; it is far more exquisite than the ones I have seen in the books my granny acquired over the years.

“Yes, sir. The rest were far too old to be of any good to the kingdom.”

“No, it’s fine, Malachi. Just put them with the other three and—” The man who is clearly in charge of our kidnapping turns to look at the men. He waves a hand dismissively at them. “Find someone to put them in their workstations.”

Instantly, the girl is separated from them, and her screams ring out loudly as she is dragged off. The men are led in the opposite direction. “I thought you said there were two girls,” the man states.

“Yes, My King, the other is still in the back,” Malachi assures his king.

The king’s eyes find mine, and he tilts his head to the side. “Her calmness is a little unnerving,” the king states, watching me. “And clearly, she lacks manners, too. Even being human, she should know better than to meet her king’s gaze.”

“You are not my king,” I speak the words I am supposed to only think. He scoffs, and a smile graces his lips as his eyebrows rise almost to his wispy hairline.

His guard and my captor climb into the back of the truck to untie my hands, and I twist my wrists, rubbing them. Not wanting to be shoved off, I move to the edge and jump down to the ground, relieved to be able to flex my limbs and stretch my back.

“My, my, she is a peculiar one. It will be interesting to see how long she lasts in the maze,” the king huffs.

“Just as the others, King Theron. No one ever survives the games,” his guard tells him, seizing my arm tightly.

“She hardly seems noncompliant. Why is she tied up while the others were not,” the king inquires.

“Because this one knows how to use her hands. She caught me by surprise,” Malachi tells him.

That seems to pique the king’s interest. “Very peculiar indeed,” he says.

“Well, hopefully she does survive the games. I think it would be interesting to see if she can keep the kings in line,” The king chuckles.

“Sir?” the guard asks.

The king waves him off. “I have added a twist to the games this year. I can’t decide on my successor, and they won’t agree either.” I watch the old man, desperate for information about this maze of death I will soon face.

“I don’t understand, My King.”

“I have changed things up. My sons will take part, whether they like it or not. If either of the girls survive till morning, I will send my sons in to hunt them. Whoever grabs their future bride first will win the High Kingdom,”

Bride? Does he really think any of us would agree to marry his monster sons? I would hardly call that a prize worth dying for.

“But no one ever survives,” Malachi adds, tugging me after him toward the back of the castle. My feet crunch on the rocks.

“I’m hoping this year will be different. The High Kingdom relies on a new king, and I can’t choose. This gives them all an equal chance.”

“And when the women die in the maze, My King.”

“So pessimistic, Malachi. Have you no faith in the human race at all?”

Malachi glances down at me and snorts “No!”

“Maybe I will only put them through one test instead of the three this year.” The king chuckles.

“Your sons won’t like that,” Malachi tells the king as I follow, listening intently.

“They don’t have to. They want my decision, and this is how I will come to it. I am still king, and they will obey.” The king states, and Malachi nods his head once. “Now, prepare her, and tell my staff I will watch from the CCTV in my room, Malachi. I am much too tired tonight to stay out late. I guess I will see the results of The Maze Games by morning or sooner—” The king turns to glance at me. “I feel this one may surprise us,” he adds before turning and walking back toward the castle’s grand stairs.