All Chapters of The Lycan King’s Playtoy: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Lusia A velvet drape closed the night over my chambers, with a heavy air, saturated with the scent of lavender oil mingled with faint musk from the aged wood. This narrow bed, wrapped with gray linens, creaked under these small movements; the mattress, thin but lamentably familiar, frayed the edges in itself from a past too littered with sleeplessness. There was one, solitary window allowing a scythe-thin, pale, and cold sliver of the moonlight to cleave across the stone floor. At that time, I could find slumber with a body exhausted from the day's training and my wolf a flicking, ineffectively feeble spark within. Then I was jerked awake as the door slowly creaked open. My heart thudded against my chest, my senses sharpening, my head racing as I sat up, linen pooling at my waist, and dark curls cascading over my shoulders. I frowned, my breath shallow, as a figure stepped into the room — a guard, his Ironclaw armor glinting faintly, the torchlight from the corridor casting his sh

DaneThis dark corridor of the Ironclaw Pack, its slickness of stone walls holding dampness with torchlight flickering to the rhythm of the heart pulse, looked like a tunnel shadowed. My boots hit the floor, each footfall a sound of drums in rage, Luisa gripping to my side, her lavender scent a fragile mooring in the storm of my guilt and fury. The corpse of that bloodied guard, his throat sliced by my hand and his knowledge of Luisa's parents silenced, burned fresh in my mind-ripening rotten guilt for the murder of her parents. Who could ever trust anyone now, not for her safety, with Kade's threats and Kiara's schemes frolicking like buzzards about? "Clear the room," I barked to the guards following me, faces pale and armor-clinky. "Nobody touches her quarters until I say." They nodded, scattering, but my grip on Luisa tightened, her warmth a lifeline I didn't deserve. Ahead was the courtroom, and through the creaking iron-bound doors I pushed, my small hand clutching Luisa's. T

DaneThe Ironclaw pack legal chamber was a mass of pandemonium, and the black stone walls seemed to pulse with heat from the flickering torchlight, the carved wolf heads above seeming to snarl in life, their wood eyes shining with hunger. The air blended with clouds of musk, steel, and the acrid scent of dust from the coming war, the council's yells and clangs of the guard's armor merged as a symphony of immediacy. I stood there stuck before Luisa, my throne out of my head, my heart a war drum, her words—I want to fight alongside you—still ringing in my ears, a clarion note of defiance that mesmerized me and terrified me. Shimmering with determination, her pale face framed with light brown hair; her hazel eyes blazed with the fire of her fading strength. My wolf paced listlessly in my mind, a caged beast growling protectively for her—growing agitated at the horror of the bloodletting the Kade's Blood Moon Pack had stirred at our borders. "Damn it, Luisa." I grew rough, low, half b

LusiaThe battlefield was a maelstrom of savagery, scarred stretches of churned earth and splintered trees, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood, the acrid burn of liquid silver, and primal musk of Lycans and werewolves locked in mortal combat. The above moon was a cold, unblinking eye, casting its faint glow upon the chaos, turning it into a nightmare tableau. My white wolf form trembled, and my muscles ached, while my hazel eyes darted through the fray, my heart pounding with fear and fury. I saw the massive black wolf of Dane as a shadow on the edge of my vision. He always made the protective growls that kept me on a tether between life and death. I was not a stagnant spectator, though. I chose this war out of a need to strengthen my wolf, to clamor for the truth about my parents' death, and now, I fought.A lean, wiry frame aimed for me; amber eyes, glaring only at me. The Ironclaw Lycans melted into indifference just like the everywhere surrounding things. He was takin

Lusia Huddled against the damp stone walls, the healer's room lay cocooned in heat and shade, the lantern's swaying golden glow casting our entwined silhouettes across the still air of the damp walls as if we were ghosts locked in a frantic dance. Dane's lips, rough and unyielding, had claimed mine with an intensity that left me breathless, the pheromones a wild musky tide yet still lingering in the air, mingled with the sharp tang of herbs and the faint copper of battlefield blood on his tunic. My body was burning, the heat of my cycle with its relentless pulse, but his kiss—warm, desperate, was pouring his guilt and need into me, and it held me fast and unmoored me. Now, he's pulled back, his icy blue eyes, breath ragged, overblown by his towering frame across the cot where I lay, torn tunic clinging to my sweat-damp skin, dark curls spilling across the coarse linen. "How do you feel?" he asked, voice low, rough—the gravel thread is woven with that thickest concern and the sharp