Pregnant After One Night With The Lycan

Pregnant After One Night With The Lycan By Kellie Brown

Chapter 97 Dorian And Barlow’s First Meeting

Dorian’s POV:

Mist enters my eyes and the world suddenly swirls out of focus. I frantically blink trying to see, but the mist is heavy. Thick clouds darken my surroundings as snow falls like white bullets from the sky. My skinny arms and hands wrap themselves round my body. The tips of my ears sting from the frigid environment as my teeth chatter uncontrollably.

I’ve been walking for days. But my legs struggle to push through the thick layer of snow that blankets the ground. And behind me I leave a pathetic trail that will soon be erased as more snow falls. I bet I will be erased, blown away from the terrible cry of the wind, or smothered by the ice, or worse, I’ll freeze, and wither away and melt into the snow.

Title of the document

I drop to my knees.

I try to stand, but my body is too weak. And the snow feels like a comfy mattress, offering me eternal sleep. But I have to keep going. My life has to mean more than just what my mother has made of me. It’s been a year now since I left her behind and ventured off on my own. My torn scarf and ragged clothing offer little safety from the elements, but I wrap them tight around me in hope. However, when I lift my gaze, the snowstorm cannot hide the movement in the distance. Someone approaches. An unruly man, his long beard and thick brows are speckled with frost. His face appears worn and tired, but his eyes grow wide when he sees me.

I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before, and I wonder why anyone but myself and my childish ambition and ignorance would be out in this blizzard. But something about him is familiar. My mind despite its exhaustion runs through all the memories, but cannot find the face among images. And yet, the one thing that stands out is a name: Barlow.

“Please help me,” I can barely manage a whisper.

out here child!” but he doesn’t wait for my reply, he scoops up my feeble

finally at ease, finally feeling truly safe. I stare out into the fog, but something shifts. The sky cracks

a memory, not reality! No, it’s not even my real memory, there’s something wrong, it’s an illusion! My eyes shoot open just as something sharp impales my chest and I

dirt is tinted in red, flowers splattered with blood and trees marked with crimson. My soldiers lay fallen all the around. Some had at least one of their limbs ripped off, others were barely crawling, if not trying to hold on despite bleeding out. And most lay lifeless on

front of me. My gaze snaps to Marco, his hand

only glares at me, and he barely flinches as his claw jolts forward, and is thrust into the depths of my heart. I can’t stop my head from rolling back, forcing my eyes to look

and crystal flakes fall into my eyes. I’m being carried again, in Barlow’s arms. But this

wasn’t really the whole truth. From a young age I knew that in order to gain revenge, I must use all my talents of deceit. That and the fact I’d never be so pathetic or beg for help

my first meeting with Barlow was all premeditated. I had long heard that Barlow’s rogue pack were all hybrids, and that Barlow was very good at black magic. So, I secretly observed him for weeks, being sure that everything told to me was true. I also memorised his daily routine, knowing where and when would be the best place to cross paths with

in his path, pretending to be a dying child who just happened to be along his route, begging for protection from the cold. But I was

then I suddenly see Barlow smile at me, a familiar bright smile, and say to me,

him, finally, smile and mutter my last

Tanya’s POV:

my clothes and body. Nor does it alter the slow healing wounds that relish across my skin. And my human eyes can still see the sea of bodies that lay across the forest floor, tainting mother nature’s soil with

not without the loss of

Dorian’s body as life leaves the hybrid’s eyes. The sound of Marco’s claws retracting out of Dorian’s body is uncomfortably moist as his claws slip slickly out of the flesh wound. He stares blankly at his opponent whose eyes remain open, and even