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.

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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.

“What the hell are you doing out here child!” but he doesn’t wait for my reply, he scoops up my

in the safety of their parent’s arms, I find myself nestling into his warmth. I find myself finally at ease, finally feeling truly safe. I stare out into the fog, but something shifts. The sky cracks and crumbles, the snow changes colours, shifting back and forth between white and

images flash about in my mind of the past and present and I suddenly realize that I’ve been here before. This is 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

ground. But the ground isn’t brown, nearly every patch of gra*s*s and 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

snaps to Marco, his hand having morphed into a Lycan claw, it still remains embedded deep in my chest, just scraping the edges of my

Marco 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

into my eyes. I’m being carried again, in Barlow’s arms. But this time my adult mind remains, I’m well aware I’m back in my

Barlow once described the scene of our first meeting to Tanya. And she created this illusion thinking it meant something to me. But what Barlow knew wasn’t really the whole truth. From a young age I knew that in order to

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

protection from the cold. But I was never helpless. Never panicked. I would not allow myself to die so easily. That’s right. I fought for my

me, a familiar bright smile,

look deeply at him, finally, smile and mutter my last words, “Alright,

Tanya’s POV:

of my fighting form doesn’t remove the crimson body that smothers 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 their decomposing

not without

eyes. The sound of Marco’s claws retracting out of Dorian’s body is uncomfortably moist as his claws slip