Traded To The Lycan King

I barely have time to get her name out of my mouth to warn her, my heart pounding out of my chest as I watch in shock. I try to get to her, but it's too late as a tree swings wildly in the raging mud. Its branches reach out and toss her slender frame like a rag doll twenty feet from me.

"Kyra," I call out again, my voice harsh and loud. I duck under the tree as it's pulled back into the fury of the waves that rush by with no care.

"Shit," I mutter, eyeing the way the water seems to rise further, putting us in danger of being sucked back in. With the way the current is going and Kyra lying unconscious, that is the last thing I want right now.

We need to move away from this river or mudslide or whatever natural shitstorm this is. There is no time to waste as I gingerly turn her onto her side. She is limp as I collect her in my arms. Her warm skin is raised and already bruising as I sprint further into the woods. My lungs burn as I push myself to run harder.

I stutter in my step when I look down. The full force of nature's light showcasing the depth of her injuries. Kyra's perfect face is swollen, her entire right side bruised with a deep gash from her hairline to the top of her cheekbone. The Purplish hues make her freckles disappear and my stomach lurches, my fingers grip her tighter as guilt washes over me.

I hate myself, the selfish way I've grown in my desire to just end my life. These bruises, her injuries, they are my fault. Had I not been so blinded by my own shit, I might have seen that she would come for me.

I swallow the lump in my throat, licking my dry lips before I look away, searching to see where I am, and if we can stay here at least until she wakes up. I find a soft, mossy spot near a tree and move toward it.

Kyra groans in pain as I lay her down, her face wincing as I wait for her to wake up. But she doesn't. Impatience takes over as I lean forward to nudge her awake with a gentle touch.

cheek, trying to bring

doesn't open her eyes, or even move for hours. I check her pulse, my fingers brushing over her soft wrists, searching for any sign of life. Her heart beats strong and steady, and yet every time I step away from her, that panic that she

to believe she will wake up sooner rather than later. Hope and patience are my only options

anything worse, like dragons or some other lurking enemy. Thank the heavens that none of our enemies seem to be nearby, and as luck

and holey, but the dust seems to shake off decently when I whip it through the air a few

based on her size. Then I shove my legs through some jeans that are not the right size. I tuck the blanket under my arm and rush back to Kyra with

woke up and is sitting and waiting for me. A strange desire settling deep in my gut to see her eyes and feel her gaze on me blooms and I can't hide the fact that I hate this. To

Kyra's unconscious body remains exactly where it was, unmoved, as if she has done

sign that she is still clinging on. Her torso and chest are riddled with healing bruises and her shoulders bare an et deep red mark. She was struck incredibly hard, her

someone who can't respond. "If you wake up while I am

beside her, gently sliding my hand under head and lifting her slightly as I slip a green oversized shirt over her head. My fingers skim her skin tenderly as I pull the fabric over her arms and down her legs

shorts and slip them up her legs. Then I grab the blanket and lay it over her. The exhaustion from earlier is gone as I watch her delicate features as she remains passed out with me on watch, sitting next

has always

she ran away, I would stare up at the sky and regret everything in life. I missed her, still miss her. It took watching her nearly dying a second time to realize just how much I hate the thought of a