Traded To The Lycan King

shelter she made for him, but a quick look satisfies my fears he may escape.

I crawl on my stomach toward Flora, my broken leg dragging behind me as I groan in pain. Flora looks drained, her chest heaving up and down wildly as she kneels slumped forward, her hair askew and in covering her face. I can hear Ezrah battering against the rooted "Flora," I whisper, dragging my body up and next to her as I hesitantly reach out and touch her back. She jumps, a frightened scream breaking from her lips before she seems to see me, and she relaxes.

"I was worried you were dead," she whispers. "I was afraid to look."

"You know, for a little bit, I thought you were trying to kill me." I chuckle and her face grows pale, her eyes darting away.

"Not intentionally." She mutters, a shudder raking through her body as she stares at the dead man laying on the ground. "What the hell was that?"

"Ah, you've never felt mind control before." I give her a soft smile.

Tears leak from the corner of her eyes as she tries to fight back a sob.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs.

"I'm just glad you came to your senses and killed him in time." She blinks at me, her brows knitting together.

"I did?"

A strange sensation flutters over me and I hug myself, feeling vulnerable. So much weird shit has been happening. Well, weird, I suppose, is normal, but this level of it is. Well, it's unsettling.

"One of your roots...I could have sworn it was you." I mutter, and she frowns.

"Maybe?" she says, but her words lack confidence.

"Crap." I groan, laying down on my back, my hands on my head as I try to calm my senses.

My lycan is exhausted and in pain. It is possible that someone else killed the wizard, likely another fae, but all worries fade away when Ezrah roars in frustration. I smile wide, a giggle bubbling up as, for a moment, I celebrate our little victory. "We caught him." Flora whispers, looking down at me. I nod, a victorious grin on my face.

"Hell yeah we did." I tell her and she exhales.

at the wizard?" Flora

dead?" I

My mind is mine, not anyone else's to toy with. I have worked too hard for control and he...he..." She pauses and chuckles as she wipes tears from her

say, sitting up and leaning in to look at her. "It's fine, okay? I will go check to

can stand yet, not with how and where my leg broke. A broken tibia or fibula? Small and quick. But a mid femur break and likely not a clean one? There will be no walking for me for several hours. I shuffle over to the dead hooded man, coming up

fingers slip through the gaping wound in his chest. Blood covers my hand when I pull it out and then I reach for his neck, feeling for his pulse. Not that I need to really check it. A wound like his would be fatal even for a lycan. His face is pale, almost gaunt looking, as I

HOW he died. I had assumed it was Flora who beat his hold on her and found a way to save herself. But with

Flora calls out

and she seems relieved. "Can you

face green as she

jumping up. "I don't

at her and look back at the dead body before shoving away

refuse to look?" I ask her, my voice gentle as

know!"

more going on. Either she knows this dickhead and refuses to admit it, or she is afraid to look at someone she killed. Well, if she is the one that killed him. Whatever it may be, it has me on my guard as I scan the trees around us. "Are

She says, the relief on her face from me dropping the topic is incredibly apparent. "How do you plan

I tell her,

Teiran will be able to manage him? Fly with him in dragon form in his claws? My plan was originally to use Terian to help subdue Ezrah, which, clearly, we net ended up not needing. I smile to myself, proud that we could not only

so proud. He always said that when you are able to trust yourself, it becomes easier

down onto the ground next to as

"Sure."

She asks, and my mouth falls open, closing as I turn to look at her, watching her expression. Flora is serious, her eyes batting as she waits nervously

that she didn't have any friends with the way she defended the deer she demanded was her friend. I had thought she was maybe just a nature freak, or mentally unstable. But maybe she is lonely, just like I have been. How else would she

She grins widely, her cheeks dimple and her eyes

a question now? As a

old are you?" I ask her, and

"Only eighty-six." She smiles.