Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Cassian,

—

The air in the dungeon was thick with the damp scent of cold stone and the sharp tang of rusted iron. As I approached the heavy wooden door, the guards flanking it stiffened immediately. Their muscles tensed, breaths caught in their throats—reactions as predictable as the setting sun. I held my gaze on them, letting the weight of my presence press down, making them feel vulnerable beneath my watchful eyes.

“Open it,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the silence like ice. I needed to confront those Rogues myself, to understand the depth of what was unfolding.

The door groaned as it swung open, releasing a wave of stale, fetid air that assaulted my senses—sweat, blood, and the sour stench of bodies starved of sunlight. Three Rogues sat slumped against the far wall, their wrists bound in shackles. Their eyes rolled wildly, limbs twitching as if puppeteered by invisible forces. Their skin was pale, almost lifeless, and their lips moved in silent attempts to form words that refused to come.

I stepped inside deliberately, each movement measured so that silence would settle before I spoke. Lorenzo followed but stopped a step behind when I raised my hand.

“Stay by the door,” I instructed without turning around.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, his voice taut with unease.

—

I lowered myself to crouch before the nearest prisoner. Even bent low, my stature loomed over him—authority and presence do not diminish with posture. His pupils were dilated and bloodshot, veins darkening the pale skin of his neck. His mouth opened and closed, jaw trembling like a wounded creature desperate to survive.

“Look at me,” I said firmly.

Reluctantly, his eyes locked onto mine. My gaze was sharp and unyielding, a blade honed to cut through deception. I softened my tone just slightly—not out of mercy, but as a calculated tactic. “Tell me who sent you.”

For a fleeting moment, his breathing steadied. A flicker of something genuine surfaced in his haunted expression—the frightened boy beneath the torment. He began to speak, but the words caught in his throat… then his body convulsed violently.

A guttural roar erupted from deep within him. He lunged forward with sudden ferocity.

I remained unmoved. Standing my ground, I let him strike the full length of his chain before he slammed hard against the wall. The impact rattled the shackles. Close enough now, the heat of his ragged breath brushed my face. He snapped his teeth, fury blazing in his posture—but that rage was not his alone.

He was one of the Rogues who had lost the power to shift.

The second captive began to foam at the mouth, his body writhing uncontrollably. The third chuckled—a sound wrong and eerie, high-pitched and hollow, layered with something inhuman. Lorenzo’s hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his sword.

“Stay where you are,” I warned calmly. My voice carried the weight of command. He obeyed without hesitation. I did not want to harm them—they were victims, not villains. The true enemy lurked somewhere behind this nightmare, and they would bear the blame.

Moving to the next prisoner, I saw a boy barely older than a child, his bones sharp beneath thin, pale skin. His wrists were raw and bleeding from the chains. Every muscle twitched spasmodically, as if some unseen puppeteer manipulated his limbs. I crouched down until our eyes met.

“You feel them inside you,” I said softly. “Whoever controls you reaches into your mind like a parasite. Do you want it to end?”

My voice was gentle but edged with the kind of intensity that pries secrets loose.

His eyelids fluttered, a brief moment of clarity shining through the haze. A wet, broken whisper escaped his cracked lips. “Yes,” he rasped.

“Say who,” I pressed gently. “Say the name. Tell me where they hide.”

His mouth opened, the word almost forming—fragile as a moth drawn to flame. Then he screamed—a raw, animalistic cry that sucked the air from the chamber. His body arched violently, muscles twisting and thrashing. The chains scraped harshly against stone. Blood welled from his wrists, spurting in a sick spray.

I rose slowly, jaw clenched until the tendon in my neck stood out. The others writhed silently, eyes rolled back, hands clawing at the floor.

I stood motionless, watching them intently. My silence filled the dungeon far louder than any shout could.

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