The Lycan King's Forbidden Craving novel Chapter 192

Chapter 192: The silver haired woman

In the woods, Lylah ran at full speed. But it wasn’t enough. Behind her, she heard the soldiers, already in full shift, gaining on her.

*Lylah. Full shift. Now.*

“No*

*Stop being stubborn! They’ll catch us if you don’t!*

Lylah had always refused to let Nyx take full control. Even in the Arena, during the worst of fights, she held back.

*This isn’t the time for grudges!* Nyx roared.

“Fine,” Lylah growled reluncantly.

She leapt over a cliff, and mid–air, her body cracked and snapped into her wolf form, bones reshaping, fur exploding outward.

She landed hard on four paws. Her speed surged.

After nearly an hour of intense chase, the soldiers finally fell behind, but she kept going.

*We’re safe,* Nyx said, glancing back.

But just as Lylah leapt over another ridge, her instincts screamed danger.

Mid–air, her blue glowing eyes met with a familiar figure mid air, crouched with a long, spine–black iron launcher carved with ancient symbols. It hissed softly, almost alive.

A weapon Lylah had never seen before. Bulky, archaic, nothing like the daggers or bows she’d trained against. Its mouth gleamed with violet heat.

The male adjusted his grip. It was Rodaric, the brute ex head warrior she had sparred with years ago.

Whatever was about to come, she knew it will be insane.

A piercing beam burst from the mouth of the weapon sending a streak of violet fire, fast. It slammed into her waist with a brutal, twisting force.

Pain tore through her nerves and her body spiraled out of control.

She crashed down the cliff with a sickening tumble, branches snapping, stones ripping at her side until her form disappeared into the dark.

Then water.

A cold rush swallowed her whole.

Nyx’s scream echoed in her head as the harsh current dragged them away.

Back on the cliff, Rodaric lowered the weapon and exhaled.

“This new toy’s not bad,” he said.

Lord Valoreth’s orders were clear. Lylah was to be bought dead or alive.

As the werewolf hunters arrived, he barked, “She’s injured. Maybe dead. Split up. Search every damn inch and bring her to me.‘

“…She’s losing too much blood.”

A voice pierced through the fog clouding Lylah’s mind. Pain flared from every angle. Whatever had hit her was

serious.

“Easy, little one. It’s almost out,” a calm, deep voice assured.

Lylah’s groan was muffled by the cloth wrapped tightly around her mouth. Another stab of pain ripped through her as the male dug something out of her wound using metal tongs and pincers.

“It’s out,” he said at last, then brought something to her lips after removing the gag. “Drink this. It’ll ease the pain while your wolf helps you heal.”

She drank. Whatever it was, it worked fast. Her pain dulled enough for her to open her eyes.

When she saw who was crouched in front of her, her heart stilled. Her face paled.

The male had dark, glowing skin, long silver–braided hair, and silver eyes.

Ouroboros?

She tensed in shock.

“Lylah Greystone, we’re not here to harm you,” the male said, gently. “I’m Zev and this is my wife, Sylra.”

Lylah turned her head weakly toward the woman, who gave a small, graceful nod in greeting. She looked just like him. Dark, glowing skin, silver–braided hair, and eyes that shimmered like moonlight.

“We’re healers,” Sylra said. “And you’re lucky it didn’t hit your lungs.”

Lylah had a thousand questions but her throat tightened with them. Weren’t the Ouroboros supposed to be extinct? How did they know her name?

Before she could speak, another figure burst in, a younger one, skin pale like Lylah’s.

“They’re here,” the girl announced, urgency in her voice.

Zev and Sylra immediately rose, lighting their fire torches in one swift, practiced motion.

Lylah forced herself to stand. Fire torches surrounded the area. It was an ambush. Just how many Ouroboros were here?

Wait… could Arianna be among them?

The group

of twelve werewolves soldiers halted as the torches ignited one by one, casting the forest in eerie light.

“What is that?” one of them whispered.

The torches kept lighting up, encircling them in a slow, methodical pattern.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

The Ouroboros began to emerge from the shadows, surrounding them. Silver–haired. Silver–eyed. Deadly.

Their leader stepped forward, a female cloaked in soft white fur, her long silver hair swaying as she moved.

“Don’t tell me they’re…,” one of the wolves stammered, panic seeping into his voice.

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