The Lycan King's Secret Daughter novel Chapter 22

SYLRA’S POV

“Don’t you dare,” I growled, both aloud and through our bond, my voice breaking. “Don’t you dare do this.”

I shifted back, skin steaming in the cool forest air, hair clinging to my damp shoulders as I dropped beside him. The world narrowed to just Caelan—his ashen face, the crimson bloom spreading across his shirt, the shaft of the arrow protruding at that sickening angle. His breathing came in shallow, stuttering gasps, each one weaker than the last.

“Stay with me,” I whispered, cradling his face between my trembling hands. His skin felt too cool against my burning palms. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

He coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, a stark red line against his paling skin. His eyes, though clouded with pain, found mine. “You shifted again… in mid-air…”

“Shut up,” I said, blinking back tears that threatened to fall. “You’re not allowed to be impressed right now.”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile before another spasm of pain contorted his features. The arrow shaft quivered with each labored breath. Silver liquid seeped from where the arrowhead disappeared into his flesh, not just any arrow, but one tipped with wolfsbane. My stomach twisted at the sight.

More wolves began pouring into the clearing, Alphas, guards, my father’s sentries. The entire Summit was converging, drawn by the scent of blood and the echo of my roar. Their footsteps thundered through the undergrowth, branches snapping under urgent feet.

“Blood Princess!” one of them shouted, voice thick with awe and fear.

Gasps erupted as they took in the scene before them—three bodies sprawled across the forest floor, me half-shifted and barely clothed, Caelan bleeding at my feet.

The air filled with their murmurs, their stunned silence as they stared at the golden fur still rippling across patches of my skin.

Someone stepped forward, a tall wolf from the Northern pack. “We’ll carry him—”

“No.” I stood up, my legs steadier than they had any right to be. Scratches criss-crossed my arms and torso, blood drying in rivulets down my skin—some mine, most not. The wolves around us shifted nervously, eyes averted from my near-nakedness, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I shifted again, welcoming the fire that crackled down my spine, the familiar agony of bones breaking and reforming.

My golden wolf emerged, larger than those surrounding us, my fur catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. I lowered to my front legs as carefully as I could, positioning myself beside Caelan’s unconscious form.

“Help me get him up,” I commanded through the bond, directing my thoughts to two nearby guards.

They hesitated only for a heartbeat before moving to obey, gently lifting Caelan and placing him across my back. His weight pressed against my spine, warm and heavy, but I welcomed it—proof he was still alive, still fighting. Blood seeped into my fur, hot and sticky against my flank.

I turned toward the road, ignoring the stunned faces of the Summit’s leaders. “We’re going home,” I said through the pack bond, my mental voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest.

No one dared challenge me as I moved through their ranks, my steps measured and deliberate to avoid jostling Caelan. Two guards flanked me, hands hovering near Caelan to steady him, while others fanned out ahead, clearing a path.

The journey back passed in a blur of green shadows and urgent voices. I focused only on Caelan’s heartbeat against my back, the rhythm growing fainter with each passing minute. By the time the stone walls of our compound came into view, his breathing had grown so shallow I could barely detect it.

I burst through the gates, guards scrambling to clear my path as I made for the clinic. “Get the doctor,” I commanded to anyone who would listen. “Now!”

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