The Lycan King and His Dark Temptation Novel

---- 260. THE FACE OF THE DAMNED NARRATOR "Damn it, no, no! Useless creatures!" Frederick roared as he watched his "children" being slaughtered. He hadn't been able to create many of them anyway-stealing that corrupted magic was incredibly hard, even by enslaving and controlling witches. Still, as strong as those beasts might have seemed, they had living hearts that could be ripped out. "T can't stay here..." he muttered, watching his defeat unfold, realizing that army would never die.

His eyes, burning with rage and envy, turned to Victoria. He should've captured her for himself. He got too confident, too naive, ignored the instincts, screaming that vampire was hiding her true powers. "Fucking bitch..." The resentment burned so deep it made his chest ache. ---- He looked down at the bodies of his daughter and his wife. He couldn't even go down to pick them up and give them a proper burial.

They had destroyed his family, and now he was being forced to run-but this wasn't over. Before they came for him, he turned and ran deep into the fortress. He knew every crevice like the back of his hand, and quickly disappeared into the hidden passageways, straight to his private chamber... where his ultimate weapon waited. The one he found bya stroke of luck. «Many years ago, while digging a tunnel to escape, he broke through into an unknown room.

Dimly lit, with black candles burning ina strange atmosphere, and a wooden box resting in the center of the space, placed ona pedestal. He had barely squeezed through the small hole he opened. They'd been digging for what felt like forever without finding the damn exit from that prison. Frederick looked around, uneasy. He could swear this was far ---- from the Lords' wing, so what was this room? He felt like something had led him there.

The werewolf was about to leave and seal the tunnel when the old box began to vibrate. He looked toward the dark hallway leading to the main door, then back at the box. He could be caught at any moment. But taking the risk, Frederick stepped forward, pulled by curiosity... and something much more powerful. His fingers reached out slowly, and when he opened the lid, what he found inside left him speechless. Lying on a cushion of dark velvet was a grotesque mask.

It looked like it had been stitched together from scraps of women's faces, Some were young, others wrinkled... tattooed runes spread across each piece of skin, linking them. The lips were cracked and sewn shut with black thread, the eyelids sealed. Still, even without knowing a thing about magic, Frederick could feel it... the immense power that pulsed from this ---- strange mask. He leaned closer and closer, until he was nearly nose to nose with it... when those seemingly dead eyes flew open.

One was gray, like that of a nearly blind old woman. The other, black and bright, youthful, like the darkest night. His scream got stuck in his throat, his hand trembled as he almost shut the box-but those mismatched eyes screamed at him in silence. He sawit clearly in his mind... a vision of himself placing that living relic on his face after feeding it his blood. Frederick didn't know what took over him, but he did everything just like the vision had shown.

He slashed his wrist and let his blood drip over the sewn mouth. Like magic, the thick, filthy thread began to unravel, and that dark opening split wide. A disgusting tongue slipped out, desperate to taste, to speak, to tempt him. It offered him its powers in exchange for the freedom it so