The Lycan King and His Dark Temptation Novel

---- He got so mad he charged head-on at the Drakmor, which was also storming toward him like a hurricane. His powerful daggers, forged with Selenic magic, flashed gold when they struck the monster's scaled snout. Sparks flew wild in the air, and hot blood splattered across Fenrir's brave face. It wasn't his, though. He'd managed to wound that mountain of muscle and fury, and it staggered back for an instant. The Lycan prince wasn't afraid of any fight, but despite his reckless, headstrong nature, he also kept his goals clear.

He couldn't waste time here, because those two cowards already had a solid lead. He ran, taking advantage of the Drakmor's erratic movements as it tried to lick its wound. Fenrir rushed into the dark cavern, where that lady's voice wouldn't stop screaming, The entrance was pretty narrow and the cave plunged deep. Suddenly, he reached the spot: a hole, and below, a flicker of a frantic shadow. ---- There was no time to lose; the clock was still ticking, and the beast's roars and pounding steps already echoed at the cave mouth.

"Grab my arm!" Fenrir leaned over the slick edge, digging his claws into the dirt to anchor himself. His hand stretched into the dark, where glints of reddish-white hair appeared in the half-light. Fenrir felt the wrinkled but steady hand clamp into his. "Im going to pull you up!" He was all set to hoist her when a cry came from the bottom of the pit. "Don't you go lifting me like a sack of potatoes, boy, these old bones come apart just from being looked at too hard!" Fenrir almost snorted as he pulled her up carefully. "Wow, the little old lady's got energy," Gale huffed too.

«| mean, ma'am, we've got a predator on our asses, we're behind schedule saving you, and now you're setting terms for the rescue.» All that flashed through the Lycan's mind, but he didn't dare say it. ---- He managed to set her down gently on the cold, damp ground. She was slender, her gray hair once a fiery red. Curiously, she held a worn walking stick, and while she patted dust off her dress, she gave him an intense up-and-down look. Fenrir felt the fire radiating from her. He was in the presence of a Centuria, and a powerful one. Then what was she doing locked up here?

He was about to ask when the ceiling started to vibrate and the floor to rumble. In the maze of passages, the Drakmor had found them. "Are you waiting for a formal invitation to get moving, boy?!" her bossy voice rose over the din. Fenrir looked at her again, then around them. There were other dark mouths, other passages, but he had no clue what dangers they led to. "Carry me, quick, I'll show you a shortcut | know!" Without wasting another second, he swung her onto his back. The little old lady slid the stick across the front of his neck, ---- almost choking him.

Fenrir felt like a saddled horse, but decided to escape first and complain later. Running into the dark, he plunged into the mountain's guts, into tunnels that nearly pushed past the swamp's edge. Who was this woman, and where was she taking him? ... Fenrir didn't suspect much about this "casual" encounter.