The Lycan King's Forbidden Craving - Chapter 182: Chapter 182

A painful scream shook the four corners of the room. The woman, soaked in sweat, trembled violently in bed as she labored.
Blood damped the thick sheet beneath her, her legs spread apart.
“Take it out! Fucking take it out!!!”
“Almost there, my Queen. You just need to push a little more,” the older palace midwife—also the head maid—said gently from between the Queen’s thighs.
“Get it out. Please! I’m so tired,” cried the exhausted woman.
It had been seventy-two long hours, and every bone in her body ached with fire. She was sweating profusely, her hair, spread across the bed—soaked through.
Gripping the maids on either side of her, she let out an ear-wracking scream.
Outside the labor room, the other maids were panicking. The Queen's fifth labor had lasted longer than the previous four. Pity flashed across their faces—not just because she sounded as though she might die giving birth, but because the King did not care.
He hadn’t even come to check on her once.
At the moment, the King was at the arena, waiting for the combat event to begin.
If she died, he would simply marry another.
He wanted an heir. And if he didn’t get one today, the palace would turn upside down.
•
The arena was packed, the air filled with ear-busting chants of excitement. Every row was filled with elites and citizens alike. Some stood, unable to find seats, all excited for the sick spectacle.
Bets were placed. Most supported the one gladiator who had never lost. They called her by many names, but mostly:
The Devil’s Little Sister.
She was set to battle three brutal, killer criminals trained by the strongest packs. These gladiators were known to be dark, terrifying, and bloodthirsty—all Alpha-ranked. All women.
This made the arena exceptionally tight and crowded. So much had been spent to set this up.
Curiosity wrapped the air like a thick blanket.
At the back of the arena was a room where the four gladiators waited, all seated on the floor.
They had been quiet, until one finally broke the silence.
“Who’s the Devil’s sister among you?”
The voice was low, guttural—almost like a growl.
It came from a brute-looking female, tall and broad, her body built like a male. Her arms were scarred and marked, the map of someone who had seen war and survived. Her messy short red hair framed a face split by deep scars that did nothing to hide the aura of terror clinging to her.
Her eyes were wild.
The two others, One was blonde and statuesque, her eyes narrowed like a hawk watching prey. The other had long, short braids ink-black in color, and half her face was covered in dark runes. Both shifted their gaze to the fourth, silent female.
The red-haired woman got the message and looked toward her.
Head slightly lowered, one arm draped over a raised knee. She had long hair, braided two ways, the twin tails flowing down to the floor like twin serpents.
Her combat attire was simple—stitched from black leather that clung to her lean, built frame like a second skin. It was sleeveless, revealing the nickname "Little Wolf" branded on her left shoulder.
Her pants were fitted, designed to allow maximum mobility. Straps around her thighs and waist held in dangerous weapons.
Around her neck hung a pendant, dangling like a broken promise.
“So you’re the one, huh?”
No reply.
But the red-haired woman didn’t mind.
She’d heard rumors that the devil's sister before her was mute.
“I’ve always wanted to meet you in person. My father blabs a lot about you, on how you’ve killed more than two hundred men and how you never lose,” she said.
Still, no response.
“I never lose either, young one. I’ve killed a lot of men myself, and winning this match means my freedom. But you… You won’t escape being the King’s prisoner since you little bitchy sister killed the king. So do me a favor and die today.”
Lylah's fist secretly clenched.
“Time,” the timekeeper guard announced.
The gate was opened, and the roar of the crowd grew wilder as the gladiators began to step out.
Lylah was the last to emerge, her twin-serpent brown braids flowing behind her. Her boots reached just below her knees, hitting the ground softly.
The moment the sun touched her skin, most of the crowd went into a frenzy, chanting:
“Little Wolf!”
“Little Wolf!”
“Little Wolf!”
*Gawd, they’re so loud. But I love it. Blood! Blood! Let’s spill some fucking blood.*
*Shut up, Nyx,* Lylah scolded her wolf in annoyance. She glanced at the King staring down at her.
It was none other than the motherfucking Toran Venis.
The male’s eyes were lifeless, hollow, like a man who hadn’t slept in days. His hair, now long was disheveled, but he still carried that menacing aura.
Ever since she found out this asshole was the one who shot her sister, she’d been dreaming of destroying him—limb by limb. But he was heavily guarded. One wrong move could mean her death.
She had tried to kill him thrice, and it had never ended well…
Beside Toran, the seat was empty.
It seemed the Queen of Cûnt was still in labor.
Hope to the devils she’s still in heavy pain.
“Hey, Little Wolf!” the redhead called. Behind her stood the other two, all glaring.
It seemed this match would be different. The three had planned to kill her first.
*Give me some wounds! Haha! This is going to be fun!* Nyx squealed excitedly.
“Hope we get to tear each other apart. I want to see how a silent little wolf howls,” the redhead chuckled, and they all drew their weapons.
The redhead wielded a spear, the blonde carried twin swords, and the last one held a shield and sword.
Lylah tilted her head, staring coldly. How boring.
Then the order came.
Fight!