The Lycan King's Forbidden Craving - Chapter 202: Chapter 202

Their blades rose in the air.
Lylah was the first to dash toward them before Falcon could speak, his face went pale at her speed as she dug her daggers into her first victim’s eyes.
Her body swayed like a goddess of war, her blades dancing in her hands as if they were part of her body.
That crazy smile on her lips suggested she had been dying to do this. To kill.
He joined the fight, striking his opponents with his sword. Falcon hadn't stopped training over the years, what had happened years ago only made him train insanely hard.
Mostly because he wanted to save Lylah, he knew his master would want that.
That was why Falcon was covered in scars he got from fighting off those five brute Lycans who almost killed him.
But seeing how Lylah fought with terrifying brutality, the way she swiftly dodged and brought them down like flies, was something else.
The grin on her face showed she was enjoying it, especially in her half-shift with her wolf. The way she licked the blood that brushed her lips wasn't what he would call exciting.
What in the world had they done to you, Lylah?
Drakora and Sylra were both using spears; the women swung them like gentle, fast, deadly waves with precision, using the fire of torches behind them as a source for the fire balls.
Zav was wielding a scimitar, a sharp curved blade he swiftly used against the necks of his enemies.
The battlefield was madness.
Their men were also dying, but due to the traps and all, they might still have a chance as the number of wolves had reduced.
Wrong.
Zav paused as he spotted a group of wolves far, far away… stronger and more built.
Waiting.
If Zav could guess, there was a smirk on their faces as though the Ouroboros had simply been playing by their rules.
Lylah, soaked in the enemy’s blood, snatched her dagger from a body, then suddenly sensed something off.
She focused on her senses, especially her nose. That faint familiar explosive power she had perceived that day she got shot reached her.
Her eyes snapped to the direction, and right there, beneath the shadow of a mountain, was a figure in a hooded cloak with that damn weapon aiming directly at Sylra.
“No,” she muttered.
Zav saw the disturbed look on her face and traced it, realizing what was about to happen.
'His' was about to be fired.
“Sylra, watch out!” Lylah screamed, bolting toward the dark female’s direction, who reacted too late.
The blast echoed.
The world stilled, eyes widened as the shot pierced through flesh with intense force.
It was Zav’s back. The shot had been meant for Sylra’s left chest, but Zav took the hit.
Sylra watched her husband collapse onto her, breath ragged as he forced himself to look into her eyes, concerned if she was hurt when he had been the one with a punctured lung.
“Vireth (Mine),” Sylra’s voice trembled.
Her body shook with fear.
Lylah’s head spun. The breath that burst through her nose and mouth was animalistic.
“Motherfucker!!!” she screamed, charging toward the figure who had shot, now at the top of the small mountain.
Nyx took charge with a full shift, leaping and slamming hard into the figure. Rage tore through her system, blinding her to reason.
The shooter’s face was covered, and as Lylah attacked with claws and fangs, he tried to defend himself.
Judging by the scent, he was a Lycan.
Rodaric?
Why?! Why?!
Why did they have to shoot Zav of all people? Even though she had only known him for barely a month, the thought of him getting hurt was unbearable. He reminded her of her father.
The scolding, the care, the smile, and the words of advice—Zav had saved her, saved Falcon, and probably Lucas too. And whoever was behind that mask had fucking shot him at the most critical part.
Just like she had lost Selene.
Why the fuck won’t the moon realm leave them the fuck alone?!
The figure only defended himself, as if not wanting to hurt her—but that only enraged her more.
Lylah finally managed to tore off the mask, ready to strike again. But as her next punch hovered in the air, she froze—recognizing the face.
“Isla?”
Isla coughed out blood, wheezing through gritted teeth.
“Lylah,” she rasped, enduring the torn skin Lylah had ripped open from nearly every part of her body.
“What?… Why… why you of all people?”
"It's a battle between the two realms. I swore my loyalty to King Toran. I'm simply following orders."
"Don't give me that shit!" Lylah snapped. "You told me you'd never bow to them. So what the fuck is this? Why did you have to shoot him?! Why you, of all people?!"
"You mean the Ouroboros? I thought she was the goddess—because of her beautiful dark skin," Isla swallowed. "Snap out of it, Lylah. The dragons won't win this war. It's been seven years—they’re all dead. The King, the Beta, your sister. Just survive. You're my friend. I can't let you go astray. We can find a way to plead with the King. All you have to do is bend the knee, and he’ll forgive you."
Lylah slammed a punch into Isla’s face and grabbed her closer, their faces inches apart.
"Read my lips. I will never bow to any of those devious animals. Instead, I'll be the one to ruin them. Just the thought of you with them makes me so fucking sick. Friends?" Lylah scoffed. "If you really were, you wouldn’t have just disappeared out of thin air."
Isla's jaw clenched. "So staying here is your revenge? You think these people will back you up? Think, Lylah! You have no idea how strong the Moon Realm is, and this war… it’s just getting started. A siege has been made—there’s no escape for any of you. Thousands of wolves, including Lycans, are coming to wipe this place off the map. They’re here for your head too. If you surrender now, they might let you live!”
Lylah seethed. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Thousands of them are coming? And just this round had already cost them so much.
Lylah’s brow furrowed as she caught a strange scent in the air. She looked up toward another small mountain in the distance—and spotted another figure with the same damn weapon.
Isla had been distracting her.
Without wasting a second, Lylah rolled, lifting Isla and exchanging their positions.
The blast fired.
It hit Isla’s neck, severing her head. Blood splattered.