Chapter 1

The Lycan King: [Lan Farrow]

Copyright

©All rights reserved. 

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. 

Warning: this book is rated 18+ and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18. 

_

Chapter 1

The dagger whizzed across the training room, embedding itself into the right eye of Lan Farrow. "Bullseye!" A blonde witch hollered, bouncing on her feet.

Loud cheers broke out around the room: "You go, Alexis!" "Nice aim, Lexi!" "What a clean shot!"

Then suddenly a witch sprang up and declared loudly, silencing everyone, "Kill him! Kill the motherfucker! Slit his f*cking throat and make him bleed to death!"

It was just a poster.

After the beat of silence passed, all ten witches in my coven sprang up, yelling out their agreement while shooting their fists into the air. To them, the lycan king deserved no less. To me, I just wanted to go to my room. And prepare for tonight.

"You're up, Willow!" someone called out to me. It was my turn on the sparring mat.

"Come on, Lowe!" "You've got this!" The cheers built to a frenzy until I swallowed and hefted myself up, going to the stand in the middle of the gathering. 

One of the head witches started to approach me. 

When I saw who it was, I felt blood leave my face. Sybil. I couldn't fight her, she was over four centuries old, and what was more; she had her Inherent gift. A unique ability given to a witch by our goddess, Hecate, after she turned immortal. I hadn't gotten mine yet.

The youngest in the coven, I'd just turned immortal a week ago, and my aunts seemed determined to throw me into every combat in order to test my mettle. I mentally recited the defensive spells I was taught growing up, moving as Sybil started to circle me.

Once the glowing green aura of her magic encircled her palms, I frantically called on mine, feeling the white crackle of my powers dance around my fingertips.

Sharply, she aimed a fiery green globe my way, and I barely sidestepped it before she aimed another energy-ball at me, catching me square in the chest. 

Air rushed out of me in a single whoosh, and I found myself flying across the room just as Alexis dagger had.

My back crashed against the wall and the room fell silent. 

Sybil drew level with me, green flames hovering above her palms. The shivering masses shifted into long swords, and she aimed them at me in quick successions. To my shock, they dug into the spaces on either side of my head.

Her grey eyes flashed in anger and she summoned another energy-ball. "Is this how you're going to defend yourself against the lycans?! Is this how you're going to repay them for killing off our kind?!"

Heart racing, I struggled to my feet and shielded myself against another ball by calling on a spell. Once the spell wore off, I rolled on my back to avoid another attack, springing up to splay out my hands. I surprised myself by sending a burning white globe her way. 

She fluidly summersaulted, landing away from it.

Her tone was calm and lethal. "Is that all you've got, Willow? They killed your family, is this how you avenge them?"

Ears ringing, my breathing increased to an angry pant. Although I never knew who my parents were, it didn't hurt any less to be reminded of their loss. With a scream, I summoned my magic, but all that came out was a pitiful white flare. 

"Pathetic." Sybil tsked. "We live in hiding, afraid of the monsters that took our freedom away from us. When the time comes for us to fight them, we'll need actual warriors, not children who have never known the harsh realities of war." 

She turned to go, talking as she went, "I'm sorry, Willow, but you're not fit to be a fighter. It'll be best you don't come for the occasion tonight."

Low chatters arose in the hall. It quietened immediately I rose my hands into the air. 

Something snapped within me and my hands started to burn, a scalding energy building down the length of it. I let it grow until it consumed my arms, and then I aimed, shooting a sharp white streak at Sybil's back.

Surprise pierced through the red haze clouding my senses when she countered it with a spell. Turning, she pinned me with a scathing glare, her grey eyes shifting to a burning green. 

"Never," she gritted, thrusting out an arm. "Attack from behind." Using her Inherent gift of telekinesis, she lifted me into the air, fisting her palms the same time the invisible hold around my neck tightened.

Breaths shortening, I managed a nod, choking out, "Got it."

She released her hold, and I crashed to the floor, desperately sucking air into my lungs. 

She exited the room and I watched the rest file out, until only one remained. Maren. Otherwise the only witch in the world who understood me. She fixed a small smile on her face, her trademark pearl earrings glinting in the noonday sun.

Her tall, graceful physique didn't betray her age; her wizened brown eyes did. Eyes that told of a millennia's worth knowledge. "Today she was a bit too harsh," she said, referring to Sybil.

"No." I shook my head stubbornly. "She means well. She only wants what's best for the coven."

"Well, she isn't going about it the right way."

"The lycans are on our throats, there is no right way. Sybil only wants me to improve. She wants what's best for me."

Maren held my gaze for a discomfiting second. "That's what you want to believe, Willow."

The sound of a creature beating their wings sounded at the doorway. It drew nearer, and I looked up to see it was a black bat. Maren's familiar, Trixie. 

She came to land on Maren's shoulder, black claws digging into her blue sweater. 

Trixie bent level with Maren's ear and stayed like that for a long while, seeming to be talking to her, and Maren, who obviously understood bat-speaks nodded, saying 'uhuh?' 'Yeah' and 'okay' at some intervals. 

When Trixie straightened, Maren cast an apologetic look my way. "Hey, something just came up and I have to go attend to it. Will you... will you be okay?"

Inhaling, I tried not to feel exasperation at the fact the witches in my coven treated me like I was fragile, as if I was weak. How I wanted to tell them I was anything but. "Yeah." I nodded at her. "I'll be fine."

With that, she stood and left the room, Trixie flying close behind.

I picked myself up and exited the training room, trudging down the messy hallway. It'd been like this since last week's party; the narrow length of it littered with soda cans, pizza boxes and half-eaten foods. I pursed my lips on seeing a rat licking at the mouth of a wine bottle. I vaguely wondered whose familiar that was.

On sighting me, the furry rat smiled sloppily, reaching up to give me a drunk salute. Not the weirdest thing I've seen in my twenty years of existence.

I climbed down a flight of stairs and ventured into a wide hall. It was worse off. Most of the creamy cushions were tinted brown or pink by one alcoholic beverage or the other, the feathery materials on them stiff.

The party thrown in my honour had been loud--the hedonistic witches wouldn't have had it any other way--and it elicited at least ten noise complaints from the neighbours.

Sike. We had no neighbours. At least not that they were aware of.

Our large, four-storey coven was perched in one of the remote parts of the boisterous city of Chicago, just a few miles away from Gornagon, the royal seat of the lycans. We were, give or take, hiding in plain sight, not that our house could be seen with the plain eyes.

The sweeping mansion was concealed with a glamour that made it invisible to humans, and pliable for them whenever they wanted to pass through the large, empty space that was otherwise our coven. Only biggie? We had to go stiffly quiet whenever they passed through.

Either that or weave a soundproofing spell around the house, and those were hard to make.

A cat hissed at me as I took another flight of stairs. Dodging an incoming bat, I continued onwards until I met a frantic Isobel, another one of my caste witches. She rushed towards me, her forehead creased with worry. "Hey, Lowe. You seen my rat familiar? He le--"

The blaring sound of a speaker tuning in pierced through the air. Ears ringing, I pointed out the doorway. "I'd seen him near the training room. He's a drinker, that one." 

An exasperated look crossed her face and she muttered, "I'd told him to lay off the bottle for a while."

Then she sighed in relief, rushing down. On her way, she stopped to deliver a quick peck on my cheeks. "Thank you, Lowe. I hope you get chosen tonight." And she was gone.

Now I knew she lied. No one in their right senses would want a mission that important entrusted into my hands, not even myself.