The candlelight danced off the grand golden columns that supported the roof of the throne room of the new ruler of the human continent.
Here, at the very heart of the royal palace, stood Valdegar Lokris.
The ruler of the entire continent.
The ruler of the most beautiful woman he had dreamed of his entire life.
The ruler of absolute power.
A self-satisfied smile played on his lips as he sat on the throne, his elbow resting on the armrest, stroking his chin.
Before him, on the red carpet that led to the throne, stood the chieftain of the Great Horde of Orcs.
And his face was twisted in rage.
—"Lokris!"— he roared, his voice booming through the hall. —"Where are the promised lands?"
Lokris barely moved his head, still smiling.
—"Ah, yes..."— his voice was calm, even thoughtful. —"The lands."
The chieftain slammed his massive fist into his chest.
—"You swore that after the conquest of the continent, the Horde would get its share!"
Lokris smiled even wider.
He slowly rose and took one step down, slightly spreading his arms.
—"But... there was no war."
A deep silence.
The orc's eyes narrowed.
—"What did you say?"
Lokris took another step forward, now openly locking eyes with the orc.
—"There was no war. No uprising. No siege. No battle."
He raised his hands, gesturing to the throne room.
—"The humans fell to my feet on their own. Without resistance. Without blood."
His eyes gleamed mischievously.
—"Which means, the promised lands were never part of the agreement."
The orc gritted his teeth.
He trembled with rage.
His Horde had been waiting for their reward.
They were ready to fight, but instead, they got a promise… which now turned out to be a lie.
—"I will destroy your cities!"— the chieftain roared. —"I will take these lands by force!"
Lokris barely smiled.
—"Try."
He snapped his fingers, and a dozen guards immediately surrounded the orc, pointing spears at him.
Lokris stepped close to him and whispered:
—"I have the army of all the human kingdoms."
He tilted his head.
—"Even the Great Horde will not withstand their wrath."
The tension between them was palpable.
The orc clenched his fists.
His blood boiled.
He knew Lokris had deceived him.
But he couldn't do anything right now.
So he spat on the floor, turned, and walked away.
Lokris smiled even wider.
Another victory.
Another step toward absolute domination.
Meanwhile, in the dark corridors of the palace, far from the throne room, a shadow moved.
Lurk.
He was there.
Watching.
Tracking the movements of the armies, fortifications, and strategic placements, sifting through papers.
But most importantly – he overheard the conversation.
And now he knew the truth.
He was almost out when something else caught his attention.
He froze.
His gaze fixed on the open door of one of the rooms.
And there...
He saw her.
On the bed, chained up, sat a beast-woman.
A wolf.
The last of his tribe.
And she was incredible.
A figure that made men forget everything.
Massive breasts, barely contained in the tight, thin clothing.
A slender waist, creating the perfect contrast to wide hips.
The power of a predator, yet the femininity that struck like a blow.
Lurk froze.
His heart missed a beat.
He hadn't known she would be here.
But he knew he wasn't leaving without her.
He had to take her.
But...
She wasn't alone.
In the same room, beside her...
...sat another woman.
Liànisa Virénia.
The Queen.
Lurk narrowed his eyes.
"So that's how it is..."
He realized that everything was more complicated than he thought.
But there was no time for reflection.
The door creaked open wider in the ominous silence.
Guards entered the room.
Lurk tensed.
One more second—and he had to act.
The darkness of the night slid through the palace corridors, erasing the boundaries between light and shadow.
Lurk stood in the shadows, almost blending into the wall, like a predator ready to pounce.
Before him—the open door.
Behind it—two women.
The beast-woman.
His blood. His kind. The last of his tribe.
Queen Liànisa Virénia.
The woman now a toy for the tyrant.
His plan was simple: kill the guards, free the wolf, and disappear into the night forests.
But Lurk hadn't counted on a second prize.
He had to decide now.
And then the door creaked.
Four guards entered the room—two humans in heavy armor, two mercenaries in dark cloaks.
They threw assessing, possessive glances at the women.
One of them smiled as he looked at the beast-woman.
—"What's this, little slave, already longing for your master?"
Lurk felt something growl in his chest.
The wolf narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
Queen Liànisa didn't move, maintaining her aristocratic grace.
One of the mercenaries stepped forward, extending his hand to touch the wolf.
And it was at that moment that Lurk made his move.
A streak of black lightning shot through the corridor.
Silence.
In the next second, the guards' bodies began to fall.
Slashed wounds.
Broken necks.
No screams.
It all happened quickly.
Too quickly.
The beast-woman didn't stir, but her ears twitched with tension.
Liànisa shifted her gaze.
She saw the man standing over the bodies.
Dark fur.
Sharp wolf's eyes.
Claws, still stained with blood.
The beast-woman met Lurk's gaze.
And he saw that she knew who he was.
—"We're from the same tribe, aren't we?"— she whispered.
Lurk nodded.
He tore through the chains with a single movement.
The beast-woman rose, her body built for speed, for strength, for the predatory dance of battle.
Her breasts swayed as she took a deep breath, savoring the taste of freedom.
But in that moment, Siris spoke.
—"Take her too."
Lurk darkened.
The beast-woman nodded toward Liànisa.
The queen was beautiful.
Her pale, flawless skin shimmered in the torchlight.
Her dress covered nothing—it merely accentuated every curve, every movement of her lavish body.
Breasts that seemed made for seduction.
Graceful shoulders, a long, regal neck.
A slender waist, wide hips that made her look like a living goddess.
She was adorned, exposed, presented like a perfect piece of art.
And Lurk saw fear in her eyes.
Not for herself.
But for her people.
The queen sank to her knees.
She began to beg.
—"Don't take me."
Desperation rang in her voice.
—"If I disappear, Lokris will kill my people."
Lurk remained silent.
He felt a tear inside him.
The beast-woman squeezed his hand.
—"If we leave her, she'll die,"— Siris whispered.
The queen trembled.
Her majestic posture shattered.
Her hands gripped the thin fabric of her dress as if she wanted to hide her shame.
Lurk stepped closer.
The queen lifted her head.
Her eyes were wet.
He spoke softly, calmly:
—"The orcs are gone."
The queen froze.
Her eyes widened.
Her hope fell into the abyss.
Lurk grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into his arms.
Liànisa gasped, but her protest drowned in the silence.
He gave her no choice.
He simply took her.
Siris smiled faintly.
—"Nice move."
Lurk didn't respond.
He moved toward the window.
The third floor.
Below—the forest, the cliff, the darkness.
In the distance—guards' sounds.
He had only one way out.
He looked at Siris.
She understood.
They both felt the rhythm of the wild, felt the earth, the air, the freedom.
Lurk took a step back.
The beast-woman followed him.
Together they jumped.
The fall.
The wind hit their faces.
They flew through the darkness like two shadows escaping from hell.
Lurk had already calculated—fall into the branches, then slide, roll, and run.
Human soldiers would never find them.
The first impact.
The branches broke under their weight, but softened the fall.
The second impact.
A roll across the ground.
Lurk held the queen tightly.
He felt the wolf-woman fall beside them—and immediately rise.
They ran.
Their feet thudded against the earth.
Lurk felt his heart pounding in his chest.
The queen gasped for breath, but didn't scream.
Siris was near, her breathing steady, her movements precise.
Behind them—iron, shouting, the frantic sound of signals.
Ahead—the night forest.
They vanished into the darkness.