The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 426: Help

ADAM

It had been four days since I last saw my mate.

Four days since Sage’s presence had filled my senses—her scent, her warmth, her sharp, stubborn energy that always felt like a storm wrapped in silk.

Four days of restraint that felt like torture.

Every hour stretched thin. Every night carved another layer of impatience into my bones. I missed her.

Not in the casual, distant way people missed acquaintances—but in the raw, animal way a bonded soul ached when the other was out of reach.

I wanted her near. Wanted to see her breathing. Wanted to touch her and confirm she was alive, whole, still here.

And the thought that she was trapped—hurt—bleeding somewhere inside the queen’s walls made my chest burn.

Every instinct in me screamed to storm the palace. To tear through gates. To break through guards. To carve my way to her if I had to.

I could already picture it. I would burn the castle to the ground if that was what it took.

But Darius had stopped me. Again. And again.

For every time, he had stood in my path like an immovable wall, reminding me to trust Sage. To trust her strength. To trust her mind. To trust that she knew what she was doing.

And I did trust her.

But trust didn’t stop the bond from screaming when she hurt.

Trust didn’t quiet the ache when I felt flickers of her pain through our connection.

Trust didn’t make it easier to sit still while my mate remained a captive.

It felt unnatural. Wrong.

I wasn’t idle, at least.

War had consumed the last four days.

Every night brought another wave of vampires. They came in clusters. Calculated. Coordinated. Relentless.

Pack borders burned with conflict. Colonies sent distress calls daily. If not for the ancients, I didn’t want to imagine what our losses would have looked like.

They were fast. Too fast. Efficient. Cold. Deadly. Some of them wore abstenum rings, like Darius. That allowed them to operate in daylight—moving between strategy meetings and battlefields without the exhaustion that normally followed our own kind.

I had ordered their resting areas relocated closer to the abstenum region, following my father’s guidance, so that they could rejuvenate well.

Even without actively using the mineral, the land itself seemed to breathe new strength into the ancients. Their power felt sharper. Heavier. More... alive.

My father... He’d been surprisingly cooperative lately. Almost eager to help.

And vampires kept coming. Each night, their numbers increased.

Ten to fifteen ancients were dispatched daily to assist other colonies. So far, none had fallen.

Casualties on our side were lower than expected. Still painful though. Still too many. But survivable. Without the ancients, this war would already have been a massacre.

I was grateful. I truly was. But gratitude didn’t change one thing. I wanted my mate back.

And everyone in this council room knew it. Everyone knew Sage was the key.

We sat in a wide strategy circle, tension coiled tight in the air. Maps spread across the table.

My father broke the silence, voice edged with concern. "Where do they keep coming from?"

He frowned. "According to the old texts, vampires despise each other. They don’t unite. They avoid unity."

"Yet here they are," Daniel muttered. "Working together."

Feliq leaned forward slightly, hands clasped. "Abstenum," he said simply. "It unifies them. Amplifies them. Gives them incentive."

That answer didn’t sit well with me.

Xanth scoffed, folding her arms. "Then why don’t we strike them at their hideout? In daylight. Hit them where they gather."

Her eyes gleamed with battle-hunger. "We have abstenum," she pressed. "Use it."

Feliq shook his head. "The mineral is still raw. It needs processing. That takes time."

A slow exhale followed. "And only a few of us have rings."

Daniel clicked his tongue in frustration. "So what we really need... is Sage."

His gaze flicked briefly toward me.

"She’s part ancient," he continued. "A mage. Adding her to this war would shift everything."

Diana nodded vigorously. "She would change the battlefield."

I clenched my jaw. They were right. And that made it worse. Because she should have been here.

Laura wasn’t present, yet. The last time we spoke, she’d mentioned Sage’s continued absence. Mentioned the queen calling another meeting today, one that involved other communities.

I leaned forward. "What about that meeting?" I asked quietly. "Shouldn’t we interrupt it?"

Silence followed.

Peter exhaled slowly.

"No," he said at last. "Our only chance," he went on, "is Sage."

His voice softened. "She’s the only one the people will believe. The only one who can remind them who she really is."

And once again, I found myself waiting on faith.

Then the bond tugged suddenly.

My head snapped up. Air stalled in my lungs. Her presence flared in my mind like a spark.

Adam...

My eyes widened slightly as her voice slid into my head.

How many days has it been since we last saw each other?

My throat tightened.

"Four to five days," I answered mentally.

I felt Darius glance toward me.

Of course he’d noticed. He shared a link with her too.

I fed her a quick summary of everything—battle reports, vampire attacks, ancients’ involvement, the tension surrounding the queen’s meeting.

Then I asked the question burning through me. What’s happening where you are?

There was a pause. A heartbeat too long.

Everything is working out fine, she replied.

The words felt... off.

Stay on standby, she added. In case I need help later.

Then the connection cut abruptly.

I stared ahead, brows furrowing. Something about it unsettled me. Pain flickered through the bond—faint, suppressed, but not absent.

I exhaled sharply.

"She says things are under control," I told the room.

Darius’s gaze lingered on me, thoughtful. "She’s buying time," he murmured quietly, mostly to himself. "I believe she knows what she is doing... let’s trust her..."

That didn’t ease my mind at all. I raked a hand through my hair, frustration simmering beneath my skin.

Trust Sage. Trust her strength. Trust her plan.

I repeated it like a mantra.