Transmigrated: The Lycan King's Pet
Chapter 46 Called

Chapter 46: Chapter 46 Called

The room went silent. I could hear the slow, steady dripping of water from the tub behind me.

"What... what are you saying?" I whispered, my voice unsure.

She placed the bowl gently on the small wooden table. "I was assigned to come help you prepare for the meeting."

I swallowed hard. My eyes drifted to the fading steam in the air, the wet floor, the soft glow of the candle. It all felt real. I wasn’t dreaming. And yet...

’If that wasn’t her... then who brushed my hair? Who told me about the Lycans?’

A sharp sting pulsed in my shoulder again, right where the woman had touched me earlier. I winced and instinctively pressed my palm to it. The pain hadn’t faded. If anything, it had worsened—like something had been etched into my skin. I didn’t dare check it in front of anyone. I pulled my shawl tighter around me.

"You’re pale," the woman noted, stepping closer. "Are you alright?"

I nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just... the bath was warm. Got a little dizzy."

She looked unsure but didn’t question me further. "The Alpha’s orders were clear. You’re to be escorted soon."

Of course. Damon.

My heartbeat kicked up. I didn’t know what I was expecting after yesterday. He’d left me alone, and accused me of manipulating him. ’That dumbass.’

And now that I knew what he was...

’A Lycan. The last of his kind.’

That knowledge sat heavy in my chest. It explained a lot. His strength, his dominance, the way his aura swallowed the air around him. But it also terrified me. Lycans were supposed to be extinct. They were more than just werewolves. They were monsters born from divinity and rage.

And I... I was stuck in his den.

I clenched my fists quietly. My arm still throbbed. It wasn’t healing like it should. There were bruises on my leg too, the result of when I’d tripped last night.

’I’m not special like in most stories. I’m just a broken girl with a messed-up fate.’

I gave a faint smile as the woman motioned toward the tent entrance. "You’ll be meeting a few of the pack’s elders, I think you have to discuss the flood situation. Now that you are dressed up, we can leave now."

I nodded and followed her quietly. But as we stepped out into the open, I expected to be greeted by a crowd of werewolves waiting for me. I expected noise, murmurs, however all I could see was the empty space and the bonfire flickering in the distance.

Weren’t the werewolves waiting to see me? Where have they all gone?’

I paused, my brows furrowed into a frown. The woman who walked ahead of me didn’t seem surprised. She simply turned slightly and gestured for me to follow her toward the center of the pack grounds, where a wooden meeting hall stood tall and shadowed under the early morning sky.

I frowned. "I... thought the werewolves were waiting."

She glanced back with a knowing smile. "Really? Why would they?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My legs moved on their own, crunching softly against the gravel beneath my bare feet. I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more, she being different or the noise of the people who were never there.

The realization felt like a cold breath brushing against my skin.

We reached the doors of the meeting hall. Two guards opened them wordlessly, their faces blank like carved stone.

Inside, the room was dimly lit. The scent of old wood and burning herbs clung to the air. The elders sat in a wide arc, each wearing a different shade of grey, brown, or black.

And at the far end of the hall... Damon sat on a raised wooden chair.

His eyes were on me the second I walked in. That usual unreadable expression carved into his face. But today, it was colder. His jaw was tense, his hand drumming lightly against the carved armrest.

I stopped just before the circle of elders. My eyes didn’t leave his.

"You’re late," one of the elders said sharply.

’Really? I literally woke up hours ago and you claim I’m late?’

"I wasn’t informed of the time," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

"She’s right," the woman who escorted me said gently. "There was no time given."

The elder scoffed but said no more.

Damon didn’t speak. He simply leaned forward, the light casting shadows under his eyes. "Come closer."

My feet moved before I could argue. Each step toward him felt heavier. My shoulder still burned faintly, but I kept my expression calm.

I stopped a few paces away from his seat.

One of the elders cleared his throat. "The method you led us through yesterday... it held well, better than expected."

Another nodded. "But the rain came too hard during the night. The southern wall couldn’t handle the pressure. Part of it collapsed."

I lowered my eyes slightly. I remembered the moment it started raining—the way we scrambled to keep the wall up, the panic in everyone’s voices. "How bad is it?"

"Not disastrous," the elder replied, "thanks to your design. Most of the village was protected. But if another storm comes, we won’t be so lucky."

A third elder leaned forward. "We’ve seen your instincts. That dam held better than anything we’ve tried before. We’d like to hear what you think we should do next."

Damon stayed silent, his eyes trained on me.

I felt the weight of their attention settle over me like a cloak. These were the same people who didn’t trust me days ago. Now they were looking to me for answers.

I took a breath and spoke. "We’ll need to reinforce the weak side first. Use larger logs this time and bind them tighter with vines and mud. Stack the stones at the base like we did yesterday—it helped with the pressure."

They listened intently.

"Also," I added, "dig two trenches leading away from the south wall. That way, if water starts to gather again, it’ll have somewhere to go. It won’t pool around the dam and break it again."

One of the elders glanced at another. "She’s right."

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