Chapter 45 The Last Lycan
I turned to face her this time. I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt so relieved and peaceful in her presence. ’I guess all mothers carry that warmth.’
"Don’t the other creatures want to occupy the land?"
"Of course they want to, but because of the Lycan heading over the werewolf packs, they were unable to snatch the land."
"Lycan? What is so special about them?" My brows furrowed in confusion, as I couldn’t tell exactly why the Lycans were more special.
"Everything." She leaned closer to me, her eyes widened as her expression turned serious.
"Okay," I drawled, still unable to understand what she meant.
"The Lycans are the first werewolves formed by the goddess’ curse. They are known as the royalty of the werewolves. They tend to live longer than werewolves, and their strength is unfathomable. Their speed and force are thrice that of the normal werewolves. The Lycans are immune to magical spells, making them reverend among all creatures. However, they are very rare—the last war wiped out the few Lycans that were remaining." Her tone turned sad, her fingers tightly clenched over the brush in her hand.
"If the Lycans are gone, why are the werewolves still occupying the land?"
"Because one survived." A sad smile tugged on her lips.
"And why haven’t I heard about him?"
She scoffed at me, her look turning to one of disbelief. "It’s not your fault for not knowing, as many werewolves do not speak much of it—because we are ordered not to. But he is none other than Alpha Damon. He is a Lycan, the last of his kind."