Page 41 of His Found Lycan Luna

Not once does she stir as I clean her, her mark still weeping with blood as it tries to heal. It isn’t until Damian clears his throat from the bathroom doorway, his back turned slightly, that I realize I am licking her. I shake my head, not remembering when I gave myself over to instinct. Her neck and face are completely clean, and I glare at the ceiling. A growl slips from me at Damian’s following words.

“Does she taste good, My King?” he taunts.

“Are you trying to irritate me on purpose? I didn’t fucking realize I was doing it until you made a noise,” I snap back.

“Instinct shouldn’t be ignored,” Damian says simply. That’s easy for him to say. He hasn’t found his mate, and his mate probably isn’t a traitor. “Clothes are on the bed, towels by the sink,” he says, sauntering out.

I glance at the sink basin and shake my head before reluctantly climbing out and bringing Ivy with me. What a mission it is trying to dry her and me when she has no movement.

Giving up on trying to dress her after pulling one of my shirts over her head, I lay her on the bed, tugging the blankets up over her before pulling on the shorts Damian brought in for me. Movingback to the bathroom, I examine my face. Her claw marks are deep, especially across my cheek and temple. I prod it, and it starts bleeding, so I grab a hand towel, pressing it against it as I walk back out of the bathroom. Grabbing her hand, I examine her fingers.

I wonder how she managed to claw me up so badly. Werewolf claws could do some damage, but it’s like I was slashed with a knife. The only damage that causes this sort of destruction to a Lycan is usually caused by another Lycan’s claws.

Placing her hand down, I move toward my old bar, searching for liquor. Finding none, I call for Dustin to retrieve it for me, along with a set of handcuffs, before settling on the couch by the fire. I turn my chair so I can see her while I wait for him.

A few hours later, whiskey in hand, I watch her. The dimly lit room casts shadows on her face as she sleeps across the room from me, her eyes closed. Her hair cascades over her shoulders in waves, the moonlight catching hints of blue. Ivy’s hair is that black; it gives off strange hues under the lighting.

The air is filled with the rich aroma of whiskey, its spicy notes mingling with the smoky scent of the fire. Underneath it all, her sweet honey nectar scent invades every inch of the room, sending my senses wild. Her scent is intoxicating to me.

As I take a sip of the whiskey, the smooth liquid burns down my throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake. Its flavors dance on my tongue, hints of caramel and oak, but it does nothing to stop the ache in me to go to her, to bundle her up in my arms and devour her essence. I feel out of control and it’s all because of her. She will send me insane with love or hate. They seem to blur into one these days. I can’t stand to be near her, yet it pains me to be away.

For some reason, I can’t shake the image of her eyes glowing with an unearthly light, or the surprising strength she displayed asshe struggled against me. It was clear she was angry, and it took nearly all my strength to subdue her.

What really bothers me is how she resisted my command in her anger. The calling overwhelmed her, but my command, she fought. It puzzles me. In those moments, Ivy had a strength that seemed beyond what a werewolf should possess. She fought my command but couldn’t withstand the calling. I keep telling myself it’s because she’s my mate, yet something nags at me as I ponder. There must be more to it.

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon when I finally climb into bed next to her. She stirs and rolls into me. I growl at her touch, her small hands pressing into my side, seeking me out, but then I notice she’s still unconscious, just reacting to the bond. Reaching over to the bedside table, I grab the handcuffs I placed there earlier and clamp one around her wrist, securing it to the headboard.

I can’t risk her waking before me and trying to run again. Now that my mark is etched into her skin, there’s no place she can hide from me. She’ll learn that her place is with me, and whatever I choose to do with her rests solely with me. She has no choice in the matter. So until she learns that, I’ll make the choices for both of us. Settling back beside her, I rest my head on the pillow and close my eyes.

Sleep takes me almost instantly with her by my side. I haven’t slept completely since I forced her out of the castle, but now, with her snuggled into me and her scent enveloping me, I plunge into oblivion.

Chapter Thirty-One

My sense of time slips away, and it is only when Kade shakes my shoulder that I snap back to reality, startled by his touch. “We have arrived, my love,” he murmurs, and I blink, disoriented.

Already? I cast my gaze about, taking in the late hour and the unfamiliar surroundings. This is not the grand packhouse Kade described to me; there are no sprawling gardens, no elegant fountains, no tall hedges. Instead, my eyes land on a dilapidated cabin, nestled in isolation, surrounded by an imposing forest. I thought he was supposed to be Alpha of some great pack.

Confusion fills me as I inquire, “Where are we?” The desolation of this place is palpable.

“It’s a safe house,” Kade explains, his voice tinged with concern. “We have been experiencing troubles with neighboring packs. We cannot risk alerting them to your presence. It would put you in grave danger.” I furrow my brows, about to voice my worries when he steps out of the car without another word. The wind bites at his figure as he circles around to open my door. I step out, rubbing my arms for warmth before retrieving my bag.

“How long will we be staying here?” I inquire, my eyes tracing the tiny porch with its uneven slope and the door that bears the signs of weathered neglect—a gaping crack and a missing chunk from the bottom corner.

“You will remain here until we can resolve the conflict with the other pack,” he replies, fumbling with his keys.

“But...you won’t be staying with me?” I question, glancing apprehensively into the shadows cast by the looming trees.

“No,” he responds gently, his eyes filled with regret. “I must return home to maintain appearances. If I do not, they may grow suspicious and come searching for me. It would not be safe for you.” The weight of his words settles upon me as a deep pit grows in my stomach.

“But is this place truly safe?” I ask, seeking reassurances. It sure doesn’t look safe. He nods, his expression solemn.

“For the time being, it is,” he assures me. “I will stay for a while longer to ensure your comfort. My men have stocked everything you may need. Come, let me show you inside.” Urging me to follow him, he unlocks the stubborn door with a few firm kicks, its swollen frame revealing the damage inflicted by water. As I step inside, the disarray of the cabin assaults my senses, litter strewn about like remnants of forgotten lives, reminiscent of abandoned buildings I encountered near the orphanage.

Within the confines of this forsaken dwelling, a double bed—or perhaps a worn futon—occupies the space, its mattress heavily stained. Kade flicks on the lights, their feeble glow flickering as he moves toward the minuscule kitchen, so cramped I could easily stretch my leg from the bed to touch the counter. He returns with a box of matches, placing them in my hands.

“I must depart now, but I shall return tomorrow,” he informs me. “Firewood can be found at the back; you may need to chop some for yourself. Fresh bed linens are over there, and there is food in the pantryand fridge.”

“Wait,” I plead desperately. “Can you help me start the fire? I’ve always been dreadful at it. Either Gannon, Liam, Dustin, or sometimes Damian would always take care of it back in my little room at home.”

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