Page 48 of His Found Lycan Luna

“Ivy?” I whisper, and she looks up at me.

Ivy’s eyes are bloodshot from crying, the whites now a deep shade of red. Tears stream down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the dirt and grime on her face. Her skin is sunburned and blistered, her hands coated in dried blood. As she cries, her whole body shakes, and her face contorts with grief.

However, it is her following words that make me realize something is wrong, I should have paid attention to the bond instead of my red-hot anger.

“She killed them. I loved her, and she killed them. How could she love me and kill them?” Ivy cries, staring at the graves before peering back at me. The scent of sweat and dirt mingles with the metallic tang of blood in the air. The smell of tears and anguish is also present, making the air heavy and suffocating. I swallow down the emotion that tries to choke me upon seeing her frantically scrub the skin off her fingers as she tries to clean the tombstones.

Clarice’s words echo in my head. She is not her mother. Clarice is right. Her mother never shed tears over the lives she took. Ivy is not that sort of monster and the guilt on her face is proof of that. I don’t know how to help her; looking at her like this, I can see the errors I made. Ivy is as much a victim as the rest of them, only she is a living one. She has to live with her mother’s sins.

Kneeling down beside her, I grab her hands, dropping the scrubbing brush “You’re not her,” I whisper, string into her cerulean blue eyes.

“I am, I am. She made me; can’t you see?” Tears burn my eyes atseeing her so distraught as she holds her hands out to me like she can see their blood staining her.

“No, you aren’t,” I try to tell her, but she doesn’t listen, rambling about having to take it back, that she needs to clean them, they need to be clean.

I look to Damian wanting to know what to do. He moves toward her before dropping beside her.

“My Queen, you need to come inside. It’s not safe out here,” Damian urges her, he tries to grab her arm, but she growls at him and he puts his hands up.

“Please My Queen,” he murmurs, trying to get her to go with him, but she doesn’t move, intent on cleaning the other fifty or so graves in this row.

“Get me rag,” I tell one of the guards.

“Sorry, My King?” Dustin answers my request, and I look at him.

“I said get me rag,” I tell him, taking the scrubbing brush from her fingers again and she reaches for it, her lips twisting into a snarl. I grip her wrist.

“Stop, I will clean it, but you need to stop,” I whisper before sitting in front of the grave. I drag her closer, pulling her between my legs and grabbing the scrubbing brush that is almost down to the wood that holds it together.

Ivy has worn the bristles down from scrubbing and she tries to take it from me again, and I growl at her before locking my legs around her and using the calling to calm her. Though the moment I do she lashes out, hitting and clawing at me. I grunt as her hand comes in contact with my face, a furious growl leaves me, and Damian jumps to his feet when I pin her to the ground beneath me. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and her eyes are glassy. She bucks beneath me, and I sigh heavily resting my head on her shoulder waiting for her to tire herself out beneath me.

“I will clean it, stop or I will force you inside,” I warn her, and she stops thrashing. She breaks down beneath me, struggling to breathe through her gasping sobs. Seeing her like this breaks my heart,crushes the air from my lungs, and I pull back worried my weight on her will make her pass out as she has a panic attack. I sit up, pulling her into my lap and wrapping her legs around my waist to keep her off the hard ground before gripping her face in my hands.

“Breathe, Ivy,” I urge, not wanting to use the calling on her, but if she doesn’t breathe soon, she’ll give me no choice. “Breathe, I’ll clean them, but I need you to breathe,” I tell her, kissing her mouth. I pick up the scrubbing brush, letting my calling slip over her. I almost shatter and break down with her when I feel her press closer and take a gasping breath.

“Good girl,” I whisper, and she turns, watching me. She relaxes seeing me start scrubbing the tombstone. All the guards have left us. “Take my shirt off,” I tell her, but she is so out of it, she is barely able to follow instructions, and I don’t want to hurt by commanding her. I drop the brush, and she reaches for it, but I grip her hands in one of mine. Using my other hand, I undo the buttons. She watches me, lulled by my calling as I remove it before draping it over. Letting her wrists go, I pull her arm through the sleeves before picking up the scrubbing brush.

A few minutes later, my guard returns with more buckets and scrubbing brushes. Dustin hands me a fresh scrubbing brush, taking his bucket to another grave when some of the kitchen staff also come out with Clarice, cleaning buckets in hand, and I grip Ivy’s chin, forcing her to look at me.

“See, they will be cleaned,” I tell her, pecking her lips, that are just as blistered as her skin. I turn her face so she can see all the guards and workers that have come to help.

“They aren’t here for me, they’re here for their queen,” I whisper to her.

“Where I should have been,” I tell her, grabbing a fresh brush. It takes an hour for us to finish them but not one of my staff or guards stop until we have cleaned every single one of them.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ivy continues trying to help, but each time I just tuck her closer until, eventually, she gives up. Instead, she presses against my chest, listening to my calling for her and only moving when I pick her up and move to the next gravestone. No one leaves until the last grave is cleaned. Only then does Ivy let me scoop her up in my arms and head back to the castle.

Climbing up the small hill, Clarice catches up to me. “I will make her something to eat,” Clarice whispers as we walk up the hill through the graveyard. I nod to her and listen to Ivy hum the song that seems to comfort her. Over the last few days, I have heard her singing it or humming. She knows it word for word; she never gets a word wrong. The Kingdom’s Anthem. I place her in her bedroom, telling Dustin to keep watch over her as I head across the castle to my old quarters.

I enter the room meant for the Princess Azalea. My sister worked so hard to set it up in the hopes we would find the missing girl. But we never did. She, like my sister and so many others, haslong been dead.

Moving to the dresser, I pick up the silver jewelry box and open it. Removing the bracelet inside, I set it on the dresser before taking the small box back to the room, winding it up so Ivy can hear the song being played. Her song, the one she knows by heart. I wonder, briefly, if they used to play this to her at the orphanage.

When I come into the room, I see her sitting huddled by the fire, shivering despite her skin being burned. I sit behind her, pulling her against me, placing the box in her hands, and opening the lid. The music starts, and she gazes up at me, her brows furrowing before recognizing the tempo matched the song she sang.

“Where did you get this?” she asks, peering inside the box.

---