Page 55 of His Found Lycan Luna

I bite my tongue and swallow, feeling guilty. “I made a mistake. Iblamed you because you were there to blame, not because you did anything wrong. I see that now,” I tell her.

“I get why you hate me, Kyson; I am the by-product, the spinoff version of my mother…”

“You are not your mother,” I tell her, cutting her words off. That much, I am sure of. Ivy laughs, and I furrow my brows.

“My mother was a monster. Therefore, I am.”

“No, you were just her last victim, only you survived to live with what she took from you,” I tell her. She falls quiet. I mean what I’m saying and only wish she could see that.

“You have your freedom with me, Ivy,” I tell her.

“No, you give the illusion of freedom, Kyson. You give false promises, you built me up, only to then show me how beneath you I truly am.”

“No, Ivy, that is not what I am doing, just open the door, please,” I beg, a note of desperation in my voice.

“I should have died on that podium; at least it would have been quick and final. Instead, you showed me the glimpse of what living could be, teasing me with a hope I’d have rather not known. I’d rather have died without ever longing for something I’d never truly have.”

“And what is that, Ivy?” I dare to ask.

“Happiness. You let me taste it, let me put all of mine into you, only to show me how easily you could take it away.”

“That was never my intention, I was blinded by my anger, Ivy. I don’t want to take your freedom,” I tell her, pressing my forehead against the door.

“Prove it,” she murmurs. I sigh, wanting her to come out, to stop ignoring me because it is driving me insane. It takes every fiber of my being to ignore my own instincts to drag her out, kicking and screaming and force her to submit to the bond.

I sit back down and let her be; instead, picking up the book and continuing to read to her. She falls quiet, and after a few chapters, Ihear the door unlock, making me stare at it before the handle twists. Her scent wafts to me as the door cracks open. Before I can muffle it, the calling slips out, my purr resounding yet not forcing her, leaving her choice, just enough to coax her out if she chooses. Letting her know I mean no harm, so I let it be instead of stifling the sound. I hear her bones cracking from lying on the hard ground and feel the ache to go to the comfy bed.

Glancing up at her, I see she has an armful of my clothes, her werewolf side reappearing stronger no matter how much she fights against it. At least she has changed out of the wet clothes and is now wearing one of my shirts. The bond is reforging and solidifying despite her attempts to ignore it.

“You can take them to the bed, or you could let me sleep next to you,” I tell her, and she walks part way to the bed before stopping and glancing between the bed and me like she is fighting against what she knows she needs and wants. Her urges are all over the place. I remain still as much as it kills me to do so.

“You won’t use the calling on me, I mean no more than you are now?” she asks, and I can feel her uncertainty. I wouldn’t tell her this, but I also know she hates the calling as much as she likes it. Mostly because she doesn’t understand it. Sure, she sees the barbaric side of it, but doesn’t realize that more often than not, I can’t even control it myself. It’s a natural instinct to soothe your mate when they’re distressed. The bond forces it, drawing off her energy. Sure, there are plenty of ways to abuse it but at base, it’s instinctual.

“No, but I can’t help it sometimes. It reacts to your emotions,” I tell her. Ivy chews her lip and nods once before moving toward the bed again. She climbs in, dragging my pile of clothes with her to burrow down in. I sigh before turning the next page, expecting to sleep on the couch when she speaks.

“You can sleep in the bed,” she says, and my eyes flit to hers. I can sense her heart rate picking up. My skin ripples as I stand, feeling a surge of excitement that she’s finally letting me closeto her. Grabbing the book, I crawl in beside her and reopen it, ready to keep reading. Ivy moves closer, her claws scraping down my ribs as she wiggles closer, to see the tiny pictures in the corners of the pages. Fighting the urge to drag her on top of me, I continue reading, content enough with her beside me.

Chapter Forty-One

Iawake to whispers reaching my ears. Groggily rolling over, I look toward Kyson who is standing by the door. Beta Damian’s scent wafts to me, so I know he must be in the room. Stretching, my back cracks as I yawn. That was the best sleep I had had in days, waking up and feeling rested. Sitting up, I notice the king has the jewelry box in his hands, and I tilt my head better to listen to what they are speaking about.

“Find me anything on Azalea, everything you can find,” Kyson says to Damian, his tone urgent and serious. I pinch my brows together, wondering what he wants with a child who has been long dead. My stomach drops, wondering what he’s trying to dig up.

Is he looking for more reasons to hate me?

“Something isn’t right, and she…” Kyson shakes his head. “Something doesn’t add up,” he tells Beta Damian, glancing over his shoulder at me. Beta Damian takes the box from him.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Damian tells him, and the king nods before shutting the door. He turns to face me before wandering over to the coffee table and retrieving a tray of food and placing it on mylap. I stare down at the steak and salad before he grabs his own tray and comes to sit by me.

“What was that about?” I ask casually as he takes his seat.

“I need him to look into something, eat your lunch,” he says before cutting into his steak. His steak is bleeding while mine looks a bit more well done. My mouth salivates hungrily, my belly rumbling. Though I am a little shocked to learn, it is already the middle of the day. I cut into my steak and pop a piece into my mouth. The hunger instantly dies down, no longer wanting to eat as I force myself to chew and swallow. The king watches me curiously as I try not to be rude and spit the meat out onto the plate. Forcing it down is like trying to swallow an apple whole as it lodges in my throat.

“Can I call Abbie?” I ask him, and he nods.

“After you eat,” he says, inclining his head toward the plate. I scrunch my nose up at it. Ever since finding out he is my mate, I swear my taste buds have changed. Stuff I usually like no longer holds any appeal to me. Everythingfeelsdifferent, yet I still haven’t shifted. It makes me wonder if all these changes were really for the better.

“I’m not hungry,” I say, placing the plate on the bedside table, and I move to get up. Kyson growls in response, cutting a piece off his own steak before offering the fork to me, holding it to my lips. The same thing happens; my mouth waters instantly, making me wonder why his food smells different. It is hardly cooked, if you could call it cooked at all, more like seared on either side and practically raw. Yet I open my mouth and almost moan at the taste, my appetite coming back despite tasting the blood filling my mouth as I chew.How odd,I think. I hadneverenjoyed raw meat in the past.

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