Page 62 of His Found Lycan Luna

I tug her to me, pulling her onto my lap rolled in her blanket. She whimpers, and her entire body shudders for a few moments before relaxing while I rub her back. Suddenly, Ivy lurches forward in my arms, tripping as she tangles in the blanket. She gets to her feet racing for the bathroom to throw up once again.

Chapter Forty-Six

Iscramble to my feet, following Ivy into the bathroom. Her skin feels clammy as she ambles to the sink basin to rinse and brush her teeth. Leaning on the door frame, I watch her wet her face before wetting the back of her neck. She stops beside me when she goes to leave, and I step aside, letting her pass. By the time she gets back to the bed in front of the fireplace, her teeth are chattering once more. Goosebumps cover every inch of flesh as she huddles beneath the blanket.

As she rests, I can see her mind churning. I can feel it, feel her confusion yet also curiosity and fear of knowing the truth. Her pain writhes through the bond, the cramping, nausea. Seeing her struggle selfishly makes me glad I don’t have to experience it myself again. It’s just the initial shift, the body preparing itself. A Lycan’s first shift always sticks with you; it is excruciating. Hers will be worse by my sabotaging of the bond.

“It makes no sense,” she murmurs, barely audible even to my ears. I roll on my side, peeling the blanket back. She is bundled up like a Lycan burrito.

“What doesn’t?” I ask her.

“If it were true, why would she take me? Why not kill me?”

“Unfortunately, not everything makes sense, Ivy, and I don’t think I want to make sense of that woman’s mind; if it made sense, we would be like her if we shared her mindset,” I answer.

Ivy sighs, and her big cerulean blue eyes peer up at me. “And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not. I was the first time; I am sure this time, Ivy.”

“But if you are?”

“Then nothing, you’re still my mate, and you are not your mother,” I tell her. She snuggles down in the blanket, only her nose up peeking out from the blanket.

“My body heat will help regulate your temperature. The bond calls for it now. It recognizes me, Ivy. Don’t suffer just because I was a prick. You have me and the bond; use it. I won’t force you to do anything unless you ask me to,” I tell her.

“Why would I ask you to?” she says, like I am absurd.

“The calling, Ivy. I know you don’t like me using it, but there is a reason male Lycans are gifted with it.”

“Yeah, to rape women,” she says with a roll of her eyes. She is half correct. It is barbaric when viewed from that perspective, it gets a bad rap because of that.

“I would never rape you. Do you think that little of me?”

“I don’t think much of you when you use it to get what you want,” she says, and I sigh.

“It’s not used just for getting you to submit. It helps calm the bond. Calm your bond to me, Ivy. Yes, it can be used in a sense as an aphrodisiac or to calm you, which is my only intention to calm our bond, and to forge it as you go through this change,” I tell her.

She clicks her tongue, and her eyes flit away as she shudders and her teeth clatter.

“If you mark me, you would be able to feel me better. Once the bond is forged for Lycans, we can even get a sense of each other’s thoughts. It goes beyond just feeling each other’s emotions.”

“How so?” she asks.

“I can tell when you’re hurt, like your hand. For example, mine hurt, too. I can feel your curiosity to know if I am right about you being Azalea. Your apprehension at also knowing, I can tell I scare you,” I admit before swallowing.

“But I haven’t marked you?”

“No, but I have marked you. Once you mark me, there is nothing you would be able to hide from me, Ivy. I will feel and sense everything when it comes to you, but that goes both ways. You will also feel everything I feel.”

If she doesn’t mark me, she’ll certainly be in for a long night. However, I doubt my ability to convince her. “Marking me will strengthen you,” I tell her in a last-ditch effort.

“I don’t want strength, Kyson; I am sick of being strong. Sick of biting my tongue, sick of answering to someone, sick of the mold everyone puts me in. I’m tired. Strength? Strength isn’t physical; it’s enduring. Enduring everything when all you want to do is nothing but crumble and let it go; it becomes too heavy. Abbie and I were each other’s strength, each fighting to hold on for the other; I don’t need strength, Kyson. I need peace,” she says with an exasperated sigh.

“More than my life?” I whisper to her, and she nods. I’ve always been curious about what it means to them.

“Yes, nothing means I love you more than my heart is still beating for you; we stopped living for ourselves. Instead, we lived for each other. You go, I go, so you keep fighting because you can’t bear the thought of leaving the other behind,” Ivy answers.

“Like a pact?”

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