Page 23 of His Loved Lycan Luna

“What have I done this time? What did the king order you to do to me?” she asks, her lips quivering.

Liam chuckles, finding an apron hanging by the stove and putting it on before flicking the kettle on. “The children will be up any minute; I have to start making their breakfast soon,” she claims. Liam snorts.

“You, you can’t even reach the counter. What use would you be in a kitchen?” Liam asks her, and her eyes prick with tears.

“Regardless, today will mark the end of your suffering. Answer truthfully, and I will make it swift. Fail to do so,” Liam interrupts, swiftly plunging a knife into her hand, his other hand clamping over her mouth as she gasps in horror.

“Understand?” I inquire, folding my arms across my chest, my glare fixed on her. She wheezes, her withered face turning crimson as she stares at her hand, the knife protruding through her flesh and impaling the wooden armrest.

“Oh, right. Almost forgot,” Liam remarks, yanking the blade free.

“Ah-ah! No need for that. You’re a big girl.” Liam admonishes her as she opens her mouth to scream, wielding the knife before her face. He proceeds to wipe it clean on the apron tied around his waist. “I should get myself one of these,” he muses, admiring the floral pattern.

“Do you have one with skulls instead of flowers? Not that I’m complaining, though,” he adds cheekily.

Mrs. Daley shakes her head, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks as her mouth hangs agape. She bears an uncanny resemblance to those carnival clowns with gaping mouths waiting to catch balls.

“Never mind then; this one suits me just fine,” Liam taunts, wiggling his jean-clad behind in front of the frail woman. “Does itmake my ass look big?” he jests, prompting me to shake my head, attempting to stifle my laughter as he parades around the kitchen. She shakes her head in response.

“Well, that was a lie, wasn’t it? No matter; I’ll let it slide. One lump of sugar or two?” he asks, receiving only wide-eyed silence in return.

“You strike me as someone who prefers two. Let’s make it three; you seem like a bitter old bitch,” he remarks, turning back to prepare the coffee.

Once Liam finishes brewing the drinks, he hands me mine, and I take a sip, observing Mrs. Daley wince as he thrusts the cup into her injured hand.

“Bottoms up; it’s piping hot. We wouldn’t want it to go cold,” he remarks, sipping his own coffee. “Ah, now that’s a fine blend. What brand is this?” he inquires, glancing back at the counter where an expensive-looking jar is displayed.

“Hmm, where did you order this from?” he probes.

“Online,” she stammers.

“Good. Write down the website before I end your life,” he commands. Mrs. Daley whimpers, pointing to a card affixed to the fridge’s corkboard. Liam strides over and plucks it off.

“Well, that was easy,” he remarks, slipping the card into his pocket alongside the coffee jar’s label. Meanwhile, Mrs. Daley sips her coffee as if it might somehow delay her inevitable fate. In an effort to entertain ourselves, Liam engages her in idle conversation while I finish my drink. Placing my mug in the sink, I wash it before setting it out to dry. Turning around, I lean against the counter, watching as the woman trembles like a leaf, her eyes fixated on Liam’s every move.

Chapter Seventeen

Liam leans back against the fridge, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “So, I hear you have a mighty fine butcher in town,” he taunts, causing Mrs. Daley’s hand to freeze midair as she goes to take a sip from her cup. I observe her closely, noticing the sudden gulp that betrays her nerves.

“Now that looks like a guilty face, now doesn’t it, brother?” Liam says, nudging me.

“Very guilty. Do you have something to confess, love? Want to get it off your chest before you meet your maker?” Liam taunts.

Caught off guard by Liam’s comment, Mrs. Daley stammers.

“What do you mean?” she says, and I click my tongue.

Her fake confusion only fuels our amusement.

I decide to play along, my voice dripping with phony innocence. “Oh, we were just hoping for a friendly chat, a little slaughter, but if you insist on being difficult, I suppose a little practice won’t hurt.” I extend my hand toward Liam.

Liam, always prepared, retrieves a rolled-up leather pouch from the pocket of his jacket andhands it to me. I unravel it on the wooden bench, revealing an array of gleaming blades. With deliberate movements, I pick up each knife, showing them to Mrs. Daley. The sweat glistens on her forehead as her eyes dart anxiously between Liam and me. Liam’s sadistic smile grows wider, and I turn my attention back to Mrs. Daley.

“Now, which one shall we use?” I inquire calmly. She shakes her head vehemently, clutching her mug tightly in her trembling hands. Liam takes the opportunity to snatch the cup from her grasp.

“Come on now, no need to be coy,” Liam sneers. “Confess your sins.”

“I… I never… It was just that one time… I had to feed the children, funds were low,” Mrs. Daley stammers, her words tumbling out in a rush of desperation. “She probably doesn’t even remember…”

---