Page 25 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

“I was. Until Liam called me a ferret face fucker, so I hit him,” Trey mumbles.

“Idiot. You don’t hit crazy,” Gannon says, and Trey glares at him before looking around the room after cleaning his bloody face.

“Anyway, I was left behind,” he says, shaking his head. “Where is the Queen?” he asks, his voice steady but bearing an edge of concern as his gaze darts from one corner of the room to the other, searching for Azalea. Gannon and Dustin exchange a silent communication that speaks volumes, their expressions a mix of resignation and unease.

“Did you get hold of the King?” Gannon’s voice cuts through the quiet, tension wrapping around each word like barbed wire. Dustin’s head gives a slow, deliberate shake, his hands clasped together as though in silent prayer or perhaps to stave off the urge to reach out and throttle something—or someone.

“He is blocking me out,” he finally admits, the weight of those words settling heavily on his shoulders. The atmosphere thickens with implication, and the unspoken truth lies between them as palpable as the scent of iron and antiseptic still lingering on Trey’s skin.

Trey’s hand cuts through the air with an impatient flutter, his eyes seeking answers in the midst of the kitchen’s sudden stillness. “Ah, hello? Where is the Queen?” There is a trace of frustration lacing his question this time, as if he expects Azalea to materialize from behind the cabinets or beneath the table.

Gannon, who had remained as rigid as the granite countertops, fixes his stormy eyes on a spot on the wall, avoiding Trey’s probing gaze.

Dustin leans back against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his jaw working silently. He finally breaks the silence. “She commanded us, and none of us can follow her,” he says, his voice flat.

Trey’s hands drop to his sides, the gesture releasing some of his pent-up energy into the room. The surprise of Dustin’s words seem to anchor him to the spot, and for a moment, the only sound is the faucet dripping steadily in the background—marking the passing seconds of tension within the kitchen walls.

Trey’s next question hangs heavy in the charged air, his brow furrowed with sudden comprehension. “She figured it out?” His voice, a mix of awe and disbelief, echos my own thoughts—Azalea had indeed.

“Where did she go?” he demands, urgency sharpening his tone. The words are barely past his lips when he makes for the door, his movements quick and decisive, like a predator homing in on its escapee prey.

Gannon’s reaction is visceral, a low growl rumbling from deep within as he turns to follow Trey’s gaze, his own instincts flaring at the betrayal of secrets. He moved with a swift grace that belied his size, intercepting Trey just inches from the threshold. His hand clamps down on Trey’s arm, halting him mid-stride, an unspoken command in the tension of his grip.

The muscles in Trey’s arm tense beneath Gannon’s hold, the air crackling with a current of challenge and restraint. Their eyes lock, two forces colliding without a word, each man’s resolve clear in the stillness that follows.

Gannon’s grip tightens on Trey’s arm, his knuckles whitening with the force of his hold.

“You aren’t trusted to be around her,” Gannon states, his voice firm.

Trey’s face twists into a snarl, shaking off the hold with a jerk of his shoulder. “I am the last person that would hurt her,” he spits back at Gannon, defiance flaring bright in his eyes.

Trey’s shove sends Gannon stumbling back a step, the force behind it betraying the anger and frustration boiling under his skin. A vein throbs at Trey’s temple, his jaw set in a hard line.

“Bullshit! You’re not under the King’s oath,” Gannon snaps, regaining his balance with an ease. His eyes narrow on Trey, searching for any hint of deceit.

Trey stands his ground, his chest heaving slightly. “Yes, not under oath to the King. But to the Landeena’s I am,” he snarls, his voice a low growl that seems to resonate.

Dustin’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles going white with the effort to contain his fury. “Bullshit! You were a dick to her when Kyson chucked her to the stables! And always interfering with my shifts,” he exclaims.

Trey’s face hardens, his eyes flashing a shade darker with memories and regrets. “I thought she killed my charge is why. I didn’t know she wasn’t Marissa’s daughter. The King said she was. I believed him.” He pauses, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. “If someone killed your King, would you like them or their family?” His demand hangs in the air, as raw and sharp as an open wound.

Dustin turns towards Gannon, searching for some kind of guidance. Gannon only tilts his head to the side, his gaze locked onto Trey watching him carefully searching for any deceit. His silent scrutiny seems to probe at the truth of Trey’s words, weighing them against every action, every choice they have observed him make.

The atmosphere hangs thick with unanswered questions and distrust.

“Whose charge were you?” Gannon finally demands.

Trey straightens, his shoulders squaring. His jaw clenches before he replies, his words carrying the gravity of confession. “Baby Azalea’s. I was the one that reported Marissa. About her getting Azalea to call her mummy,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carries in the silent kitchen like a shout.

The revelation seems to hang in the air, a piece of a puzzle falling into place with an echoing click. Gannon’s expression doesn’t waver, but there is a flicker in his eyes, a spark of understanding—or perhaps it is the beginning of more doubt.

“Those reports didn’t have your name on them,” Gannon states.

Trey’s face, already etched with lines of barely contained anger and frustration, contort further into a mask of indignation. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles whitening as he fights to control his rising fury.

“I had to fill out the same paperwork as everyone else did.” Trey’s voice is ragged, strained with the effort of holding back his emotions. He takes a step forward, his stance wide, ready to defend not just his actions but his loyalty. “You all know I come from the Landeena Kingdom! Fuck! I helped search for her for years!”

Without another word, Trey turns sharply on his heel. The door swings open with a bang, protesting against the abruptness of his exit, and then slams shut.

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