Page 28 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

I halt, turning to face him fully, letting the seriousness of his question settle between us. “I have the mindlink,” I tell him, meeting his protective stance with quiet defiance. My voice is steady, betraying none of the frustration that had driven me to leave in the first place.

Trey’s expression hardens, the lines of his face etching a map of concern and urgency that makes me nervous. “The one you have been blocking for the past hour? The King is on his way home and he is not happy,” he says, parting a thick curtain of ferns to clear our path. He’s not exactly scolding me, but there is an edge to his voice—a sharpness that spoke of consequences I hadn’t fully considered in my bid for fresh air.

A heavy sigh escapes me. I follow Trey’s broad back as he navigates through the dense underbrush. I almost don’t see the fallen log until Trey reaches out, his fingers wrapping around my elbow with practiced care. Instinctively, I place my foot on the mossy wood, preparing to step over. But in that heartbeat—before sense could translate into action—the world shifts brutally beneath me.

There is no time to brace, no moment to comprehend. The log buckles, crumbling into decay. My foot plunges through the rotted trunk, and a jagged spike of pain lances up my leg as the air is punched from my lungs.

The scream that tears from my throat feels distant, disconnected from the agony blossoming across my ankle. Trey’s arms are suddenly there, steel bands hauling me up from the wreckage of wood and splinters. I scream again as darkness claws at my vision. .

“Fuck! Stay with me, Azalea!” Trey’s voice murmurs. But it is too late. Everything fades as I succumb to oblivion.

I have no idea how much time has passed. Eventually, consciousness returns with a rush of pain and disorientation. My back is pressed against something warm and solid — Trey’s chest, I realize, as my blurry vision focuses on his face above me. His jaw is set in grim determination as he works to dismantle the log that imprisons my foot, his hands moving deftly despite their size.

“Stay with me, help is on the way,” Trey whispers close to my ear. The urgency in his voice is a sharp contrast to the gentle way he cradles me against him. I can feel the tremor of his efforts reverberate through my body as he pries away splintered wood.

A sudden snap echoes through the quiet forest, and a piece of the log comes free. Relief surges briefly, thinking it will all be over soon. But as Trey tugs at my leg, something holds fast. Panic flares in my chest, igniting every nerve ending with fire.

“Stop! Something is stabbing through my foot,” I gasp. My fingers curl around my shin, an instinctive but futile attempt to soothe the sharp agony. Trey’s hands stills against the wood, his body tensing when suddenly we hear a noise, thinking it is the guard.

The ominous crackle of a twig underfoot shatters the stillness, and with it comes a growl that claws its way through the air. My heart stutters at the sound, every beat a hammer against my ribs. Time warps, stretching each second into an eternity as fear claws at my throat.

Trey’s form becomes a shield behind me, his warmth a contrast to the chill of dread that frosts my skin. His hand moves over my mouth, pressing firm yet gentle, silencing the scream that threatens to betray our presence. “Shh,” he breathes, so close his lips graze my ear. The command simmers with a calm authority, but beneath it lies an undercurrent of tension that mirrors my own alarm.

“Forest, now!” Trey’s command ripples through the mindlink, a forceful wave that crashes into the consciousness of every guard within reach. His voice full of urgency, I feel rather than see his muscles coil in preparation behind me, his instincts kicking into high gear even as his hand remains clamped over my mouth.

A rustle to our left—a softer sound, but no less menacing—whips Trey’s head around, and I sense the sudden shift in his focus. The air thickens with tension, an electric charge that raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck. “What is it?” The words are muffled against his palm, my voice a mere vibration against the pressure of his skin.

Then, emerging from the underbrush, a bear cub ambles into view. Its innocent eyes scan the surroundings, unaware of the danger its presence signals. My pulse quickens, each thump echoing the dread welling up inside me. A cub? The implications send a shiver down my spine, a cold dread that seeps into my bones. Mothers are fiercely protective, and this cub’s mother would be close—too close.

The moment of eerie silence breaks as another growl reverberates through the forest, this one closer, deeper, more terrifying. It’s a sound that speaks of raw power and primal instinct. It originates from behind us.

Trey’s curse slices through the tension like a blade, his body a rigid shield behind me. “Don’t move!” The whisper is barelyaudible over my thundering heartbeat, a futile attempt to blend with the stillness of the forest.

A twig snaps, and my eyes dart to the source. From the corner of my vision, I catch the hulking form of the mother bear. Its massive paws, each one capable of crushing stone, press into the earth.

The cub, a little ball of fur with wide, curious eyes, sniffs at the air. It can’t understand the danger; it just knows the scent of humans is something new, something interesting. My breath becomes shallow, trying not to stir the surrounding air any more than necessary. But my lungs yearn to gasp for more, my body betraying me with its need to prepare for flight.

I dare not move, yet the urge to flee is a living thing within me, clawing at my insides, begging for release. The mother bear, her dark eyes pools of midnight intelligence, continues her approach. She stops—a mere few heartbeats away—an imposing wall of muscle and fur. Her nostrils flare as she takes in our scents, and I can see the muscles under her thick coat ripple with restrained power. At least 600 pounds of raw, untamed force stands before us.

Time stretches, elongates, becomes an entity of its own as we wait, frozen, locked in a standoff . The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant rush of the river and the pounding of my heart—a desperate drumbeat signaling either survival or doom.

The bear’s huff is the only warning before it charges, a freight train of animalistic rage barreling toward us. My scream pierces the stillness of the forest as I involuntarily crumple, arms over my head in a feeble attempt at protection. The weighty hand that had been stifling my cries vanishes, and I tumble backward, an awkward twist sending a jolt of agony through my ankle. Pain slivers up from my foot.

Pushing up on trembling hands, panic, and pain compete for dominance, I catch sight of Trey’s transformation. His body expands, contours shifting into the ferocious form of his malt-colored Lycan. Fur bristles, muscles bulge, and eyes glow fiercely. He meets the bear’s onslaught with a guttural roar, their bodies colliding with brute force.

Claws flash, drawing streams of crimson across Trey’s face as the bear rears high on its hind legs, swiping at him. With teeth bared, Trey lunges, sinking his claws into the thick fur, the beast’s roar vibrates through the air. It fights to regain footing, massive paws slamming down on Trey’s chest with such power, I feel the impact in my own bones.

Blood mists the air, droplets catching the light. The bear drags Trey away from me, his body a streak of color against the brown and green of the woods. They crash into a tree, the sound a sickening crack that echoes through the forest.

As Trey staggers to rise, the bear lunges once more, jaws clamping onto his shoulder. The shaking of its head—merciless and violent—threaten to rend flesh from bone. Trey’s groan of pain is almost human, filled with a strength born of both man and beast.

I want to help, to scream, to do anything but watch as they both fight their lives. But I am pinned, helpless, my own cry dying in my throat as I see the raw savagery unfold before me.

The earth trembles with the force, and I can feel each thunderous impact. My pulse hammers in my ears, nearly drowning the sound of snapping twigs and the hurried footfalls of the approaching guards. Yet despite my own distress, my scream for help is instinctive for Trey’s safety as he lies pinned beneath the massive bear.

“Help him!” The cry tears from my throat, raw and desperate. A fleeting glance over my shoulder reveals figures movingthrough the trees—a blur of motion. But my attention snaps back to the scene before me as Trey issues a guttural groan.

Beneath the weight of the beast, Trey seems a figure of both despair and indomitable will. His legs, powerful and tense, draw up beneath the bear, finding leverage where none seemed possible. With a surge of strength, he kicks outwards. The motion sends the bear reeling backward, a hulk of fur and fury momentarily forced to retreat.

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