Page 29 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

It lands with an earth-shaking thud, and in that heartbeat of opportunity, Trey pounces. His movements are a blur as he unleashes a barrage of strikes upon the stunned creature. The cub’s return catches Trey’s attention even mid-assault. His head swivels towards the small form.

My breath catches, heart aching for the cub wondering if Trey will be forced to kill it.

But Trey’s hands do not seek the cub. Instead, they rain down upon the mother bear—once, twice, thrice—each hit punctuated by the thud. The fourth strike comes with a sound that is both sickening and merciful: the dull thud of unconsciousness overtaking the beast as it falls to the earth.

Trey stands then, blood paints him, the deep red of his wounds obvious against the malt hues of his Lycan form.

The guards arrive, bursting through the underbrush. Their eyes take in the scene: the fallen bear, the whimpering cub clawing at its mother and Trey, who looks like he bathed in blood. I search their ranks for Gannon and Dustin, but they are absent, their presence replaced by others whose faces blur through the shock and adrenaline.

“Quickly!” someone shouts, urgency laced in every syllable. They know as well as I do that we’re running out of time. As for Trey, his gaze is on me again, assessing the damage done, ready to act despite his own grievous injuries.

Trey’s growl is a guttural warning, reverberating through the clearing as he approaches. He moves with an urgency that contradicts his injuries, his form still imposing despite the blood drenching his fur. The other guards hurry to my side with equal speed.

Together, they attack the rotted log that encases my foot. Wood splinters under their combined strength, and the hollow log cracks, piece by piece. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the pungent odor of blood and the decay from the wood. Through my groans of pain, I hear a soft whine that cuts through the chaos.

The bear cub, innocent in its confusion, nudges its mother’s unresponsive form. Its tiny nose working over her fur, seeking comfort or perhaps an explanation for the unnatural slumber that had claimed her. My gaze lingers on the small creature, so vulnerable without the protection of its parents.

“It’s knocked out, not dead. We need to move quickly,” Trey’s voice comes to me, low but clear, pulling me back to the present danger.

“That’s why we need to get you out of here before it wakes,” he says, gripping my ankle. I swallow. His green eyes stare back at me and I know what he is about to do.

“Choose my Queen, or I will have to kill it,” he says, and I look at the cub nuzzling its mother. The other guards are standing around in case it wakes.

“Do it!” I tell him, and he yanks my foot off the huge, thick nail that must have been in the tree when it fell and rotted away. My scream is silent before I pass out. My eyes roll into the back of my head and the last thing I see is Trey shifting back before grabbing me and the feel of the wind as he runs toward the castle. Then I saw nothing but darkness.

Chapter

Eighteen

KYSON

A growl escapes my lips as the driver spins the car around, heading back to the castle. Trey has been in my head the entire time, only for me to learn that Azalea commanded Gannon, Dustin, Clarice, and Abbie not to follow her. He keeps telling me that she isn’t aware she commanded them. That much I believe. She isn’t aware of her Alpha voice yet. But leaving the castle while carrying our child is just plain foolish. Liam and Damian stay quiet in the car, knowing anything would set me off.

The tires screech as the car pulls into the cobblestone driveway. I can’t risk taking Azzy with me with hunters rearing their heads again, yet what we need to do is check out the packs. A letter or my word isn’t good enough, and I can’t send my men without the risk of endangering them or the pack refusing them entry. Which would either lead to my men killing them or them waiting for me to get there, which in turn would give them a chance to destroy any evidence. Neither is a suitable option and if the pack has something to hide, they would do anything necessary to hold my men off while they get rid of any damning evidence that could be used against them.

Jumping out of the car, the guards at the front door quickly open the doors before I even reach them, then step out of my way. She is one small girl, and she slipped away from them. Yet how is beyond me.

Clarice waits inside the door and scrambles to my side, apologizing as I stalk toward the stairs. Pain rattles through my ankle and foot, so much so that I know she is awake because I feel every time she passes out because the pain ends and her fear of me dissipates. She knows she is in trouble, and it irks me that she’s more scared of me than she is of what she did to herself and our baby.

Clarice explains what happened, and I am pissed off that the gardener didn’t deter her. Everyone here knows she wasn’t supposed to step outside these castle doors. Coming to the steps leading to my quarters, Gannon and Dustin stand, they're staring toward the door but unable to move any further.

I shove past them, and they hang their heads as I growl. Despite trying to avoid it, I have no choice but to teach her how to use her command to remove them from her order. I can hear Azalea’s screams for someone to stop doing whatever they are doing to her.

I shove the doors open, and they bounce off the walls with a crack, making the room fall silent. I see Trey leaning over her, and I see red. He only has a pair of shorts on and is covered in blood from head to toe. A furious growl tears out of me, and he moves, stepping aside with his hands up in the air.

My body trembles with the urge to shift moments before I do. Azalea throws her arm out. “He isn’t hurting me!” she screams, making me halt. I turn my head to look at her only to see the huge nail protruding from her foot, and a piece of tree attached to it. Blood stains the sheets.

“Well, he kind of was, but not intentionally,” she says. Her hands shake as she tries to grip the huge nail that spearedthrough her foot. “What the fuck happened? You told me she hurt her fucking foot! Not that she had a...” I kneel next to her and examine it.

“A 14-inch iron spike in her foot? Yes, I didn’t tell you because she wanted me to rip it out before you got here,” Trey answers. I look at her and she drops her head, her cheeks flushing. “I knew you would be mad,” she blurts, her hands trembling where she tries to get a grip on it.

“How?” I ask, trying to figure this out.

“A fallen tree. She tried to climb over it, but it was hollowed out. She fell through it, and of all the trees, she had to fall into one of the old target trees,” Trey answers, and I grip her ankle, examining it. Azalea hisses and grips my wrist feebly when I try to touch the flat end, holding the piece of bark to the bottom of her foot.

“Don’t!” she cries.

“We had to break the tree to get her out. After I ripped her out, I noticed she took part of the tree with her,” Trey says with a sigh.

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