Page 31 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

So much doesn’t add up, and once Azalea is sorted, I’m getting to the bottom of what’s going on with Trey. And how he was able to attack me so easily, and also figure out what the heck is going on with all these rumors about him.

Chapter

Nineteen

KYSON

Azalea’s voice, persistent and scared, finally ceases as she succumbs to exhaustion in my arms. Her breaths slow to a gentle rhythm beside me, and I feel the tension in my own body ebb, replaced by a silent vow—she won’t be stepping foot outside these walls without me again.

However, the abrupt intrusion of Gannon’s voice slices through the quiet of the room, jerking me to full alertness. “We finally found his files,” he says, the words clear as crystal in my mind.

“Good,” I respond softly, cautious not to disturb Azalea’s slumber. Carefully, I extract my arm from underneath her, wincing at even the slightest shift that might wake her. Her face is serene at rest, making a stark contrast with the storm of questions that had raged from her lips just hours before. I watch her for a moment longer, the rise and fall of her chest a reassuring sight as it hits me how close we came to losing her today.

With deliberate movements, I slide out of bed and pad silently across the room. “You and Dustin can meet me at myoffice and wake up Damian. Tell him to meet me there too,” I instruct Gannon, my thoughts already racing ahead.

Gannon and Dustin have been buried in musty texts and decrepit records for hours now, searching for any shred of information on Trey that might help us understand the mess we’re in. The fact that they’ve unearthed something, anything, sparks an urgency in me that refuses to wait until morning.

I pull the door open with a soft click, finding Liam and Trey stationed outside. Liam’s eyes flick to me, sharp and assessing, while Trey’s stance remains firm—a living barrier between us and the unknown threats that lurk beyond these castle confines, making me question where all the unease came from surrounding him and my men.

“Trey, you’re coming with me,” I command, my voice low but laced with an authority that doesn’t leave room for argument.

He peels away from the stone wall, every bit the disciplined guard he’s trained to be. Liam gives a silent nod, stepping closer to the bedroom door.

Descending the staircase, the cool draft is like fingers of ice skirting across my skin, and I suppress a shiver. But it’s not the chill that unsettles me - it’s whatever I’m about to find out next.

Reaching the bottom, the familiar path to my office stretches out before us, the torches flickering along the walls casting elongated shadows that flicker on the stone floor. My footsteps echo, steady and purposeful, while Trey’s fall silently behind me.

The door to my office ahead, the dark wood stark against the cold gray of the stone. Pushing it open, I step inside where the scent of leather and parchment fills my senses.

Motioning to the chair across from my desk, I take my seat. Trey slumps into the chair with a casual grace, his arms crossing over his chest as he stifles a yawn. He doesn’t squirm or glance around nervously; instead, he sits there with an air of resignation, as if he’s already accepted whatever judgmentI might pass. His eyes, hooded with fatigue—or perhaps indifference—remain fixed on mine, steady and unflinching. I waste no time in questioning him.

“What did you mean earlier about her blood being in your system?” I ask, leaning forward slightly. The memory of his earlier words itches at my mind, and has all night. His claim had sounded absurd, impossible even, yet here he sits before me with an explanation seemingly at the ready, and I cannot ignore the genuineness that flickers in his gaze.

“I am sired to the Landeena bloodline,” he states.

“Excuse me?” The words claw their way out of my throat, rough and edged with disbelief. Sired? As in the irreversible bond formed when one is turned? I push back from the desk, muscles coiled tight as I rise to my feet.

Instinct roars within me, a primal warning that he is a threat to my mate bond. My growl rumbles deep in my chest, a sound that fills the room with its threat. No one—absolutely no one—would claim any part of Azalea without facing my wrath. The very notion that someone could stake a claim on her, share in what is solely mine by right of our mate bond, ignites a fury that burns hot and unforgiving.

I tower over him now, ready to defend what is most precious to me.

“Wait, not in that way.” Trey’s words rush out like a dam breaking, his hands raised in a placating gesture. The moonlight streaming through the window glints off his anxious eyes as he tries to stem the tide of my fury. “I was born Lycan. King Garret didn’t turn me. Landeena blood is different.”

My growl subsides into a low hum of confusion. I hover over him, still a menacing presence, but curiosity now threads through the anger.

“Yes, King Garret sired me,” Trey continues, urgency underpinning his tone, “but it works similar to an oath. I am loyal to not just King Garret but the entire Landeena bloodline!”

“Wait, how could you be sired to the entire bloodline?” The question slips from me. My stance softens fractionally as I process his words. A bond to a lineage, not merely an individual—this is unheard of, yet his conviction rings with an undeniable truth.

Trey’s eyes lock onto mine, and I cannot ignore the earnestness that flickers in his gaze and I retake my seat.

I drum my fingers on the cold surface of my desk, my eyes narrowing as I take in Trey. The tension hangs heavy in the room, a palpable force that seems to press against the ancient walls of the castle.

“Landeena blood is special, you already know this,” he says, his voice a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.

My thoughts mull over his statement. Landeena blood—revered, potent, the stuff of legends. I’ve seen its effects, the reverence it commands among our kind. Yet here stands Trey, his allegiance bound to it in ways that defy the norm.

“But you can only be sired to one person, not an entire bloodline,” I retort, my skepticism obvious. The concept feels alien, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands. Loyalty to one is tangible, measurable. But to a bloodline? Who would agree to that, how could someone blindly agree to that not knowing if the next King or Queen will be a good one.

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