Page 47 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

“Even the King’s guard?” I ask. The man nods his head.

“Yes. Said that we must be prepared after last time. Two of your men killed the butcher and Mrs. Daley and kidnapped two rogue children,” he says.

“You mean the pedophile I sent them here to kill? And the headmistress that mistreated your Queen?” I ask the man. The man shakes his head.

“They were good people,” he claims, and my eyebrows rise into my hairline.

“Good people don’t rape and sell little girls!” I sneer, and he opens his mouth and closes it quickly. His hand trembles and I snatch the gun from his grip before he accidentally sets it off. I tuck it down the back of my pants before punching him. Damian whistles and leans against the hood. Nothing angered me more than this twit thinking he can deny my men from entering pack lands that are under my rule.

He grunts, clutching his nose as blood sprays out everywhere. “Do not forget your place, Mutt! And it will always be beneath a Lycan’s feet! You dare tell my men they can’t enter on the ground I own again and I will have you tossed out and made rogue. Then you will see how your Alpha treats rogues,” I tell him. He nods, his eyes darting to Damian, he mutters an apology, and I turn, shaking my head, climbing back in the car.

Now, why are Alpha Dean and Alpha Brock so worried about my men and me coming here? Maybe this trip won’t be so pointless after all.

I slide across the seat to catch Azalea’s nervous glance. My fingers clench and unclench, trying futilely to release the building tension. The leather creaks under me, echoing the mutters that escape through my gritted teeth. My aura flaresinvisibly around me, a storm of simmering rage that I struggle to keep contained.

My earlier mood dissolves and reforms into something sharper, more dangerous. Anger, pure and undiluted, courses through me for their Alpha. To think he has the gall, the sheer arrogance, to dictate terms to me? To suggest I cannot enter his territory without his express permission?

“What’s wrong?” Azalea asks.

“Just border controls,” I reply, the words sharp and clipped as if biting them off could sever my annoyance. “Forgetting who they are speaking with.”

She nods, and the SUV lurches forward, continuing toward the town square. But Azalea becomes more anxious the deeper we drive through this middle-of-nowhere ghost of a town. Her hands twist together in her lap, knuckles whitening. She is nervous, and her fear reaches me through the bond.

I flick my gaze toward Azalea as she shifts in her seat, when she says. “Abbie told me Katrina took over the orphanage?” Her voice trembles slightly, betraying the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

“Uh-huh,” I confirm, my words clipped, not wanting to delve into the gruesome details that lurk behind Mrs. Daley’s demise. The memory of what Gannon did – the savagery of his actions – coils in my gut. I can still see the images he sent me, sickening and vulgar, etched into the backs of my eyelids. I suppress a shudder, forcing my attention back to Azalea, who nibbles her lower lip between her teeth.

“What are you thinking right now?” I probe gently, unable to shake the feeling that I made a mistake by bringing her back here.

Her hand moves instinctively, almost protectively, to her belly. She brushes the fabric of her shirt over the subtle curve, an unconscious gesture that speaks volumes. I catch the corners ofmy lips twitching upward, amused by the act she’s oblivious to performing.

“I wondered if the children would still remember me,” she murmurs softly.

“Do you want to go back there… to see them?” My voice betrays my shock, a slight crack in the facade of calm I try to maintain.

Her eyes, once lost in the distance, now shift back to me, carrying an uncertainty that mirrors the tremble in her hands.

“I think I do,” she answers, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If we have time on the way home, we will stop in there,” I tell her, watching for a reaction.

“So we are just here to see the Alpha?” Azalea asks.

“Yes. And once we are done, I will take you to see the children if you like.”

She nods, her eyes becoming a little glassy. I am not sure if she’s upset because she missed the children who lived there. Or because she’s coming back to the place that caused her so much pain.

I know this place haunts both her and Abbie. And after the tortures they endure at this place, I am once again second-guessing bringing her here.

It takes another ten minutes before we pull up out the front of the Pack house. Alpha Dean and Alpha Brock stand waiting out the front on the porch. However, when Azalea glances out her window and looks at them, her mood shifts through the bond. Her eyes burning brighter, flickering, and almost glowed, her jaw clenched as she glared past me and out the window.

The car rolls to a stop, and the silence that has enveloped us is now pierced by Azalea’s soft intake of breath. I reach over, my fingers brushing against hers. She glances at me before returning her gaze back out the window.

As I watch her struggle to compose herself, I feel a surge of regret, wishing I had left her at home. The tortures they endured at this place were unspeakable, and though she stands unbroken beside me, the scars run deep, invisible and haunting.

Yet, the sight of the two Alphas has struck something within her, kindling a fire that I can almost feel licking at my own skin.

With a sigh, I push the door open and step out into the cool air, expecting to leave Azalea in the safety of the car with Trey and Liam. But then there’s the click and creak of her door swinging open, shattering that plan into fragments. She steps out, and closes her door.

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