Page 68 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

I pull it from the shelf and hand it to him, about to escort him out when he rushes towards the bed. I chase after him, scooping him up before he climbs in only for him to bite me, making me let go with a growl.

As I reach for him again, Azalea sits up quickly snatching Tyson before I can. She sets him next to her, and Tyson opens the book smacking the pages while grunting and making strange noises - it’s obvious what he wants this time; he wants her to read it. Azalea doesn’t say anything but grabs the book from Tyson holding it out to me.

“He can read Tyson; you know I can’t,” she tells us just as Abbie returns, walking into a wall almost as she tries to cross the threshold. Azalea stares at Tyson brushing her fingers through his hair; meanwhile, Abbie mouths something to me wanting her son back.

“Can he stay for a bit?” I ask.

Abbie glances at Azalea who is brushing Tyson’s hair, she nods before walking off. It’s more than she had done before so I don’t want her slipping back into herself. I open the book and start to read; eventually both Tyson falls asleep followed by Azzy.

Trey comes in a few hours later to collect Tyson for Abbie, and I expected her to roll away from me when I shift back now that the kid is gone. Instead, she moves closer and places her head on my chest. I kiss her forehead, tucking her closer.

Maybe tomorrow will be better, I think to myself. Either way, tomorrow, I have no choice but to deal with Peter. He has been in the cells for over a week, nearly two, and I want him gone for what he has done.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

AZALEA

Nothing feels real, yet the searing ache in my heart serves as a constant reminder of its undeniable existence and it beats despite feeling like it’s broken beyond repair. My mind, however, remains shrouded in a disorienting numbness, as if it has willingly retreated to shield me from the weight of emotions. It is both a blessing and a curse, it’s a detachment that renders me irrevocably, undeniably numb.

But when I lay my eyes upon Kyson, a flicker of concern ignites within me. He drowns his sorrows in an endless torrent of alcohol, a desperate attempt to drown out his own pain. And still, he never strays far from my side. Through our bond, I can sense his anguish, intertwined with mine yet separate. It is a peculiar sensation, to feel his pain as my own and yet disassociate from it, acknowledging its existence while refusing to claim it as mine.

Yet, in this state of emotional detachment, I find myself indifferent to everything. I exist but do not truly live. The concept of living or dying holds no sway over me; they are mere notions devoid of meaning. I am adrift in a bubble of indifference, numb to the world around me and to myown existence. And yet, as the days stretch on, I realize that remaining anchored to this unfeeling place cannot be a permanent state.

As life continues its relentless march before my silent eyes, I am haunted by one question: is this all there is? Is this the extent of my existence, forever trapped within this barren emotional landscape?

Gradually, I lose sight of the man who is my mate, losing connection not only with him but also with myself. Perhaps it is because for so long I had no sense of self, and the prospect of our unborn child held the promise of an identity—a role I could embrace as a mother. That loss cuts deep, for with it, another fragment of an identity I long to keep slips away.

Questions gnaw at my every thought, rendering me paralyzed in their grip. Why did he feign friendship only to plunge the blade of betrayal into my back? How can he harbor such seething anger towards someone he claims to care for? Why did he strip away the one thing that was undeniably mine?

The weight of these unanswered questions threatens to suffocate me. They consume my every waking moment, leaving little room for anything else. Yet, as I return to awareness, uncertain whether I have slept or have been awake this entire time, the room comes into focus and I am faced with my sleeping mate beside me.

He stirs, instinctively drawn closer to me, his warm breath cascading over my neck as he buries his nose in my hair. Worry lingers within our bond even in his sleep, evidence of his desire to bring comfort. But I know that true comfort will elude me until I uncover the answers I seek. I want understanding, need it for closure, I need proof that I did not bring this upon myself. Though a part of me knows this truth, doubt continues to claw at my consciousness, insidiously whispering that perhaps I am to blame.

With a heavy heart, I summon the strength to remove myself from Kyson’s protective embrace, sliding out from under his arm that drapes heavily across my waist. Crossing the room in silence, I reach for his robe, craving the familiar comfort of his scent enveloping me. Clutching it tightly against my chest, I cast one last glance at his peaceful form before tiptoeing towards the door. Peering back at him, he remains asleep.

He might be mad, or maybe he won’t be, I’m not sure. So much has changed and yet remains the same. Though I have seen yet another side of Kyson, multiple in fact over the last few days.

One that he loves me fiercely not leaving me alone despite his own anguish, two that he has a really bad drinking problem. I never realized its true extent until I was locked in a room with him for so long, it makes me wonder if that is how he drinks all the time.

On a few occasions, he drinks himself to oblivion. And on days when he doesn’t, I can feel the tremor of his hands when he touches me. I feel his frustration as he fights the urge to find himself in the bottom of another bottle. One thing became apparent after the first week, the bottle always won in the end.

That is something we will have to address later, for now I need to move before I decide to crawl back in bed and wallow in my own misery, so I twist the handle and step out the doors to find Trey. He looks at me as if he is seeing a ghost when I slip out the door and close it gently. He appears hesitant when I move toward him before he grabs me, crushing me against his chest. His arms lock around me and I feel his nose in my hair, as he inhales my scent like he is hoping I am real and not a figment of his imagination. I sigh, and briefly hug him back glad that I haven’t been too much of a burden on my guard that they’ve turned and now hate me.

“Thank god,” he whispers before holding me at arm’s length.

“Where’s the King?”

He glances at the door behind me before clutching my face in his hands and leaning down to look at me, his eyes sparkle with sadness, endless hazel depths of worry stare back at me as he stares with worry.

“Sleeping,” I say, though my throat hurts from hardly using my voice and comes out raspy.

“I shall wake him for you,” he says, though I shake my head. Kyson needs sleep, I know how little he has been getting, I know how exhausted he is, I also know he will feel like shit after how much he drank last night before he succumbed to it.

“Let him sleep, but I have a favor to ask of you,” I tell Trey.

“Yes, whatever you need,” he answers swiftly, while standing straight again.

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