Page 17

Chapter

Seventeen

A ZALEA

The absence of footsteps trailing mine acts as both a balm and a burden, the silence calming me and allowing me to think clearly. But I also know my taking off will infuriate Kyson, which as worrisome as that is, I also don’t care. Bursting through the heavy doors that lead to the castle gardens, the hinges groan in protest at my haste. A gust of air greets me, cool and crisp, carrying with it the rich scent of earth and blossoming life. It feels akin to taking that initial deep breath after breaking through the water’s surface when having nearly drowned, the fresh air filling my lungs and dispelling the stifling atmosphere off. My pace slows as I wander down the gravel path, each stone softly crunching beneath my shoes.

I let my fingers trail along the velvety petals of roses as I pass, their blooms a burst of color against the forest backdrop that surrounds this place. Yet even their beauty can’t distract from the frustration I feel. Secrets. They were trying to protect me, perhaps, but protection feels too much like caging.

Drawing in another deep breath, I exhale slowly, letting the tension seep out of my shoulders.

That’s when I feel it—the intrusive touch of Kyson’s thoughts brushing against my mind as he opens the mindlink.

‘Kyson, not now,’ I snap, clenching my fists as I push back against the mindlink.

To my surprise, his presence retreats as swiftly as a wave pulling back from the shore. It feels empowering, knowing I can shove him out with such ease when fueled by anger.

My gaze drifts across the expanse of green, settling on the fruit trees standing in neat rows, their branches heavy with ripe fruit. There is Peter, working alongside the gardener, reaching up to pluck fruits with practiced ease.

As if sensing my presence, Peter glances up, and his face lights up with an excited grin. He waves, his arm cutting through the air with boyish enthusiasm. I return the gesture, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the turmoil that clouded my thoughts.

“Hey!” he greets, jogging over with an energy that seems to make the very ground beneath him come alive. In a few long strides, he closed the distance between us, enveloping me in a hug that is both unexpected and strangely comforting. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in days,” he says, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes with genuine concern.

“Want to help pick fruit with us?” he asks, and I look around. I want to get as far away from the castle grounds as I am allowed.

“Na. Do you want to go for a walk with me? I am hiding from my guards,” I chuckle. Peter looks over at the gardener, who shrugs and waves him off.

“Where do you want to walk?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “We could walk by the river. It is pretty high at the moment from the floods upstream coming down it,” he offers.

“Yeah, I am not fond of water,” I tell him.

“Oh, well, we could go to the stables. I am supposed to clean out the stables today but got hauled up to help pick bloody fruit.”

“Ah, I think I prefer the river walk to shoveling poop,” I tell him, and he chuckles.

“It’s a date then,” he says, looping his arm through mine. We head toward the river. Peter is right. The river is quite high and flowing fast. We sit down on the bank for a bit.

“So, how did you start working here?” I ask him.

“I live with my grandparents, and they used to be servants here and got me the job.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dad, no idea. My mother dumped me with them when I was born. I see her every now then, but she doesn’t really have much to do with me. She prefers to pretend I don’t exist. I am her dirty little secret,” he tells me.

Well, that sounds a bit harsh.

“And your father?”

He shrugs. “Mum didn’t know his name, or so she claims.”

“What does your mother do?” I ask him.

“Works at the grocery store in town. I usually pretend I don’t have a mother. It’s easier that way.”

“I’m sorry Peter, that sucks,” I tell him.

“All good. My grandparents are good enough for me,” he says, getting to his feet. “I’ll race you back?” he says, offering me his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.

“Ah, I probably shouldn’t,” I tell him. The last thing I need is to fall over or injure myself. Kyson would never let me leave the room and wrap me in bubble wrap if I did.

“Oh right, that probably isn’t Queenly,” Peter chuckles.

“No, it’s not that,” I tell him, my hand going instinctively to my barely there bump. Peter’s eyes follow my hand and he gasps.

“Wait. Are you pregnant?” he asks, and my face heats and I nod.

“Well, come on. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have made you trek through the forest,” he chuckles.

Suddenly, a blur of movement catches my eye, and the crunching of underbrush signals someone nearby. Trey bursts onto the scene, his body propelled by urgency. He skids to a halt mere inches from us. He clutches his knees, panting heavily, as he raises his eyes to mine. There is a flicker of concern in his gaze that has me confused.

Trey straightens, his chest heaving from the exertion as he fixes his gaze on me, a blend of relief and mild irritation playing across his features. His eyes search mine for a second.

“There you are!” His voice carries a sharp edge, softened only by the undercurrent of worry that seems to thread through the words.

I shuffle my feet, acutely aware of the pulse of life within me, feeling the weight of his unspoken questions. I meet Trey’s intense stare with an attempt at casual indifference.

“Why are you out here?” The query hangs between us.

“We went for a walk,” says Peter, the corners of his eyes crinkling with excitement as he looks up at Trey.

Trey nods, though his expression remains unreadable, as he takes in Peter before looking back at me. “Go on, I will take her back,” Trey says, almost daring me to tell him no. He returns his gaze back to Peter for a second. “Shouldn’t you be in the stables?” His gaze holds Peter’s just long enough to convey the unvoiced command that lingers beneath the surface.

With a playful roll of his eyes, Peter concedes to the silent authority in Trey’s look and rushes off back toward the castle.

Falling into step beside me, Trey grips my elbow gently glancing around like he is worried someone or something will jump out at us and attack at any moment. Leaves crunch underfoot as we make our way along the path that will lead us back toward the looming structure that is both my sanctuary and my cage.

I can feel the weight of the castle’s proximity pressing against me like the air before a storm—oppressive, electric.

Trey’s voice cut through the silence. “You shouldn’t wander so far from the castle, my Queen. What if something happened?”

His gaze holds mine, the furrow of his brow and the slight tension in his shoulders suggest he is all too aware of the dangers that lurk beyond the safety of stone walls and iron gates.

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 barely audible 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 moving through 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.

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.