Page 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

K YSON

Azalea was in a strange mood. She was scared, not that she would admit it. I was kind of glad to get out of the castle with her. At least she would be safe with me. Or so I hope. I hope bringing her back to this place doesn’t dredge up unwanted memories for her or haunt her, especially after this morning. She knows I am keeping stuff from her, but I am only doing it to protect her, though I can’t lie, some of it is for selfish reasons. Trey blurted that one out.

“Are you worried about returning here?” I ask her, but she shakes her head. Which only confirms my original thoughts. She’s more scared about being at the castle. I am struggling to figure out who I could trust myself.

Every lead we have is a dead-end, and I knew this one would be too. They always were, yet still, we investigated.

“What are you worried about, then?”

“Everything,” she murmurs. I can feel the weight and pressure on her. In the blink of an eye, she’s been thrust into a world she knows nothing about. Laws, kingdoms, and her own family history are a mystery to her. Then, on top of that, she is worried about Abbie. She is always worried about Abbie. Concerned about who is trying to kill her and why. But most of all, she is curious to know who she is, and as determined as I am to keep it from her, I know she also needs to know. So I will start teaching her to use her Alpha voice even if it means hers would one-day overthrow mine.

Yet feeling her through the bond, her nervousness and anxiety worsen the closer we get, and the overwhelming urge to comfort her grows stronger. I want to touch her, put her mind at ease, and let her know she is safe with me.

“Come here.” I can’t stop the edge of a growl escaping me, but she turns her head to look at me, pulling her attention away from the window.

“Seatbelt, Azalea. Sit up, Azalea. And now, you want me to remove my seatbelt to come to you?” she spits at me sarcastically while shaking her head. My little mate is growing more cunning. I always find her attitude amusing until it’s used against me.

I growl and unclip my seatbelt before moving toward her, sliding onto the seat beside her and undoing her seatbelt before looping my arm around her waist and dragging her onto my lap. She growls, and I purr back at her. She will not escape me so easily. My hand sneaks under her shirt to rest on her lower belly. The bump is quite prominent already, and I smooth my hands over it. She sighs and relaxes against me as I caress it. I can’t wait to watch her belly grow with our child, I can’t wait to see what sort of mother she will be. I want a big family, and I wonder ?whether she shares the same thoughts.

To me, her scent is like a balm, soothing yet also teasing, making my mouth water. She smells sweet, cherry, and vanilla, and I can’t explain the strange urges her scent entices. I have never liked sweets, yet her scent is addictive and inviting. It’s delicious

So I can’t help the purr that slips out and vibrates against her back. My calling works every time, and I love how she melts under it. At least, that is one thing I will always have that she can’t resist. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

My cock grows hard beneath her, and I am glad Abbie didn’t come. I feel like I hardly get time with her alone anymore, so having her so close and all mine, I can’t resist the temptation her flesh is offering. My fingertips draw circles on her skin before teasing the waistband of her tights. My purr grows louder, and I can feel the effect I am having on her. Her arousal through the bond is intense and perfumes the small space in the limousine. Her scent becomes overwhelming. I am supposed to be distracting her and calming her, and all I manage to do is work myself up.

“Kyson! Damian, Liam and Trey are in the front!” she hisses, gripping my wrist and trying to stop it from slipping lower. Ignoring her, I slip my hand beneath the waistband and cup her warm pussy with my hand.

“Kyson!” she squeaks, while squirming on my lap. I groan as her ass brushes against my erection. Stroking the seam of her wet lower lips, she can deny me all she wants, but she can’t hide the feeling I am enticing out of her.

Azalea squirms as my fingers tease her folds, drawing out moisture with each brush across her slit. “Hmm,” I hum, shoving my finger inside her.

Any words of protest she has, die off as my thumb gently rubs against her swollen clit. Her legs open wider for me, and I chuckle, kissing her shoulder and withdrawing my finger that is slick with her arousal before sliding it back in and curling it deep within her. Her inner walls clench around my finger, and she moans softly, her head rolling back against my shoulder as she gives in to the feeling I am building up with the friction.

However, it is short-lived when I hear the screech of tires, and the limo slows. I growl, peering out my window, and Azalea scrambles off my lap. My hand slides out of her pants, and an angered growl leaves me as the car comes to an abrupt stop. We are stopped by the side of the road, just outside the pack borders and men surround the vehicle.

Snarling, I hear Damian get out of the car and listen to him talking to Alpha Dean’s men, who are trying to refuse us entry. Reaching for the door handle, I toss it open and climb out. Six werewolves are arguing with him about there not being any announcement of our arrival. My aura slips out as I stare at the man with his gun pointed at Damian’s chest. Damian snarls, unflinching, and daring the man to pull the trigger.

“Issue?” I ask, shutting the door behind me. The other men are smart enough to back up, but one sniff of the air, and I can tell this man is the Beta. His scent is more substantial than the others.

“I would have thought after your Alpha’s experience with stepping out of line and giving my men orders, that the rest of you would have more sense. Apparently not!” I tell the man while coming up behind Damian. His mud brown eyes flick to me over Damian’s shoulder and he swallows. The other five have scampered off, leaving the Beta to fend for himself when they realized they are dealing with Lycans and not random fleabag werewolves with no authority or rights.

The man glances around, his curly brown hair blowing in his face when he realizes his pack members had abandoned him.

“No issue, my King. I didn’t recognize you,” he stammers. Lie, the flags on the front of the limo show our immunity.

“Did you have trouble recognizing my Beta too?” I ask. He pales, glancing at Damian, who holds his signature smirk.

“I um… The Alpha, he…” the man babbles like an idiot.

“Your Alpha what? Told you to ignore hierarchy? To hold a gun to a Lycan’s chest?” I ask the man.

“He said not to let anyone in without notifying him first,” the man stammers. Damian glances at me.

“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 flares invisibly 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 of my 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.

Behind us, our convoy disperses, as my men fan out and create a perimeter. Trey exits quickly behind her, I can see the confusion on his face, Azalea said she never wanted to see Alpha Brock again, yet she climbs out of the car. Liam’s hand meets the door, shutting it also watching Azalea. Damian sends me a questioning look, one eyebrow arching, and all I can offer is a shrug. None of us expected her to get out of the car.

Her mood—volatile and fierce—wraps around me. It’s a swift change from the uncertainty that clouded her before, sharpened now into something potent. The sight of Alpha Dean and Alpha Brock has stirred a response in Azalea yet I can’t figure out what. Besides her clear anger, something else lays beneath the surface. They’ve unknowingly flipped a switch, and the current running through her is electric, demanding attention.

I watch, an observer, as she strides forward with a determination that has me shocked. There’s a grace to her anger, a beauty to the wrath that unfurls from her. Trey stays close, his presence both shield and support, while Liam scans the area with the focus of a hawk.

“Kyson,” Damian murmurs, a subtle tilt of his head toward Azalea, seeking guidance on this unplanned variable. I shake my head slightly, a silent message to let this play out, I am curious to see what she will do.

She moves past me to the Pack house, and I follow. Not as her King now, but as the partner to a Queen stepping into her power, and the feeling through the bond tells me she is about to show them her title.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I approach Alpha Brock, who descends the steps with a hand outstretched. His greeting hangs in the air, but my senses are tuned to Azalea’s movements.

Alpha Brock’s practiced smile falters, his gaze sliding past my shoulder to where Azalea stands. “What a pleasant surprise,” he says, though his voice betrays him, a tremor of unease beneath the sly smile on his face.

Silence stretches for a heartbeat as Azalea’s presence commands attention. Her aura is magnificent, invisible and yet palpable, rushes out around us. His lips part, and Alpha Dean also pauses to stare at her. She stops beside me, and Alpha Dean’s hand shakes as he offers it to her.

“Alpha Dean,” Azalea’s voice slices through the tension, sharp and clear. Her hand dismisses his attempt at familiarity with a brisk wave, as though swatting away a bothersome insect. I hear Damian huff when she doesn’t take it and just stares at it like it is diseased.

“Lovely to see you again, Ivy,” he says, caution lacing his tone. The man is clearly shocked she isn’t the broken girl she once was.

A cold smile plays on Azalea’s lips. “That’s Queen Azalea, to you, Alpha. Now move,” she commands, her words leaving no room for argument. They trip over themselves trying to get out of her way as she brushes past the stunned Alphas, climbing the steps as if she owns them—and perhaps in this moment, she does.

They are left, mouths agape like fish out of water, their authority slipping through their fingers like sand. Liam, quick to react, darts up the steps, his hands deftly turning the knob and pulling open the front door.

I trail behind, my curiosity piqued by this new side of Azalea—this commanding presence that has seemingly emerged from the depths of her being. I am content to let this play out, to see how far she will take it. The Alphas, desperate to regain some semblance of control, stumble over themselves in their eagerness to please her.

“Would you care for some coffee or tea, my Queen?” Alpha Brock stammers, his voice betraying the uncertainty that swirls around us.

Azalea doesn’t respond verbally; her disdain is clear in the sharp tilt of her head, the curl of her lip.

“No,” Azalea’s voice is a whip-crack, decisive and cold. “I wouldn’t trust you not to spit in it!” she sneers.

“And we aren’t here to chat, we are here for…” She pauses, eyes flicking to me, and in that split second, I see a flicker of confusion.

‘Looking for all the rogue reports. And to go through their archives,’ I supply through the mindlink, my voice steady in her head. She absorbs the information, nodding slightly—barely perceptible, but enough for me to know she understands.

The sudden fear that washes over the Alphas’ faces is almost palpable, I can’t help but revel in the way Azalea’s aura has them off-balance, the way her mere presence suddenly scares them like they used to scare her.

“I’m here to inspect the rogue reports and your archives,” she asserts, each word laced with the kind of authority that cannot be questioned.

Alpha Dean’s response is immediate. “We don’t keep such files, Iv…My Queen,” he stammers, the slip of the tongue betraying his nerves before he hastily corrects himself.

Azalea’s brow lifts ever so slightly, and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride at her poise, the way she embodies her role as my Queen.

From behind her, Trey’s lips pull into a knowing smirk. He leans closer, whispering a breath against her ear that only she can hear. I watch the exchange, curiosity nipping at me. Whatever he says draws her attention, and she gives him a quick nod, acknowledging his words while keeping her eyes fixed on the Alphas before her. They gape at her, and I can’t believe they had the audacity to lie when they have no issue trying to label her as a traitor.

“Your archives are kept in your basement. And you should have reports of every rogue that steps over your borders. If not, that is an infringement on your behalf, and if it is simply you refusing to hand them over that is punishable by death. Beheading sounds good?” she says, looking at me.

“As you wish, my Queen,” I answer.

“So which is it, you don’t have the archives I have requested, or you don’t want to hand them over? Either way, Alpha, you seem to find yourself in a direct violation of Lycan law and your next answer determines the severity of your punishment,” she says, staring at them both. I have no doubt Trey is feeding her laws through the mindlink. Both Alphas stumble over themselves to answer.

Alpha Dean’s hands twitch nervously, his eyes darting from Azalea to me and back again as he grapples for a semblance of control in the face of her unyielding demand. The air between us crackles with tension, each second stretching into an eternity as he formulates his response under the weight of Azalea’s piercing gaze.

“What we meant is that we haven’t dug them out,” Alpha Dean finally musters, his voice carrying the strain of one walking on the blade’s edge. “We weren’t aware of your arrival or the King’s. If you come back in a few days, we can have them ready.”

My lips press into a thin line, the scent of their anxiety palpable in the stillness of the room. Their ignorance of our presence doesn’t sit well with me; it’s a convenient excuse at best. I feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, but it’s Azalea’s cold composure that holds my focus.

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, the silver flecks in her irises catching the light like shards of moonlight. Her stance remains statuesque, embodying the very essence of regal authority that seems to reach into the depths of the earth itself and command its obedience.

“If I wanted you to dig them out and remove any incriminating evidence, we would have called prior,” she retorts sharply, her voice cutting through their excuses like a knife through shadow. “But seeing as your pack is under investigation for the mistreatment of rogues, I don’t want you handling any such evidence or giving you a chance to get rid of it completely.”

The Alphas stand before us, their bravado peeled away to reveal the vulnerability they had hoped to conceal. In this moment, the power dynamics have shifted irrevocably. Azalea, once a victim, now dictates the rules of engagement, and they know it.

“Mistreatment of rogues, my Queen. Whatever happened with Mrs. Daley, I assure you, your King has seen to her punishment,” he murmurs, his voice threading through the tension-charged silence.

Azalea’s gaze doesn’t waver, her eyes like frosted steel, unyielding and cold. She seems not to hear him, or perhaps she chooses not to acknowledge the excuse that falls so pathetically short of genuine remorse. The air around her crackles with her disregard for his pitiful defense.

“I would also like to see my files and Abbie’s. So if you can point me in the direction of your basement, that will be very helpful,” she commands, her voice resonant with authority that leaves no room for argument.

I feel the shift in the room, a palpable change as the power firmly roots itself in Azalea’s grasp. Alpha Brock’s face tautens, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The telltale sign of a man unaccustomed to being cornered, especially not by someone he once deemed beneath him. With a stiff nod, almost imperceptible, he motions down the hall, conceding to her demand with a visible twitch of irritation.

Azalea’s footsteps echo in the hall, each step measured yet still, she manages to look graceful. The tension coils around us as we approach the door next to the staircase.

Alpha Brock’s fingers curl around the handle, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he swings the door open with a reluctance that seeps into the stale air beyond. His gaze flickers to his father, seeking silent counsel or perhaps drawing from a well of shared unease.

“May we ask what you are looking for exactly?” Alpha Brock’s voice is a strained thread of composure. “Most of the files down here are outdated and are of no use to anybody.”

A cold draft snakes out from the darkness behind the door. Azalea doesn’t flinch. She looks back at me, like she is asking permission, and I nod subtly. This is her show; I am merely the witness to her command.

“Outdated or not, they hold relevance to us,” she adds, her voice resonant with the power that has shifted so visibly in her favor.

Alpha Brock swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He seems to shrink ever so slightly under her scrutiny. Damian watches him closely, an unspoken warning clear in his stance.

“Step aside,” Damian commands, his voice brooking no argument, and for a moment, Alpha Brock hesitates.

“We can show you down. It will be easier if we help, and ...” Alpha Brock begins, but his offer dies in his throat as Azalea growls—a low, guttural sound that reverberates off the narrow walls and chills the air. Her aura surges forward, invisible yet palpable, a wave of suppressed fury that crashes against him.

I watch as he falters, his back pressing into the wall, his authority crumpling like paper caught in the wind. Azalea’s voice slices through the tension, sharp and commanding. “You heard my Beta. Now step aside, Alpha.” Her sneer is a thing of terrifying beauty, laced with a venom that leaves no room for challenge. The Alpha before us, a man of power in his own right, looks as if he’s swallowed a stone. His Adam’s apple bobs in a nervous gulp, his authority dissolving under her gaze.

Compliance is swift; the Alpha retreats, stepping away with haste. Liam descends into the darkness first to check if it’s safe. A signal from below lets us know it’s all clear.

Azalea’s eyes find mine, the connection between us pulsing like a living entity. I sense her request before the words form in my mind, her will pressing against my consciousness. ‘Go on. If you want to take over, I won’t stop you,’ I say through our bond, granting her the freedom to as she pleases, and she starts moving into the basement.

I stroll past the Alphas when Alpha Dean stops me.

“Are we in trouble, my King?” he asks.

“That’s for her to decide,” I respond curtly, the words slicing through any hope he harbors, and I can’t help but smirk at the fear emanating off them as I follow my mate.