Page 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

K YSON

We had found a few things in the documents from the Alpha Dean’s pack, such as Mr. Crux’s name linking to multiple brothels in the state. It looked like he was helping traffic rogues because sizable sums of money had been sent to Alpha Dean’s accounts when they suddenly stopped abruptly a few years ago and enormous debts started accumulating. Debts from Crux’s casino.

As we sifted through the boxes, we found other strange things that didn’t add up, which had me going down to the underground storage. Gannon and Dustin are pulling everything we have on Crux from the archives, and we set them on the huge wooden table in the storage room.

“While we’re down here, gather all the staff records for me,” I instruct them, their footsteps echoing as they return to the towering stacks of boxes before depositing them at my feet.

I delve into the piles of documents, searching for any trace of council records or vital information. “You two can begin with the staff files,” I direct, my gaze focused on the task at hand. “Go as far back as fourteen years ago when the Landeenas were taken from us.”

“So before Azalea’s fourth birthday?” Dustin asks, and I nod.

“Yes. There must be a reason why someone is targeting her, and it’s highly likely that the culprit resides within the castle grounds. Scrutinize every guard, whether under oath or not. Examine the records of all the cleaners, gardeners—every individual who has been on our payroll,” I state, their hands eagerly sifting through the extensive collection of files.

After just a few hours of sorting, Gannon pulls out Trey’s file once more, accompanied by another containing his medical records—proof that corroborated every detail he had shared with us. It becomes increasingly apparent that we needed to establish an efficient electronic filing system; the sheer volume of paperwork is becoming absurd.

A couple of hours later, I feel Azalea stir from sleep. She informs me of her intention to play with the children and I urge her to take Trey along. As I finish talking with her, my attention is abruptly seized by Gannon’s interruption.

“Did you know that Ester had spent time in the Landeena Kingdom?” he questions. I glance up, momentarily breaking the connection with Azalea.

“What?” I reply, my curiosity piqued as Gannon extends a file towards me.

“For an entire year. Her parents reported her as a runaway, and she was eventually located in the Landeena Kingdom. Garret granted her permission to stay,” Gannon reveals, his eyes fixed on mine.

“What year was this?” I inquire, my mind racing to make sense of this new revelation.

“The year preceding Azalea’s abduction. According to the records, she left a month prior to the attack, following a falling out with Queen Tatiana,” Gannon discloses, prompting me to read the contents of the file. I find it peculiar that Ester would venture there only to return a year later.

Despite our thorough investigation, no additional information surfaced, leaving me confused. It occurred to me that Ester’s parents had once served my father, but I hadn’t seen them in years. However, her grandfather contacted me seeking employment for Ester, and since they were former employees I gave her a job. While I was aware of her strained relationship with her parents—whom she had been primarily raised by—my involvement in their affairs remained minimal.

I try to pick my brain about why she has an odd relationship with her parents, trying to remember what their falling out was for, but I don’t really involve myself with her.

I feel the mindlink open up moments later, Azalea calling me only to end the call abruptly. Almost immediately, Trey opens it up.

‘My King, have you looked into Peter?’ Trey inquires urgently, prompting me to establish a connection with him as well in an attempt to regain contact with Azalea.

‘No. Why? And Azalea, bloody answer me!’ I growl impatiently, my attention divided between Trey’s words and Ester’s files. As I comb through the documents, Trey’s mention of Peter sparks a memory—I vaguely recalled Ester having a brother. In fact, her parents had adopted him! The realization strikes me with the force of a lightning bolt.

I knew she had an estranged relationship with her parents since they had adopted Peter! Peter! My eyes widen in realization.

“It’s Peter!” I growl when Azalea screams through the link, and I race to get to her. My heart is hammering in my chest.

Dustin and Gannon are chasing after me, and I skid across the floors as I smash out of the cellar, my shoulder smashing against the doors, and into the kitchen’s pantry before I race out of the kitchen. I lose my footing as I twist to head for the stairs at the same time. I hear someone scream.

My heart feels like it stops when I see a figure fall off the staircase, and I register that the figure is Azalea a second later. Her arms flail about just as the entire banister railing comes down after her. My feet try to get friction on the floor just as Gannon and Dustin burst out of the kitchen doors.

I sprint towards Azalea, but Liam is quicker, leaping after her. My heart constricts as her body collides with the stairs with a resounding thud, just out of my reach.

Time stands still as I watch in shock. Trey forcefully thrust Peter against the wall, his form crumpling unconscious on the steps. Paralyzed by disbelief, I can only stare at Liam, who screams for assistance, his hands pressing down on the knife embedded in Azalea’s side. Blood gushes from her mouth and dribbles down her chin, jolting me back into action when I see Gannon and Dustin trying to move but are both unable. I rush to Liam’s side as Azalea’s eyes roll back, her body growing limp. I clutch her face desperately.

“Azalea!” I choke out, my voice laden with anguish. “Stay with me.” But she succumbs to unconsciousness, her body slackening in my grip.

“Get a doctor!” I bellow, my command echoing through the air as Gannon and Dustin rush off.

“Stay with me, love,” I beg, my voice trembling as I cradle her fragile form. Panic courses through me as I feel warmth seeping onto my knees. My eyes dart downwards, witnessing the crimson stain spreading across her dress, pooling between her legs and trickling down the steps.

“No. No, no, no! NO!” I cry out frantically, my mind racing to comprehend the severity of the situation. With every fiber of my being, I know that time is of the essence. Without hesitation, I slide my arms beneath her lifeless body, scooping her into my arms before sprinting towards the doors. Liam races ahead, forcefully shoving them open while urgently summoning the guards to unlock the gates.

Blood coats my arms—her blood—flowing from her head and also trickling between her legs. My clothes become saturated with her life blood as I bolt down the bitumen road, shifting while in motion. The sound of her weakening heartbeat, of our baby’s, reverberates in my ears while I pray for its next beat. But she is still too early for any hope of a viable life to emerge.

My legs falter as the heartbeat ceases. Her pulse weakens, and I glance at her in my arms, I wait for that flutter, needing to hear it and tears blur my vision as I force myself to run harder when I don’t.

The doctor’s surgery come into view ahead of me, its brick facade a flicker of desperate hope. People stare in shock as the doctor bursts through his surgery doors, his medical gear clutched tightly in his hands. His eyes widen as he spots us, and he wastes no time rushing back inside, barking orders at his nurses to prepare a gurney.

Navigating through the corridors of the aging brick building, we reach a room where the nurses anxiously await our arrival. Carefully, I lay Azalea down on the gurney, her body appearing fragile and vulnerable. The doctor swiftly places his bag beside her, his sense of urgency palpable as he whisks her away. I move to follow, but Liam’s firm grip on my shoulder halts me in my tracks.

“You’ll just get in the way,” Liam says, but I could heal her. I am about to say that when Liam speaks, seeming to know what I am going to say.

“Some things can’t be healed, my King. Let Doc work,” Liam says, and moments later, Damian burst through the surgery doors. He looks at me, his eyes then moving to Liam’s hand holding my shoulder.

“Come on, let’s wait outside. There is nothing you can do right now,” Damian says, and I shake my head.

“Come on. Come have a smoke,” Liam says, pushing me toward the doors, and am forced to take my eyes away from where Doc took her through the double doors to the day surgery area. Liam pushes me out the doors, nudging me and I reluctantly step outside, and he shoves his smoke packet in my hand, yet I don’t light one when he pulls two from the packet and lights them, keeping one for himself and passing me the other.

“Azalea will be okay,” Liam says, blowing smoke into the air. “She is tougher than she looks,” he says.

“The baby?” I ask. Neither of them says anything. Even though I know that if she is alright, the baby isn’t going to be. Which makes me wonder if Azalea will be alright after all.

The doctor confirms that when he steps out the doors twenty minutes later. He tugs his gloves off.

“Azalea?” I ask.

“Alive. She is still unconscious. I stitched her up. The bleeding stopped, but you could probably help that healing process,” Doc says, and I nod.

“Our baby?” I ask, grasping on to any form of hope.

“I’m sorry, My King. The fetus didn’t make it,” he tells me. Fetus. I hated the way he said it, but she was just in her second trimester. My legs buckle under me, and I hit the ground hard at his words. My heart sinks and my stomach drops at the information.

I failed her! I should have figured it out earlier. Peter was a child and the last person I would have suspected! I failed her, and it cost us our baby and nearly her life! How do I tell her that?

“Azalea needs you, Kyson. Get up,” Damian says.

“We lost the baby,” I murmur, trying to wrap my head around everything.

“I know, but if you don’t get up and get in there, you may lose her, too. Now up,” Damian says, gripping my arm and Liam grabs the other; they haul me to my feet.

“One foot in front of the other. Come on, big fella. Your Queen needs you. Break later, but not in front of her,” Liam says, pushing me towards the doors.

I t takes hours for her to wake up, and Damian goes back to the castle to retrieve some clothes, so I’m not walking around in just a hospital gown. I have just walked back into the room to find that she is sitting up. I feel nothing through the bond to tell me she has woken, and I only stepped out a minute to change quickly. Pinching the fabric of her hospital gown, she peers inside before rubbing her thighs. Her lips tremble, and she stares at her hands. Doc and I make sure to clean her up, so she isn’t drenched in blood, but it seems like that is all she sees as she examines her trembling hands. Closing the distance between us, I notice her head rise, her eyes meeting mine. There is no emotion in her voice, and the bond between us feels nonexistent.

“Do you feel it?” she asks, halting my hand as it reaches towards her. I swallow hard and step closer, my fingers finding the back of her neck as they weave through her hair. Yet still, there is no response through the bond.

“I could feel it... feel it leaving me,” she whispers, her vacant stare fixed on my chest.

“I know, love,” I whisper back, but she remains frozen in place, staring off into nothingness.

“How about we get you home?” I suggest, hoping to elicit some kind of reaction from her. But once again, she says nothing, not even a blink. She is like an empty shell, and I fight the urge to growl. I will kill him, but first, I need to take care of her, but he will die for doing this to her once I find out why. Azalea has no reaction when I pick her up, none at all. I take her home and set her in her den, and she lays down.

T hree days later

For three days she has remained in bed, refusing to eat or sleep. Doc came by yesterday and assured me that it is to be expected, but I can’t bring myself to leave her side. The bond between us feels nonexistent, and it’s as if she isn’t even there, even though I can see her right before me.

Brushing her hair back, I attempt to move her up the bed so she can rest against me, but she slides right back down into her den, seeking comfort beneath the blankets as if they can shield her from the world.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, I set aside the book I have been reading to her and make my way to the bathroom. I fill the bathtub with bubbles and lavender-scented soap, crinkling my nose at the fragrance that I know she likes. Returning to the room, I retrieve one of my shirts from the closet. She is still dressed in that hospital gown, but I am determined to change that today. Baby steps.

Perhaps if I can get her to eat or speak, she will feel more like herself. Equipped with towels and a shirt for her, I check the water and wait for the tub to fill before turning off the faucet. Stepping into the room, I find her in the same spot as before, tangled in blankets.

With care, I untangle her from the fabric and lift her up, removing her gown as she sits on the edge of the bed. Goosebumps cover her skin, prompting me to strip off my own clothes before joining her in the bath. I settle her between my legs, and she remains motionless as I wash her hair and clean her gently.

We stay in the water until it turns cold, and then I lift her out, drying her off before slipping my shirt over her head. But it angers me when she simply rolls back into her den without any order or structure. Clarice has sent up soup hoping to entice her to eat but Azalea only rolls over in response.

Reaching for my whiskey, I take a swig straight from the bottle. It is the only thing that keeps me from losing my damn mind. The silence is suffocating, and absence of any sensation through bond is unbearable. I long for any reaction from her just to know that she is still with me.

My frustration grows as I glare at the disheveled den that obscures her from view, hiding her beneath layers of blankets. In a fit of anger, I accidentally drop the bottle, shattering it on the floor. I snarl at the mess I have made. Overwhelmed by my anger, I can’t contain the shift any longer. I storm towards the bed, tearing at her den in a futile attempt to fix it. Instead, all I manage to do is tear apart the mattress. Growling with frustration, I collapse onto the bed. Just as I’m about to mindlink Damian to call Doc again, I feel movement on the bed, followed by her hand running across my fur and settling on my chest as she lays her head against me.

At first I am astonished, staring down at her in disbelief. It’s the first time she has moved towards me since this ordeal began, and of course, it has to be when I’m not in human form. Part of me wants to shift back and revel in her closeness, but I don’t want to risk her pulling away if she realizes what she has done. Turning my face towards her, I nuzzle her hair and let my calling wash over her. She snuggles closer, and with a sigh, I accept that it’s something even if it isn’t much.

A few hours later, she wakes up prompting me to shift back into human form. Immediately, she retreats back under the covers. In the following days, I notice that she only seeks my presence when I’m in my shifted state. It seems that being in my Lycan form provides her with some comfort. So, I spend most of my time in this state hoping to provide her with some sense of security.

As a knock sounds at the door, I move away from the bed. Today Azalea has mustered enough strength to help me fix her den. We change the sheets and tidy it up although she doesn’t rebuild it like I had hoped. I had grown accustomed to its presence even though it’s an odd habit for female Lycans. Nevertheless, I miss curling up in it with her.

Liam enters with strips of raw meat and cubed cheese and crackers that Clarice had sent up.

“Is she still the same?” Liam asks, and I nod wearily. It has been over a week, and still, she hasn’t eaten. She is losing weight rapidly. This time, I’ve struggled lately every time I’ve attempted to make her eat while in my shifted form. The claws make it difficult, but she seems more at ease when I am in this state.

“I’ve been thinking,” Liam says as I turn away from him. I pause and glance back at him.

“About what?” I reply, not wanting to entertain any thoughts about Peter or theories at this moment. My focus is solely on Azalea. Peter is locked away in the cells, and I will deal with him when the time is right.

‘About why she only goes near you when you’re shifted,’ he states, opening up the mindlink between us.

‘You can’t mate with her,’ Liam continues, and a growl rumbles in my throat. I look back towards the bed before turning my attention back to Liam.

‘Something to consider,’ Liam says, leaving the room. I remain by the bed, propping Azalea up with pillows so she can sit comfortably. Accidentally, my claws nick her arm, causing her to flinch. Leaning down, I place a gentle kiss on the spot where I have broken the skin, watching as it heals before my eyes.

“Sorry,” I murmur to her, but she remains silent, her gaze fixed on me. I pick up a strip of beef with my claws, only to fumble and drop it. Frustrated, I try again, but the same result occurs. She then reaches out and picks it up herself, her movements robotic and detached.

She eats half of what is on the plate despite my insistence that she eat more. Eventually, I set the plate aside and lay back down with her, eventually drifting off to sleep. It feels like all we do is sleep and read, and it feels wrong.

I long to hear her voice again. However, it is Trey’s conversation with Abbie outside the doors that rouses me from my slumber. I quickly rise to my feet and catch sight of the fading sunlight through the windows. The children are playing on the hill; their laughter fills the air. As I make my way towards the door, a flicker of hope ignites within me. Perhaps Abbie can coax Azalea out of bed.

But as I open the door, reality sets in. Abbie can’t help; she is still under her command. She stands outside, talking with Trey about how Azalea is doing. Liam is nowhere in sight, presumably having taken over guard duty of Peter. I half-expected Peter’s grandparents to come searching for him, but no one had arrived or informed me otherwise.

Tyson is perched on her hip, playing with her hair as I open the door. She gasps, peering out the window at the children playing on the hill. A brawl starts outside amongst some of the older children. She thrusts Tyson at Trey, rushing down the steps to break it up. I watch from the window while Trey holds Tyson.

“Maybe go help her,” I suggest, seeing her and Clarice both struggling to separate the kids that are determined to get the last hit in. Trey sighs, passing Tyson to me and rushing toward the stairs.

“Wait!” I call, and he stops on the steps. “Take the boy with you,” I tell him, holding him at arm’s length.

“You want me to help or not,” Trey says, and I look out the window to see guards trying to help and sigh.

“Just don’t take too long,” I tell him, and he nods before disappearing. I perch the boy on my hip. Tyson is only small, tugging on my fur when he starts making strange grunting noises before wailing like he is being murdered and pointing toward the room.

“No, we can’t go in there,” I tell him as he starts wailing and thrashing in my arms. He kicks me in the balls, making me drop him, but I catch him before he hits the ground, setting him down gently. He rushes off, and my eyes widen in horror as I turn to find him in our room. Unsure how Azalea will react to him, I rush in. He is screeching and fisting air.

“What?” I ask him, trying to hush him while glancing nervously at the bed where Azalea is. She doesn’t seem to hear him or doesn’t care; I’m not sure. He screeches and grunts again.

“I don’t know what you want,” I tell him, trying to pick him up and remove him from the room. I shush him and peer out the window for Abbie who is scolding some of the kids.

“Your mother will be back soon,” I tell him. He grunts, fisting his hands and squeezing them tightly.

“He wants the books,” Azalea says, and I jump, looking at the bed where she’s still sitting. Tyson also jumps at the sound of her voice and peers over at her. I set him down when he starts kicking his legs and moving towards the bookshelf. I point to each book when he goes crazy, grunting as I touch one with a picture of an apple on the side - Snow White .

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.