Page 41 of Mated To The King’s Gamma (Lycan Luna: Abbie & Gannon #3)

I don’t feel my world shift until her hand finds my arm.

Cold fingers latch onto me with surprising strength, and I freeze mid-breath.

The sound of someone shouting—Azalea, I think fades behind the roaring in my ears.

My focus narrows in on the pressure on my arm.

Her grip, her face, the impossible movement of her chest as it rises with new breath.

My gaze drops to where her fingers dig into my arm, long slender fingers digging into my flesh. Then to her face—the face I’ve memorized in a thousand expressions, the face I’d started to believe I might never see animated again.

Her eyes open.

But they aren’t green. They aren’t the emerald depths I’ve fallen into countless times before. They’re black. Not the dull, vacant gray black of death or unconsciousness, but liquid obsidian, swirling darkness that seems to pull light into it rather than reflect anything back.

My heart stops. A choked breath tears from my lungs, scraping against my throat as I stare into eyes that don’t belong to my mate, not fully. Not anymore. Something else lurks behind them, something wild and magnificent that I recognize on a primal level.

Then, just as suddenly, the color shifts. Green bleeds back in from the edges. It’s as if someone flips a switch and paints her back to life before my eyes, tinting her back to the woman I know and love beyond words can ever express.

She gasps—a harsh, desperate sound like clawing back to life after drowning and her chest rises under my hands. The movement is violent, her body arching up as her lungs heave to expand.

“Abbie,” I breathe, not even realizing I say it aloud, my voice cracking, barely audible even to my own sensitive ears.

Her eyes flutter again as they settle this time, focusing on nothing, then on me, then widening with confused recognition.

Her fingers loosen on my arm but don’t let go completely.

She is warm now. Alive. My relief isn’t just physical, it's soul deep as I collapse over her, trembling, unable to keep my hands from cupping her cheeks petrified.

My mind has split and this is some hallucination of my grief, one I would live in if it means I can be with her.

Her skin no longer holds that deathly pallor, and her heartbeat is faint but steady, thrumming beneath my fingertips where they press against her neck. Color rushes back to her lips—not the blue-tinged paleness of death from minutes ago but the soft pink I’ve kissed countless times.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I’ve been holding myself together by threads for what feels like centuries despite only moments passing, and now those threads snap, one by one.

My vision blurs. I blink hard against the burning in my eyes and bleeding of my soul, as the bonds stitches back painfully together, but its a pain I will gladly endure for eternity because she is here and mine.

Her eyelids flutter again, and I see confusion there and fear. But I also see recognition.

“I’m here,” I manage to whisper, leaning closer, my forehead touching hers. “I’m right here.”

A question forms in her eyes—what happened? —but she doesn’t have the strength to ask it or perhaps she is scared of the answer. Instead, her fingers tighten once more on my arm, a silent confirmation that she’s listening, that she’s present.

She’s breathing. Her heart beats. Her eyes see me.

The rest we can figure out later.

Behind me, Liam’s voice cuts through my fog of disbelief.

“I told you, brother, I wouldn’t let you lose her again.

” His hand clamps onto my shoulder—solid, grounding, almost painful.

I peer up at him, words failing me, gratitude and confusion tangling in my throat.

I can never pay him back for what he has done, nothing will ever repay the debt I now owe this man.

Still, worry gnaws at me. I promised her so many times that I wouldn’t force her, but it’s Liam who ensured I never broke that promise. For that, I will never be able to repay him.

“How—” I start, but he just squeezes my shoulder once more and nods toward Abbie.

Peering back down at her, the noise around me blurs into static. Voices argue, feet shuffle, someone—Kyson gives orders in that commanding tone that usually demands my attention. None of it matters. All I can do is look at her—truly look and feel my soul claw its way back into my body.

Relief washes over me so violently it hurts. It’s a physical sensation, like being dunked in ice water after burning for days. I want to weep. To laugh. To scream. My hands shake as they hover over her, afraid to touch her too much, afraid she might shatter or disappear if I press too hard.

Her breathing steadies, each inhale deeper than the last. Color continues returning to her cheeks not just the flush of life, but something more.

A subtle glow that I recognize from my own kind an aura unmistakable as Lycan.

Her scent shifts too, almost imperceptibly, but to my sensitive nose, it’s unmistakable.

Then... I see it again. That flicker of obsidian across her iris, quick as lightning. The beast that now lies dormant beneath her skin watches, then retreats. My breath catches.

I know that shade. That look. That depth of darkness in the eyes when a Lycan is newly awakened, when the change has settled in the bones but hasn’t quite made peace with the soul.

She’s changing. No—she’s changed. The process has already happened, somehow, while she hovered between life and death. While I sit helpless at her side, something fundamental is shifting within her to bring her back to me.

My fingers trace her jawline, feeling the subtle differences already emerging. The slightly sharper angle, the new firmness to her skin. Her body is rebuilding itself from the inside out, becoming something stronger, more durable. More like mine.

Relief and dread war within me. She’s alive and my heart sings with it but she’s also irrevocably changed. And I don’t know if this is what she would have chosen. Still, I am glad on some selfish level that Liam never gave her the choice.

My mind races with questions, piecing together clues I should have seen before.

I turn to face Liam fully, keeping one hand on Abbie.

“How?” I mindlink him, not wanting to speak aloud, not wanting her to hear this if she’s drifting in and out of consciousness.

His lips twist into that familiar half-smile—the one that always means he’s done something equal parts brilliant and reckless.

“I’ve been putting my blood in her drinks and food,” he replies, his voice in my head casual as if discussing the weather rather than a life-altering transformation.

It suddenly makes sense because she has been complaining for a while about everything tasting weird.

The way she’d wrinkle her nose at her morning tea, how she’d sometimes abandon her drink half-full, claiming it tasted “off.” It also makes sense why she always had that lingering scent of Liam permeating from her skin.

I just put that down to him always being around us.

But it was Liam all along. Feeding her his blood. Ensuring she couldn’t try to leave me again.

His blood. Not mine.

My gut twists. Relief curdles into something else.

Worry knowing he may have sired her. The bond between sire and changed is sacred, complex, often lasting lifetimes.

It creates connections that bypass normal boundaries.

Devotion that can’t be severed but she was mine before this so surely that has some sway over the outcome of any sire if one has taken root.

But I’ve seen newly turned Lycans struggle with the competing pull of their sire. Seen the confusion it creates, the conflict.

Abbie stirs beneath my hand, her eyelids fluttering once more. I push my concerns aside. Now isn’t the time. She needs stability, calm, reassurance when she fully wakes to all her senses. Not my tangled feelings about Liam possibly siring her.

Lifting my gaze from Abbie, I finally register the others.

Kyson stands rigid as stone, holding Azalea against him as if she might collapse without his support.

Her eyes are fixed on Abbie, wide and stunned, as if she’s witnessing something she’d stopped believing possible. The love in her gaze is unmistakable.

Kyson’s face is harder to read, as always. His expression barely shifts, but I catch the minute relaxation around his eyes, the slight loosening of his jaw. Relief, but tempered with caution. His gaze flicks between Abbie and Liam, and I know he’s already calculating the implications.

Azalea sways slightly, and Kyson’s arm tightens around her waist. Only then do I notice the toll the day has taken on her.

Her skin holds an ashen undertone despite its natural glow, and shadows like bruises hang beneath her eyes.

The air around her still crackles faintly with spent power, the lingering aftermath of whatever hellish storm she called down to save us all.

We knew the Landeena name held power but what she unleashed is something purely out of this realm.

I remember fragments of it—the sky tearing open, the earth trembling, her voice carrying on the wind above it all power, pure and raw. Azalea saved us all, but doing so I can see has taken a toll on her that even her immortal body struggles to bear.

She makes no move to approach Abbie, instead giving us space, and for that I am grateful. The bond between the two women runs deep, forged in shared trauma long before either of them knew of royal blood or any of us.

Her fingers clutch at Kyson’s shirt, and she nods once at me—acknowledgment, respect, relief all condensed into that small gesture. I nod back; words unnecessary between us.

Abbie’s fingers twitch against my arm, drawing my attention back where it belongs. Her eyes open fully now, focusing more clearly.

“Easy,” I murmur, leaning close so my voice reaches only her. “You’re safe. Everyone’s safe.”

She tries to speak but only manages a dry rasp. Liam appears at my side with water—where he got it, I don’t know or care. I take the bottle carefully, supporting her head with my other hand as she sips.