Page 52 of Mated To The King’s Gamma (Lycan Luna: Abbie & Gannon #3)

L iam’s hands are shaking.

I’ve seen him rip a man’s throat out with those hands. I’ve seen him throw a dagger from thirty yards and hit the larynx dead center. I’ve seen those hands carry bodies, butcher meals, and steady others through grief.

But now?

He can’t do up a goddamn button.

“Are you sick?” Damian asks, brow furrowed as he watches Liam fumble at his shirt for the fifth time.

“No,” Kyson mutters, arms crossed near the window. “He’s sober.”

Damian blinks. “That… wait, he’s sober . As in, not a drop?”

“I don’t like it, either,” Kyson adds. “He’s more unhinged sober than drunk.”

“I don’t think he can get drunk anymore,” I say, watching Liam sigh and drop his hands in his lap, still in nothing but trousers and a half-buttoned shirt.

Liam scowls. “I was trying to do this sober. For Dustin.”

I snort. “He already knows you’re a drunk. And still, he loves you.”

Kyson walks over to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey. Not even an ounce of hesitation.

He hands it to Liam, who downs it in one swallow and lets out a slow breath.

“On second thought,” Liam says, “I may need that bottle.”

Damian sighs and grabs it without question.

I sink into the armchair and point in front of me. “Come here. You’re not going to war, you’re getting married.”

Liam groans but walks over, kneeling in front of me with a dramatic grunt. “Always knew you wanted me on my knees. Who would’ve thought you’d finally get your wish on my wedding day.”

I snort and shake my head. “Just shut up and let me do your buttons before you accidentally ruin your shirt.”

His hands are still trembling as I work my way up the shirt, careful not to look too long at his face because for the first time in the decades I’ve known him… Liam looks scared .

Not panicked.

Not annoyed.

Scared .

“You all good?” I ask, quieter now.

He swallows. “What if he doesn’t come?”

I look up at him, still holding the top button between my fingers. “He’s coming.”

“If my last wedding was anything to go by, it won’t happen,” Liam says, and I freeze at his words. Liam hardly mentions Claire, and we usually don’t mention her around him, knowing how it usually sets him off.

The words land like a punch.

None of us speaks. Not Kyson. Not Damian. Just stillness in the room.

“Dustin’s not going anywhere,” I say after a long moment. “You think he’d leave you at the altar?”

“I don’t know what I’d do if he did,” Liam says. “Abbie will just have to take one for the team and share. I would make a great sister wife,” he laughs, and I smirk.

“Still not gay,” I tell him. “Give up on converting me.”

“Don’t mock it until you try it,” he laughs.

Kyson clears his throat, and I glance at him. “How long?” I ask.

“Four minutes,” he answers, and Damian grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and pulls it on. Kyson does the same, then helps Tyson slip his on and ensures he has the rings in his pockets.

Standing, I grip Liam’s shoulder. “You ready?”

He grunts. “Definitely not. So let's get this over with.”

The ceremony is outside.

Simple, but clean. Manly.

Dark wood chairs, a rough-cut stone aisle lined with pine, and a low altar made from reclaimed logs and iron. No flowers, no frills—just Dustin’s elegant, formal style, but not over the top.

Tyson stands near the front, holding the ring box like it’s the crown jewels. He’s wearing a little black waistcoat, eyes wide and focused.

I stand to Liam’s left. Kyson and Damian flank him.

We look like we’re about to lead a war campaign, not witness a wedding.

“Dustin did a pretty good job organizing all this,” I say, scanning the setup. “Looks… good.”

We take our places at the end of the aisle, and I see Clarice with Hunter in the front row, along with Kyzel Landen Valkyrie, our next king.

Kyzel cries out, and Kyson flinches; we all do, knowing how powerful that baby is.

When he was born, he came out screaming and invoked an earthquake.

We thought the entire castle would come down around us.

We thought Azalea was powerful after she managed to awaken the Azure and Landeena blood in her veins, yet Kyzel was born with power.

Kyson goes quiet, and we all stare at Clarice as she tries to soothe him. Kyson glances at me and chews his lip.

“Go get him then, Daddio, the more the merrier. Besides the last thing I need right now is a cyclone tearing up my wedding,” Liam laughs. Kyson rushes over, plucks him from her, and rocks him. Kyzel settles, and we all release a breath of relief as Kyson steps back in line beside me when he stops.

His gaze locks on the front row.

And when I follow it, I see why.

Two empty seats.

One with a nameplate etched in silver: Claire.

The other: Valor. Liam also notices Kyson’s stare turns to his side to look.

Liam stops breathing.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t cry. Just stares.

And for a moment, he’s not the executioner. Not the madman. Not the monster.

He’s just a man.

A father. A widower.

I grip his shoulder hard when the music changes.

We all turn. Abbie, and Tandi walk out first in black gowns, each with a matching sash that has me squinting to figure out the pattern when Azalea walks out next. Liam is holding his breath, and I don’t hear him release it until he lays eyes on Dustin behind her.

And he’s wearing a bloody vest.

White shirt, crisp beige trousers, and that custom-made vest, which is a perfect replica of Liam’s infamous apron. It is floral, faintly red-tinged, and has subtle bloodstains stitched into the fabric like art.

Liam chokes.

“Are you okay?” I murmur.

He nods, barely.

“He wore it,” he whispers. “He hates that thing.”

“He does, but it shows he loves you more,” I nudge him, yet he only has eyes for Dustin.

When Dustin reaches the altar, he looks Liam in the eyes and says, “I figured if I can’t stop you from killing people in that thing, I might as well make it look good.”

“I am so fucking you in my apron tonight,” Liam growls when the officiant clears his throat. Dustin smirks, taking Liam’s hands when the celebrant starts speaking.