Page 35 of His Fierce Lycan Luna
“Ah, matters of loyalty and trust, no doubt,” Liam replies with a coy smile. He leans against the cool stone wall, arms folded across his chest, his casual stance belying the gravity of the situation at hand.
“To see if he’s a traitor,” he answers, catching the question in my eyes before it spills from my lips. The man who threw himself between me and death is now being doubted and is under suspicion.
Liam tilts his head, studying me, his light tone belying the tension in his posture. “What’s wrong, Lass?” His gaze, sharp and probing, searches for cracks in my composure.
I shake my head, the frustration knotting in my stomach like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Nothing,” I say, but my voice betrays the turmoil inside. Kyson’s evasion is weighing on me. “He just doesn’t answer my questions or runs from me when I have them, and now he’s questioning one of my guards and hiding from me again!”
Liam’s grin is all mischief as he leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Stubborn man, the King, but you just have to think. There’s a time he can’t run.” My brows furrow at his riddle, the answer skirting just beyond my grasp.
“Think about it, Azalea,” he nudges gently, his eyes gleaming. But my patience is threadbare, and I’m not in the mood for games.
“Your cryptic advice does wonders for my mood, Liam,” I retort, my sarcasm falling flat. His eyes dance with amusement, the kind that comes from knowing secrets the rest have yet to discover. “Was that supposed to help me?”
Liam’s laughter rings out again, clear and untroubled, as if he’s privy to a private joke between him and the universe. “I don’t know, did it?” He stands there, still as a statue save for the twinkle of mischief in his gaze, watching me wrestle with the puzzle he’s laid at my feet.
I shake my head, unable to stifle the chuckle escaping my lips. Liam flashes me his typical, mischievous grin, as if daring me to question his methods.
“You’re an odd man, Liam,” I laugh.
“That’s why I’m so much fun,” he replies.
“What about Abbie?” The question bursts from me, concern threading through the irritation in my voice as soon as I mention her name. She’s been too quiet, too absent, and it doesn’t sit right with me.
Liam straightens up, the smile never quite reaching his eyes as he responds. “She’s with Clarice,” he says, and the next partcomes out almost reluctantly, “though I know the Ling wanted you to wait here until he returned.” He watches me closely, gauging my reaction.
My eyebrow arches involuntarily at his words, a silent challenge against the notion of being caged by commands, even if they come from Kyson himself. Liam’s lips twitch at the sight of my defiance.
“Did he now?” My tone is deceptively calm.
“And with that look, I don’t think you intend to wait around for the King to return,” he laughs.
“No, I want to find Kyson,” I state, the words slicing through the thick air between us when his gaze roams over me before it flickers away.
“Probably be wise to put some clothes under your robe, My Queen,” Liam’s voice is light, but I can hear him holding back from laughing. At his words, a flush crawls up my cheeks as I glance downward, realizing I’m still naked beneath the thin silk.
“I don’t mind the view, my Queen, but King Kyson may not approve of you sharing it,” he laughs, and I snap the robe together.
“Right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. With a swift pivot, I return to the room, my mind racing with thoughts of Kyson. In moments, I’m slipping into a dress that clings to my form like a second skin.
Once properly dressed, I stride out, Liam’s presence at my back. The murmurs of feuding leaking through the door of the King’s office grow louder with each step, the voices sharp and jagged, cutting through the air.
Without hesitation, I push the door open. The space beyond the threshold feels charged, alive with tension. The arguing halts abruptly as if my entrance has snuffed out the flame of their conflict. Heads turn, eyes widen, and the room falls into a shocked hush.
“You’re awake!” Kyson’s voice slices through the silence, a mixture of surprise and something else—an emotion I can’t quite place.
I nod, unwilling to offer more than necessary, and sit in his chair.
Kyson’s posture is rigid, and the lines of his body are taut and straining as he stands over Trey. Gannon’s hands are planted firmly on Trey’s shoulders, holding him in place. I catch a glint of frustration in Trey’s eyes.
“Please, continue,” I say, my voice calm but carrying an edge that dares them to challenge my right to be here. “I believe I have an interest in the matters at hand.”
“No, you need to leave,” Kyson growls, and I ignore his words.
Dustin’s presence is a storm cloud in the corner, his body rigid against the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest. The lines etched into his forehead speak of a raw, simmering anger, and his eyes—sharp, calculating—remain fixed on nothing and everything at once. Damian, on the contrary, seems to wilt before us, with dark circles under his eyes resembling bruises from to be exhaustion.
“Kyson,” I begin, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.
“You should go back to the room,” he says, voice firm yet not an order.
