Page 31 of His Lycan Luna Queen

AZALEA

The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from a small window casting a beam on the figure sitting on the floor. He is hunched over with his head in his hands, his fingers gripping tightly on the photograph. Taking a look at the guard that followed, I shake my head, warning them to leave me with him. Closing the door and turning around, I approach him.

The room is heavy with the weight of his sorrow, a thick fog that clings to every surface and has left traces of anguish in its wake. His gaze is distant and haunted as he holds the photo, the only connection to the sister he had lost. As I approach, I can feel the intensity of his emotions through our bond, a storm of sadness and anger swirling within him. Yet, all of my own anger dissipates when I look at him, lost in his grief. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment before returning to the photo, a reminder of the void in his life since he lost her.

His anger had forced him to shift, yet now all I feel through the bond is immense sadness. Soul-crushing pain courses through the bond and inward pent-up rage.

As I stop in front of him, his voice hushed, he utters, “This picture was taken a week before she was tragically taken from us.” Intrigued, I pause by his side, drawn in by the weight of his emotions. His arms open wide, inviting me to sit on his lap, and I nestle into his comforting embrace.

“She was going to name her son after our father. They decided on Valor. That was my father’s name,” Kyson tells me, and I take the photo from his hands and look at it.

“You and Claire were close,” I state. Kyson nods slowly, his face hidden against my neck as he breathes in my familiar scent.

“She was my best friend. And I couldn’t save her,” he murmurs softly, his words laden with a mix of affection and regret. A pang of empathy courses through me, mirroring the pain that reverberates within him.

Recalling the events that unfolded, Kyson’s voice trembles as he continues, “When I returned home that day, Clarice asked about Claire’s whereabouts. She mentioned that she hadn’t seen her all day, and her quarters were locked. Worried, I used my master key to gain entry, assuming she must be asleep and unaware of our return through mindlink.” His memory hangs heavy in the air, each word laced with a sense of helplessness.

“You found her, didn’t you?” I ask him, my voice trembling with a mix of dread and curiosity.

“Yes. She didn’t come down for dinner, so I used the key to get in. I wish I could erase that day from my mind, but no matter how much I try to, I can only remember how I found her,” Kyson says while wrapping his arms around my chest.

“She was only a week out from giving birth. I saw her that morning, and she insisted I go. Claire refused to come with me and refused my offer to stay. Said she had something to take care of,” Kyson tells me, and I swallow. The lump in my throat grows larger as he speaks, as if each word carries the weight of the tragedy that unfolded before him.

“She was still in her pajamas, as if she went back to bed after I left. Her mate was dead beside her, his throat was cut, and a dagger was in his chest.”

I can almost feel the sharp pang of anguish that grips Kyson’s heart as he recounts the horrifying scene. It’s as if he’s transported back to that fateful day, reliving every moment that shattered his world.

“Claire, I could tell she fought. She had stab wounds on her hands, one of her fingers was sliced off. Yet it was pointless; she ultimately suffered the same fate as her mate. We found copious amounts of wolfsbane and silver in her blood work from the autopsy report. She had needle marks on her neck and thighs. The wolfsbane weakened her. Yet, it was not enough to kill her before Valor was cut from her. I believe she gave up after that. She didn’t care to fight once she lost him. She never even shifted. It was as if she accepted her death and no longer wanted to live without her son,” Kyson tells me.

The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. In that moment, I understand the depth of Kyson’s pain and the scars that will forever mark his soul.

“Kyson, I’m….”

“I should have saved her,” Kyson’s voice trembles with regret, his words hanging heavy in the air. “I should have been here. I could have saved my nephew,” he continues, his voice choked with anguish. “Just as I should have saved our daughter.” The weight of his words settles upon me, causing my brows to furrow, my heart to ache.

“But I am always late. Always, too late,” Kyson says, and I stop.

“Our daughter?” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I struggle to comprehend his revelation.

The room falls silent, the gravity of his confession enveloping us both. Kyson’s voice breaks through the stillness, his painpalpable. “Another person I failed,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with self-condemnation. “The most important of them all, and I wasn’t here.”

His words pierce through me like a dagger, leaving me breathless and desperate for reassurance. Without hesitation, I reach out and grip his trembling fingers, seeking solace in our shared grief. Kyson’s tears mingle with the anguish in his voice as he continues to speak, revealing a truth that shatters me.

“No, I was too early,” I protest, my voice shaky but refusing to believe he could know the gender. “You don’t know that.”

A bitter smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he meets my gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and acceptance. “I do know that, Azzy,” he whispers, his voice heavy with emotion. “I had Doc check.” With a gentle movement, he reaches into the bedside drawer and retrieves a leather box. Placing it delicately on my lap, he waits for me to open it.

My hands tremble as I grasp the box, feeling its weight in my trembling palms. Reluctantly, I lift the lid, afraid of what I might find within. As I peer inside, my breath catches in my throat. A tiny pink teddy bear urn rests within the confines of the box, its delicate form a painful reminder of what should have been.

“I had her cremated,” Kyson’s voice quivers, his words dripping with anguish. “I didn’t want her little body rotting in a box for the worms to eat.” The tears well up in my eyes as I gaze upon the heartbreaking urn no bigger than my palm, that holds the remains of our daughter. In that moment, the weight of our loss crashes over me, threatening to drown me in a sea of sorrow.

The room seems to close in around us as we sit there, bound by grief and haunted by what could have been. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the sound of our shattered hearts.

Kyson gently untangles the chain wrapped around the bear’s throat, carefully pulling it out and revealing a gleaming crystalpendant. Holding the teddy bear in his hand, he places it delicately into my open palm. Instantly, a wave of sadness crashes over me, crushing my heart into a million shattered fragments once again.

Kyson sweeps my hair to the side before kissing my neck and placing the chain around my neck. I lift the cerulean blue stone closer to my eyes, its vibrant hue captivating me in its ethereal glow. “Same color as your eyes,” Kyson whispers, as he does up the clasp.

“I had some of her ashes placed inside, so she would always be with us. Wherever we went, she would always be a part of us. I wanted to give it to you when I brought her home, but I didn’t want to upset you,” Kyson murmurs as I brush my thumb over the face of the teddy. I nod because it is all I can do, words failing me. I can feel his heartache as if he screams it out at our loss.

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