His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

Chapter 57

Ivy POV

As the days slipped by, his scent lingered a little less. Each day passed, my senses sharpened, my mind became clearer, and slowly I found the remnants of what was left of me. After so much solitude, I had slowly returned and found who I was, no longer ruled by instincts I was unfamiliar with. Agony was the only word I could use to describe it. One thing became obvious: I could not shift. It saddened me, and I wondered whether it was because of the bond like Gannon had said all those days ago or if I was a failure in that regard too.

I had vague memories of the King coming into the room. I remembered him healing my hand, but that was the last time I saw him. The King said he would be gone for two days; however, he was gone so much longer than that; I did not know how long it had been since I left this room, left my nest, but I had a feeling a considerable amount of time had passed.

As the days dragged on, they became more manageable, a little less painful. Once Kyson’s scent was gone, and only my scent remained in the room, I realized that my den no longer fulfilled its original purpose, and the bond was now only a distant memory, or so I hoped. Eventually, I was able to see my surroundings again. Clarity returned, and the fog lifted. It was like someone flipped a switch, and everything either went numb or died off. I wasn’t sure which one, but I didn’t care. I could finally breathe, finally felt more like myself in days.

door, I was drawn to the sound of the door creaking open. Getting up, I moved toward her, and she shrieked, the noise startling me and making me

only everything was shredded. I looked at the torn sheets and my lip curled in disgust as I scooped them up and sniffed

of cloth in this room made me look at my fingertips. How, when I can’t shift? It puzzled me. Shaking my head, I grabbed some of the longer pieces and made a sarong out of them. I looked like a peasant. I chuckled at the thought as I stood

Daley would have whipped me good for seamstress skills or lack thereof. Wandering out of the bathroom, I retrieved the tray from the floor by the door. Moving toward the fireplace, I sat on the floor by the coffee table. My hands trembled as I picked up the fork, making me wonder when the last time l ate was. I practically inhaled my food, barely tasting any of it. I was ravenous, and it barely touched the sides. When I was done, I wandered around the room, wondering if I

fact I had no clothes on underneath it or peeked my a*s, which I knew wasn’t fully covered; I could feel the draft from the open bedroom window caress against me. This was mortifying, but seriously it can’t be any worse than

to remember the way, one thing became clear. No one was

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