His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

Chapter 134

Book 2. His found Lycan Luna. Chapter 9
Waking the following day, I tucked her nest around her. Azalea had built it around us in her sleep, growling at me when I moved out of it a couple of times. I always secretly loved seeing female Lycans nest. As dangerous as a nesting Lycan was. I liked the possessive nature behind it. I loved how they never lost that primal instinct over time and after changes in tradition.
It was inbuilt in their DNA, just like our calling is in us men. Azalea burrows underneath the blanket she had shredded, feathers covering every inch of the bed as she disappears beneath it. Grabbing some shorts, I walked to the door to see Damian standing guard. Wide awake and looking alert.
“My king,” he nods.
“Watch her for me,” I asked him and he nods to me. I head for the stairs, only I stop.
“Don’t enter. Azalea is”
“Nesting. I heard her shredding the bed earlier. Also heard you try to save your pillow from her. It woke me,” Damian laughs, and my lips tug in the corners.
“When I return, you can go off duty. I won’t be leaving her side,” I tell him, and I turn for the stairs again when Damian speaks.
“Dustin, My king?” I stopped, a growl slipping out of me as I turned to face him.
“He wants to return his post,” Damian continues.
“Trey, has it handled?” I say, but I was now a little uneasy about Trey.
“About that. I have removed him from her guard.” My brows furrow, and I turn to him.
“Very well,” I answer.
“You agree?” He asks, shocked. Yet ever since Liam said something last night, it bothered me.
“Dustin doesn’t trust him, and despite what he did, I know he wouldn’t have done it to put her in harm’s way. Liam said something last night too, so keep a close eye on him,” I tell Damian.

“Certainly, and Dustin?”
“He can return to his post, but,”
“I will tell him to keep his distance. You are doing the right thing, my King,” Damian says.
“He’s her friend,” I answer.
“And yours, my King. He is yours too.” Damian says. I nod, walking downstairs toward the kitchens. I was starving, and I didn’t want to bother Clarice, so I figured I would make mine and Azalea’s breakfast. Or was it lunch? I had completely lost track of time. Only when I entered the kitchen did I stop and sniff the
air. Rogues.
I stared at the two boys sitting on the bench with a bowl between them. They were licking an eggbeater each, and both of them froze when I stepped into the kitchen. Yet Clarice was not in sight, and neither were any of the chefs, so I assume it was between shifts.
“Hello?” I tell them, walking into the room and glancing around. How did they get in here, and where did they come from? They both stared at me like stunned rabbits. The oldest of the two tucked the younger
(LVU
bov closer. like he could protect him from me. I watched them for a second. The youngest looked like he was only 3 or 4 years old. Yet I could tell by their faint scents they are siblings.
“What are your names?” I ask. The oldest boy answered while the youngest cowered away from me. I checked my aura, making sure it hadn’t slipped out, but I gave them no reason to fear me. Yet looking at them, they were skinny and bruised. It made me wonder where they came from.
“I’m Logan. My brother’s name is Oliver,” the oldest boy answers. He goes to jump off the bench, but I shake my head, and he remains where he is.
The little boy looked up at me as I approached him. I could tell they were scared, their little hearts beating rapidly like a hummingbird’s wings in a gust of wind.
“What are you making?” I ask them, looking in their bowl. It looked like a cake mixture.
The youngest boy scoops some out with his finger, holding it out to me. His brother nudges him,nervously but I thought it was cute to offer.
“Want some,” he whispers, and I smile, grabbing his little hand and licking his finger.
“And that is Clarice’s famous mud cake. You two must be special if Clarice is making cake,” I tell them before scooping some batter out with my finger and eating it. They giggle, the sound warming, considering how frail they both looked.
The youngest boy, Oliver turns on the bench and grabs a wooden spoon, offering it to me. I take it, watching as they both use a teaspoon and their egg beaters to scrape the sides, and I join them. I wanted to ask questions but didn’t want to scare them. When the back door to the laundry swings open, the boys jump off the bench and hide behind me as Clarice walks in with a washing basket.
“Now, you boys didn’t eat all my batter, did you?” she asks, turning around and spotting me with the wooden spoon in my hand. I quickly hide it behind my back. Her mouth falls open, and she glances around for the two boys currently hiding behind me. Oliver sticks his head out, and relief floods her features before her face turns stern, and she places her basket on the bench and folds her arms across her chest.
“Boys, why are you hiding behind the King?” she scolds before spotting her empty mixture bowl. She clucks her tongue.
“Did you eat my mixture?” she asked, and I glance down at them. Her lips tug in the corners, and the boys step out from behind me. Logan, the cheeky little thing, points at me.
“He helped,” Logan snitches.
“It that so, my King.” Clarice asked.
“I was merely helping by making sure it didn’t go to waste,” I tell her and she chuckles turning her attention to the boys.
“Well, you best get me more ingredients, boys. I can’t make a cake with no mixture,” she tells them, and they scurry off toward the pantry. Logan stops at the door to the enormous pantry and looks back at me. “Are you really the King?” he asks.
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