Chapter 93 

Liam POV

They say luck comes in threes, and I was beginning to believe that old superstition as I sifted through the rubble. Brick after brick, rock after rock, and dust, well, you get the picture. Anyway, I was knee-deep in shit! Not literal shit but you know, the kind of metaphorical … Aaah, nope! I am pretty sure that may have been actual shit and not a rock that time. I toss it over my shoulder, hearing a grunt and near squeal with joy when I find my trusty apron. I clutch it making sure it is in one piece. It has a small burn hole but never mind that; it adds character!

“Oh please, no. Of all the things to survive. That thing should have been the first to burn;” Dustin groans behind me. I narrow my eyes at him. What a vile thing to wish for! Does he not know how hard I worked to get it smelling like barbequed death and marinated Doyle steaks?

“That is not coming with us!” Dustin declares.

“I think I might wear it when we get married one day,” I tell him, and he scrunches up his face.

“You will do no such thing!” he snarls, yet I was caught on the fact he didn’t deny he was go ing to marry me.

“It’s a piece of art! See this stain right here?” I ask, pointing to it.

“That is an impression of a face! I peeled it clean off. I think my butterfly impression is rather good. You can even see his bulbous nose,” I tell Dustin, and he shakes his head.

“There is something wrong with you. You know that right?” he says, sifting through the rub ble.

“You just don’t know how to appreciate art,” I tell him, shaking my head as I toss my apron over my shoulder and move a piece of wall from one of the chimneys. I nearly wet my pants with excitement. Okay, maybe I did a little. What can I say? I am old, and I’m allowed to pee a little. The old pipes aren’t what they once were. Sometimes they leak.

I knew luck came in threes! I never doubted it for a second as I stared down at Crux. His mangled body is all crooked, his arm twisted the wrong way, he coughs, and I quickly lift my head to look around. Dustin had his back to me, salvaging what he could. Everyone else was too dis tracted as they, too, searched for what they could salvage. Crux coughs, and I quickly slap a hand over his mouth, not wanting to alert the others that somehow, by the grace of the Goddess, this fucker was gifted an extra life. And gifted to meeeeeee!

I started digging him out when I opened the mindlink looking for Gannon, who was over the far side with Abbie and Tyson. He hadn’t left her side since she returned to us, though that sire bond I would have to do something about. Like I knew the risk and all when I was secretly feed ing her my blood.

=–

She made Gannon promise not to try to change her again after his failed attempt. However, I made no such promises to her. And I knew Gannon was worried about her attempting suicide again. So I made sure that if she tried again this time, she would have my blood in my system so that she would change. I may not have made a promise to her, but I did make a promise to my brother. I think he scared her when his blood healed her, burned the wolfsbane right out of her

system, and he panicked, so he tried to drown her to force the change. She made him promise never to attempt to change her again after that.

It was just sheer luck that it worked. Because since she already had her wolf, it made it tricky to change her into a Lycan. Sometimes they would heal too quickly. And it was always the brink of death along with Lycan blood and venom in their system that forced the change. Completely dead, they are dead. But that dangerous edge between is what forces the gene to change. This is why, when changing someone, we usually need permission from the King.

Sometimes it doesn’t go as planned, and intervention is needed, or resuscitation can take a few goes for the gene to kick in. Regardless, by my first stroke of good luck, it damn well worked! Though the sire bond was kind of a bitch. Mainly because I didn’t want the girl looking at me all goo goo eyed. No, those eyes were reserved for my brother and my brother only. And my eyes are reserved for my Dustypoo.

the best prize and the third stroke

see his head turn to look for

says, and I wave my arms in the air so he can find me. He nods and lifts his arms as if to say, ‘what?’ I wave for him

haul the body off!” I hiss at

“Huh?”

to make a kebab out of him.

are you talking about?” Gannon snaps at me, and I

will share him,” I tell

“Huh?”

him. Crux groans and I press my foot on his

me something stupid or to toss an other rock at me, I

straining in my pants with my excitement. I wonder if Dustin would be down to fuck over his dead carcass?

survived, but my fireproof safe got destroyed? What the actual fuck!” Gannon

whisper and nod my head for him to look over the rubble at my feet. He

understands and gets me because he is just as fucked in the head as me. He gets it. He gets me and my need for sadistic, wicked torture. There is no better feeling than watching a grown man shit his pants because he knows he is looking death in the face. Or how their fear smells like burnt hair. The way the light fades from their eyes as they take their

him to

found, and he thinks I am senti mental about my apron. What the fuck does he want with

side, where Abbie and Tyson are with the King and Queen, taking his broken cup with him. At least my apron is functional! If

and he groans when Gannon accidentally steps

pull him off that roo bar,” Gannon says as we

to find something to muffle him before taking my shoe off and remov ing my sweaty sock. “What pretty lips? Now open up wide!” I

me!” he

the bunker,” I tell him, jamming the filthy sock in his mouth and slip ping

could get a good grip on him for a quick getaway, but

get the ass! You’re the ass man, not me!” Gannon

garden under the clotheslines. As we reach the forest edge, we see Peter, and we both stop dead in our tracks, caught red-handed with

nothing,” he says, strolling away and scooping up

we rush for

for this blessing! I think to myself as I laugh. This shall be fun! Coming up, one Crux kebab! “Hopefully, he tastes better than the Doyle steaks. He was a bit chewy.” I tell Gannon, and he chuckles. He thinks I am joking, but a chef must always taste is his masterpiece. It was just a little nibble, and he tasted like shit,

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