Mated To The King’s Gamma novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Gannon POV

I had counted every strike against the old hag’s back, watched as she hung limp in the restraint as my eyes wandered to the packhouse which the King had yet to emerge from. My brows furrowed, and I glanced around at the guards. I was so preoccupied with dealing with Mrs. Daley that I hadn’t realized the King was still inside the packhouse.

I wipe my hands on my jeans which were drenched in blood from the back spray from off the whip. “He still in there?” I ask one of the men standing guard by the doors. He nods his head.

“Yes, Gamma, we tried to go in, but he told us not to disturb him,” the man spoke, and I raised an eyebrow at him as I climbed the steps before shoving the rickety old door in. Alpha Dean and Alpha Brock were sitting on the steps in the hallway.

“Where is the King?” I ask before Alpha Dean lifts a shaking finger and points toward the basement door.

“He told us to get out and wait up here,” Alpha Dean says, and by how pale he was, something had scared the life right out of the old man. As I opened the door, I could hear the King muttering and cursing at myself for leaving him on his own.

Walking down the steps, I knew instantly he wasn’t in the right state of mind by his aura that had my knees shaking and the

goosebumps that rose every hair on my body. That proven more by the moment my feet touched the concrete floor, and I peered over at him where he stood by a table in the center of the dusty old room. The place was floor to ceiling high in boxes and files.

His entire body tensed as he sensed the incoming intruder. One side of the King everyone was petrified of. The monster that lurked beneath the skin of this man. In this form, he was the biggest predator, a lethal beast, and he showed it within seconds of me spotting him.

One minute, he was standing by the table under the hanging light. The next, his hands gripped my shirt’s front, and I was airborne as he tossed me. The air fizzled in my lungs as I hit a stack of boxes.

“Kyson!” I choked as his fist connected with my head. I growl before it’s cut off by his hands around my throat. I grip his wrists, only for him to lift and slam me onto the table that he was standing over when I came down here.

Damian usually dealt with him when he was in fits of rage, and usually, the King kept this part of him locked up tight until it exploded as it had now.

“Kyson!” I choked out as his grip tightened. His eyes were black and plagued with the horrors of his past, where he couldn’t protect his sister, a past full of bloodshed and unimaginable horrors. A place he was currently trapped in, like the nightmares that plagued him, and I was yet to figure out what had triggered him.

I tilt my head to the side just as his fist comes down on the table before punching him in the ribs. His grip never waivers as he hits me again, and I heard the wood crack as my head smashed back against the table. He would forgive me because I wasn’t taking a

pounding from him, and he clearly wanted to burn off some anger.

For what I would figure out after, as he raised his clawed fist again, I shifted under his grip, his tight grip making the transition painful as my neck elongated and the bones in my face broke and shifted, my jaws locked around his fist catching it and I jam my claws in his ribs.

He grunts, stunned by the sudden pain he felt, that momentary distraction making his grip on my throat lessens, and my claws slip free of him as he staggered back, allowing me to roll off the table. Only this time, I was ready and prepared for his attack.

By the time he came back to his senses, I don’t think there was an inch of either of us that wasn’t torn, scratched or bruised. His anger diminished as his eyes settled on me, the King returning and fuck, Damian is going with him next time. Every part of me ached and stung.

The King gasps, blinking. His eyes return to normal as he sits up from where I tossed him off. The basement was destroyed, and I took comfort in knowing I would not be cleaning it.

“Gannon?”

“My King,” I replied, baring my neck to him, hoping not to set him off again. We both breathed heavily, and I felt every bit of the 411 years I spent on this earth.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” I ask him trying to catch my breath as he shifted back. He leaned back against the

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Chapter 22

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bench and crooked shelf, bracing his arms on his knees. I still wasn’t shifting back, not yet. He was unpredictable at the best of times yet emotional at ticking time bomb running of instinct.

He clutches his hair in his fists, and I leave the question instead of getting up and upturning what was left of the table, the papers scattered across the floor. I was near tempted to go drag Alpha Dean down here when he didn’t answer when I spotted some photographs. One of the women I could barely recognize because she was ripped apart but the two orphanage photos of the two little girls I recognized instantly,

“This has something to do with Ivy?”