Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 198

Chapter 198: Sugar in Every Dish

Derek stormed into the main mansion and straight through to his study, his mind a tangle of a hundred warring thoughts.

He was confused and in denial. And beneath both of those, he was furious. The problem was, he didn’t quite know who he was furious at.

Was he mad at Uncle Crane for being a professional pain in the backside? Was he mad at Rolf? Himself? Or was he mad at the photographs?

Honestly, his hands were just itching to grab the nearest object—preferably a very expensive one—and hurl it straight through a window to see if the crashing sound would make the noise in his head stop.

He hated losing control.

A soft knock came at the door. But before Derek could roar at whoever it was to go away and choose death elsewhere, the door pushed open slowly, and Nana stepped inside.

She didn’t look bothered by the fact that the entire room smelled like a stressed-out Lycan King. She looked at him calmly.

"How are you, son?" she asked, walking in.

Derek let out a heavy breath. He opened his mouth and found he could not say a single word. He just stood there, looking like a giant, muscle-bound toddler whose favourite toy had been flung into a black hole.

Nana looked at him for a second, then beckoned him to come forward. She spread her arms wide, tilting her head with a knowing expression.

"Come here. You look like a man who desperately needs a hug," she said.

Derek said nothing. He crossed the room and walked straight into her arms.

She wrapped them around him, this enormous king who towered over her, and rubbed slow circles against his back as he bent and rested his head against her shoulder.

And there, hidden against the curve of her neck, he closed his eyes and allowed silent tears to run down his face.

For the first time in days, something in him eased. A small sense of calm settled over the chaos in his chest, a comfort he had not even realised how desperately he needed.

He let go of his stiff, kingly posture and leaned into the hug even more, practically burying himself in her maternal warmth.

They stood like that for a long while.

At last, Derek spoke, his voice rough and quiet against her shoulder.

"Nana... do you think I can ever be the king my people need?"

Nana’s hand paused on his back.

"Derek," she said gently, "you would make a fine king. You already are one. You took this territory and built it into a fortress with your bare hands, and you did it before you were even twenty-eight. Do you think an incompetent man achieves that?"

Derek pulled back, shaking his head, wiping roughly at his face. "I don’t want you to say something just to make me feel better about myself, Nana. I’m not a child."

Nana scoffed, crossing her arms as she looked at him with an amused expression.

"And what is it you expect me to say, then?" she asked. "That I will stand here and tell you that you are a miserable failure just because our security has been compromised a couple of times in eight years?"

She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. "What you have to understand, my boy, is that things happen. Bad things, sometimes, that no man living could have stopped. You cannot spend your life beating yourself bloody over things that were never in your control to begin with."

Derek swallowed hard. He held her gaze a moment, then asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

"Do you think I made a mistake? Marrying a werewolf?"

Nana shook her head without a moment’s hesitation.

"I think you did something bold," she said. "Something extraordinary. You followed your heart. Mark my words, son, you and Kira will go down in the history books for bringing werewolves and Lycans together after so many centuries of foolish animosity. That is a legacy. Don’t let the fear of the present ruin that."

More tears ran down Derek’s face at her words. He wiped them away quickly with the back of his hand, feeling a bit ridiculous.

Nana smiled and patted his cheek. "Come on, don’t hide your emotions. Not from me."

Derek did not tell her. He did not say a word about the photographs Crane had thrown across that table, or the threat the man had left hanging in the air, or the sick doubt that had begun to whisper at the back of his own mind.

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