Traded To The Lycan King by MG Wattsons novel Chapter 142

*Hayes*

I wait for Kyra to make her way over to the fire after changing her clothes, my feet kicking at a stone stuck in the dirt. It was a bad call to leave her behind. No, it was worse than a bad call. It was a grave mistake that I feel deeper than I am prepared to admit. Kyra could have died, and it would be my fault just like it was with Leandra.

My throat tightens, and I clench my jaw. Anger, my usual companion, seems to morph into a heaping of self loathing. Shit. I should have just dealt with it, but Kyra, with her red hair and freckles like the stars in the sky, she complicates things. She floods my head with memories of who I was, what I lost.

And as much as I need her gone, I don’t want her hurt. I care for her, I always have. She was an amazing friend and a bright spot in my past. But my past is buried in ash, and having her here does nothing but stir up those ashes and leave me exposed.

“I don’t think she wants to come over, Hayes.” Marcos says, coming up behind me.

I lick my lips, biting back a bitter chuckle. Of course she won’t. The damn redhead has as much a fight in her as I have anger.

“Did you tell her she does not have a choice?” I ask, turning slowly to face the annoying, handsome lycan. My gut pinches, my eyes scanning the man before me with a renewed bite of jealousy.

“No offense, but you aren’t a beta anymore—” He says, breaking off when a low growl rumbles through my chest. “Look, she is shaken up. In my opinion, she needs space.”

“I will ask for your opinion when I want it, Marcos. Now go fetch my fucking tracker.”

He lingers for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief and wandering off to a small tent. Marcos disappears for a minute, before he steps out, giving his hand to Kyra, who takes it as she limps in my direction. It feels like there is something stuck in my throat as I clear it, and adjust my sweatshirt at the neck.

Why does it feel so hard to breathe when I see someone like Marcos touching her?

“You called for me, your royal dictatorship?” Kyra says, wincing as Marcos helps down on the to log in front of the fire.

“You alright? Do you need anything?” He asks, his eyes focusing on her face like he knows her well enough to care. I bite back a scoff just as she barks a soft laugh.

“Oh, you think I trust you enough to ever take something from you again? How fun.” She sneers before she whips her heated gaze to me.

“Marcos, go get the ointment.” I order him, and he frowns as his shoulders slump and he stalks off doing as I ask.

“Don’t bother,” she calls out to him as he continues to walk on.

“Let me see you,” I say, stepping over to her.

“There is nothing to see. I am a lycan, and I will heal after a good sleep.” She protests, her arms crossing over her chest, but I see the way her already pale cheeks lose more color and she seems to gasp silently.

Guilt and frustration swirl together as I press my lips together and scowl at her.

“It’s my fault you are hurt, so shut up and stop resisting.” I mutter.

She stops moving, sighing as she gives in and leans forward as I step behind her. My hands reach out to lift her shirt and my breathing hitches. A shiver running through my body, making me freeze as I blink and try to regain mental control. Why does the thought of seeing her smooth skin make me feel uncomfortable? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you going to look or are you trying to muster up a half-assed apology?” She mutters, giving me permission as I pull up the hem of her shirt and look at her bare back.

She leans forward, her elbows on her knees as she reaches back with her hands shielding her front as she grips the shirt at the base of her neck. Everything goes still, the air no longer moving and the sounds disappearing as I stare at the damage I caused.

When you live in a mentally dark place, you don’t think you can sink any lower. That is until you witness what exactly that darkness has led you to do to someone you used to care deeply for.

The deep bruise covering the entirety of her back makes my heart skip a beat and the jagged cut, though clean looking and no longer bleeding, looks deep. She is littered with lacerations and scraps.