Traded To The Lycan King by MG Wattsons novel Chapter 172

Hayes clutches to me, his body shaking as his hand drifts up to my hair, cupping the back of my head and tucking me to his shoulder. Teiran moves toward the ball of roots, rearing back his fist as he roars in anger and hammers through it.

Wood splinters, green and brown, showering down on him as he heaves and reaches through, grabbing the fae by her neck. She dangles, scratching his hand as she feebly tries to escape.

“Let go!” She grits out, small whimsy branches trying to reach out to help her, but she is out of strength and energy.

“Teiran,” I say, trying to move toward him, wanting to warn him not to kill the annoying woman, but Hayes tightens his already bone breaking grip. I squirm, pushing him back with great effort as he blinks and looks at me. His brows pull together and he tilts his head.

“Kyra?” His voice breaks as he comes back to reality, the look in his eyes killing me. I can see how disappointed he is in seeing my red hair and freckled face as he stumbles back, creating more space between us. I don’t have time to watch him break my heart by accident as I rush over to Teiran.

“What do you want me to do with her?” He asks, still holding her up as she dangles, weak and helpless. Her defiant eyes meet mine as I press my lips together in thought.

“Knock her out and bring her along,” I sigh, reaching up and rubbing my temple, trying to force all the emotions of what just happened away. I need a logical mind, not an emotional one.

“I won’t help–” she says as Teiran grins, slamming his fist into her face. He drops her to the ground, then turns to look at me and Hayes.

“You going to deal with that now or later?” he asks. His words sound harsh, but his face tells me he is concerned. I get the feeling Teiran has had his own kind of heartbreak, even if they don’t have mates like we do. Or at least not in the same way.

“I don’t need to be dealt in one way or another.” Hayes snaps, swinging his head in Teiran’s direction. He looks drained, his back rising and falling as if he has been struggling in water for too long. And I suppose, in a sense, he has been drowning.

“Do we need to rest here?” I ask him, and he scoffs before he breaks into a sardonic laugh.

“That feels like a yes,” Teiran mutters, then he bends down, grabs the fae by her ankle, and drags her toward me. He releases her limp body at my feet and juts his chin to the denser forest behind me. “Guess I’ll grab some wood.”

As he walks away, he reaches into the bag over his shoulder and pulls out a pair of shorts, pressing them into Hayes’ hands before he pats him on the shoulder and disappears. Hayes looks down at them before he silently slips them on and stands awkwardly where he is.

“So you had a breakdown,” I shrug, walking closer to him. “It happens.”

He shakes his head and clears his throat.

“Not to me, not to lycans like me,” He whispers, lifting his hand as if his hands are dirt as he observes them.

“And what makes you so special that you don’t get to show emotions or have trauma?” I ask him, lifting a brow as I inch closer, trying to make my movements small and unnoticeable, but he notices. Lately, it seems, he is always noticing everything.

“I am trained to be mentally strong, to fight the mind a-and just deal with shit better.” He snaps, reaching up as he drags his hands through his hair.

I exhale, my head falling to the side as I watch him try to understand that he is no different than anyone else. Training or no training, Hayes is just as human as the rest of us. He has always been transparent, easy to speak to and the person with wise and aged advice. And yet here he is after falling apart and he isn’t sure how to put himself back together because he can’t admit it even happened.

“The problem is you refusing to deal with it at all, Hayes.” I say gently.

He nods, his hands finding his waist as he exhales deeply and drops his head back, looking at the tops of the trees and the daylight that seems to fade.

“It was easier,” He murmurs before he clears his throat, “Well, I mean ‘is’ easier.”

“Easier is usually the wrong route.” I say with a smile and he chuckles, shaking his head, his dark hair shaking back and forth as he looks up at me.

“You sound like I used to.” He says with a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.