Filed To Story: Traded To The Lycan King Novel (Colette & Merikh) by MG Wattsons
“Fuck you,” I spit at him. “Get up and start fucking moving. We need to go find Ezrah.”
Then I turn my back on him and walk away. A movement on my left-hand-side catches me off guard, my hand flying up to protect myself as pain takes over every nerve in my body and my vision fades to red.
“Kyra!” Hayes screams, his voice disappearing as my world fades to black.
*Hayes*
I barely have time to get her name out of my mouth to warn her, my heart pounding out of my chest as I watch in shock. I try to get to her, but it’s too late as a tree swings wildly in the raging mud. Its branches reach out and toss her slender frame like a rag doll twenty feet from me.
“Kyra,” I call out again, my voice harsh and loud. I duck under the tree as it’s pulled back into the fury of the waves that rush by with no care. “Shit,” I mutter, eyeing the way the water seems to rise further, putting us in danger of being sucked back in. With the way the current is going and Kyra lying unconscious, that is the last thing I want right now.
We need to move away from this river or mudslide or whatever natural shitstorm this is. There is no time to waste as I gingerly turn her onto her side. She is limp as I collect her in my arms. Her warm skin is raised and already bruising as I sprint further into the woods. My lungs burn as I push myself to run harder.
I stutter in my step when I look down. The full force of nature’s light showcasing the depth of her injuries. Kyra’s perfect face is swollen, her entire right side bruised with a deep gash from her hairline to the top of her cheekbone. The Purplish hues make her freckles disappear and my stomach lurches, my fingers grip her tighter as guilt washes over me.
I hate myself, the selfish way I’ve grown in my desire to just end my life. These bruises, her injuries, they are my fault. Had I not been so blinded by my own shit, I might have seen that she would come for me.
I swallow the lump in my throat, licking my dry lips before I look away, searching to see where I am, and if we can stay here at least until she wakes up. I find a soft, mossy spot near a tree and move toward it.
Kyra groans in pain as I lay her down, her face wincing as I wait for her to wake up. But she doesn’t. Impatience takes over as I lean forward to nudge her awake with a gentle touch.
“Kyra,” I whisper, moving closer as my hand strokes her cheek, trying to bring her back to consciousness. “Come on Ky, it’s time to wake up now.”
It does nothing, and I groan in annoyance, running my tongue over my teeth. I exhale sharply, my hand falling away before I stand and pace back and forth. Waiting, and waiting…and waiting for her to wake up and yet she doesn’t open her eyes, or even move for hours.
I check her pulse, my fingers brushing over her soft wrists, searching for any sign of life. Her heart beats strong and steady, and yet every time I step away from her, that panic that she won’t wake up takes hold.
So instead, I decide to occupy my mind and get things done, opting to believe she will wake up sooner rather than later. Hope and patience are my only options now, and I’m not great at either of these days.
For a short time I leave her, verifying we are safe enough and that Ezrah is not nearby or anything worse, like dragons or some other lurking enemy. Thank the heavens that none of our enemies seem to be nearby, and as luck would have it, I find a rundown car with grass and cobwebs for an engine.
I search it for anything I can find. The blanket is gray and holey, but the dust seems to shake off decently when I whip it through the air a few times. Under it, I find a stash of broken suitcases and grab the few items of clothing that seem like they might work based on her size. Then I shove my legs through some jeans that are not the right size. I tuck the blanket under my arm and rush back to Kyra with a shirt and some shorts in hand.
Each step brings a throbbing in my chest of hope that maybe she woke up and is sitting and waiting for me. A strange desire settling deep in my gut to see her eyes and feel her gaze on me blooms and I can’t hide the fact that I hate this. To see her hurt, unresponsive, again, is…making me go crazy.
As I break into the little area I had put her, a sick feeling of dread falls over me. Kyra’s unconscious body remains exactly where it was, unmoved, as if she has done nothing but breathe and hold on to life.
Her naked body is covered in goosebumps, the only sign that she is still clinging on. Her torso and chest are riddled with healing bruises and her shoulders bare an et deep red mark. She was Selor incredibly hard, her head catching the brunt of it. Clearly why she is still asleep. I only hope that the internal damage is enough that her body can heal it. to “I got you some clothes.” I say, stalking toward her unconscious body, feeling a little awkward speaking to someone who can’t respond. “If you wake up while I am doing this, I swear I am just getting you dressed.”
I kneel beside her, gently sliding my hand under head and lifting her slightly as I slip a green oversized shirt over her head. My fingers skim her skin tenderly as I pull the fabric over her arms and down her legs as far as I can.
I move to her ankles and slip her feet through the holes in the terry cloth shorts and slip them up her legs. Then I grab the blanket and lay it over her. The exhaustion from earlier is gone as I watch her delicate features as she remains passed out with me on watch, sitting next to her.
Kyra has always been beautiful.
When we were younger, her freckles reminded me of the stars, and most nights after she ran away, I would stare up at the sky and regret everything in life. I missed her, still miss her. It took watching her nearly dying a second time to realize just how much I hate the thought of a world without her.
to It is captivating, just how much she has changed, all the while still being exactly who she always was. There was a time I wanted to kiss those lips until they were red and swollen.
A time where I would have given everything for her, a time before I realized we weren’t fated mates. Well, that’s not all that true either. Even now, looking at her as she breathes, the air whistling from her pursed lips… the urge to touch them is overwhelming.
I reach out, pulling my hand back as I hesitate for a moment, then I press my fingers to her swollen face. Her skin is warm to the touch, the bruise already looking better as the cut on her head is healing already. My fingers slip down her cheek, finding a freckle before I drag it to another, then another.
I could get lost in these freckles, just drawing sweet nothings as I connect them from one perfect little brown spot to the next. My fingers stop at a larger freckle just at the corner of her lip, and I find my mouth is dry.
This is why I had to reject her confession of love, why I had to cut ties. How could I love someone this hard when there is no bond? And how desperately would it have hurt her had I accepted her and found my mate later in life?
Breaking her heart was the easiest thing to do, as I knew I was protecting her from something far worse. Or so I thought, but not even I could save her from the pain of losing a mate. Hell, I couldn’t save myself either.
I inch down, laying beside her as she shivers, my arm slips around her stroking her back as I try to warm her with my body heat. Moments like this, in the silence, where I am lost in a time, where I was happy and not broken. I think maybe, just maybe, I could live a life after Leandra.
Maybe I could deserve it, if this woman right here didn’t hate me. Her lips press together, and then the part, a huff of hot air hitting my face and it overcomes me. Fuck, I have tried to block those old feelings, convince myself she isn’t the same gir loved, but under that sassy attitude and strong facade is just Kyra. My Kyra, if I had let her be mine. to I slip my hand up her arm and over her shoulder, finding her cheek as I commit every second of this to memory. With the gentlest caress, I stroke my thumb over her lips, my eyes falling closed as the lightest tingle glides up my arm, bringing a smile to my face.
Then my eyes snap open, my hand yanking back as if her skin is made of lava, my chest heaving for air. What the fuck was that?
*Kyra*
Warm air brushes over my cheeks, a gentle feeling as if it were a soft kiss barely touching me. I feel strangely relaxed, safe, as I try to force myself to move. My body feels heavy, my eyes aching with a dull pain behind them as I blink them open, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion when I see him.
Hayes lays next to me, his eyes closed as the sun beats down through the leaves of the trees above us. His breathing is even and soft, his gentle breath heating my face as I find myself frozen, transfixed on just how much he has changed. I don’t mean because of his burns, but rather the way his cheek-bones are sharper, his jawline tense and his lips…his lips look more tempting.
I try to turn onto my back, but I find myself trapped beneath his arm over a gray, dingy blanket. His arm lifts just enough for me to squirm and that’s then I realize my arms are stuck inside the massive shirt I have on. My nose scrunches in confusion as I shimmy around, finding the arm holes that are twisted to the sides, before I push my hands through.
“Are you awake or having a seizure?” Hayes’ groggy voice asks and I scoff, looking over at him only to see his eyes are still closed, but there is a quirk of a smile at the corner of his lip.
“Did you get me dressed?” I ask him and he exhales, popping one eyelid open, unamused.
“I did the best I could for someone more limp than a dead snake.”
My mouth falls open, and I lick my lips, smiling even if he is trying to offend me to pick a fight.
“You didn’t think to put my arms through the holes?” I ask him, waving my arms around in their newfound freedom.
“Figured you’d be warmer,” He shrugs.
“You also tucked me in?” I ask, arching a brow, and he frowns before sighing.
“Kyra, you were shivering. What was I supposed to do, let you freeze to death?” He mutters, turning his back to me. I pause, nibbling my lip as I try to figure out how to say thank you.
The words that seem so easy somehow don’t want to come forth the more I remember. I have many more things I want to say: curse words, questions, really snarky comments about his intelligence. But I push it all aside and clear my throat.
“Thank you, Hayes.” I murmur. He turns, looking at me suspiciously over his shoulder.
“What?” He asks, and I roll my eyes.
“You’re going to make me say it again, aren’t you?” I ask him and He lays his head back down, but not before I see a smirk.
“Say what again? You were mumbling, so I couldn’t hear anything.” He lies.
“Thank you for not abandoning me.” I say louder, crawling over to him as I lean over his side to make sure he can hear me. Then I lean into his burned ear. “This time.”
He flinches away, leaving me watching him with wide eyes as he scurries to a standing position, leaving me on my knees. I tilt my head to the side, my mouth tugging down at the corner.
“It’s fine.” He says, clearing his throat as he rubs the back of his neck and looks away. My stomach twists, and I look down at my hands, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, as if I have made a fool of myself.
“We should probably get moving to find the others.” I say, standing. My legs wobble as I find my foot, the world spinning while my eyes close and I find my balance. A soft groan slips out and a gentle pressing at my back makes my eyes snap open.
“Are you okay?” Hayes asks, his voice low and his eyes meeting mine, making my mouth feel dry.
“I’m fine,” I croak, stepping away from him.
“Good.” He says, giving me a quick, half smile before he turns and bends down to gather the blanket. His jeans stretch over his rear end, making it impossible not to stare as I bite back a laugh.
“Hayes?” I say and he hums in confirmation that he is listening. “Where did you find those jeans?”
He turns to face me, tucking the blanket under his arm before crossing them over his chest. Then he arches a curious brow.
“Why do you ask?”