His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

Kyson POV

Clarice lied to me; she knew where lvy was, but she did not check in like she was supposed to, which

infuriated me.

“Where is she?” I snapped at her, and she took a step back from me.

“Outside helping Peter,” Clarice told me.

“I will deal with you when I get back,” I said, turning toward my guards.

“F*****g find her,” I ordered them, and they took off.

“She isn’t doing anything wrong, my King; she is only helping clean the graves,” Clarice said in Ivy’s

defense. Hearing that only infuriates me further.

“You let the daughter of their k****r, clean their graves, the disrespect, Clarice, f*****g think,” I roared at

her, and she narrowed her eyes at me before pointing an accusing finger at me.

“You listen here, Kyson, I have watched you grow, I helped f*****g raise you, you do not speak to me like

that. That girl is not her mother, and if you are too blind to see it, then you have no right being her mate,”

she snarled at me. My fist smacked down on the bench, and she jumped before glaring at me. This old

woman was putting her foot out of line if she thought she could speak to me this way.

“You are a b****y idiot. That girl has suffered enough. Stop punishing her for the crimes of her mother.

She didn’t k**l Claire,” I growled at the mention of my sister’s name, and I felt the urge to shift rush

through every cell in my body, making my skin vibrate. Turning on my heel, I walked out before l hurt the

woman. She was right about helping raise me. Clarice was more my mother than my real one. She did

most of the raising since mum was always busy being Queen, but that didn’t mean she could tell me

what to do.

Walking outside, my men were all standing at the top of the graveyard. Shoving past them, I growl when I

don’t see them grabbing her. Searching the rows, I find her at the last one and stop beside her. I growl,

and she looks up when I notice her hands. Her fingertips were bleeding, and she was covered in mud,

the heat emanating off her skin I could feel even with the cool breeze.

Taking the scrub brush from her hands, I snarled, “D**n it, Ivy, look at your hands.”. But she snatched it

back from me before turning back to the grave. Grabbing the scrubbing brush back, I tossed it in the

bucket. The water splashed against her, and I noticed a few of the guard’s step closer and I glared at

them, making them take a step back.

“Kyson!” Damian snarled through the mind-link.

“Quiet, you don’t interfere when I am dealing with her,” I ordered, ignoring him.

“You didn’t check-in; Clarice is now in trouble for covering for you. Why are you out here? You disobeyed

me,” I snapped at her before bending down and gripping her arms. She turned to d**d weight in my

hands, so I shook her, her skin so hot it was making me angrier seeing how sunburnt she was.

“You’re sunburnt; your skin is blistered,” I growled at her. Trying to drag her toward the castle, but she

started thrashing and managed to yank out of my grip. “Ivy!” I snapped at her disobedience, reaching for

her, about to toss her over my shoulder. Gannon and Damian moved closer, and I growled at them.

“I’m not f*****g hurting her, now step back,” I ordered as she grabbed the scrubbing brush before she

frantically started scrubbing. She hiccupped a cry, making me look at her.

“Ivy?” Ivy whispered, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were raw red, her eyes whites now bloodshot,

and her tear marks etched into her skin like blood staining her hands. However, her following words

made me realize something was wrong; I should have paid attention to the bond instead of my anger,

though that was still there simmering in my veins.

“She k****d them. I loved her, and she k****d them. How could she love me and k**l them?” Ivy cried and

l looked at the graves before looking back at her. I swallowed down the emotion that tried to choke me

upon seeing her frantically scrub the skin off her fingers as she tried to clean the tombstone. Clarice’s

words came to me.

“She is not her mother,” Clarice is right. Her mother never shed tears over the lives she took. Ivy was not

that sort of monster, and the guilt on her face was proof of that. I didn’t know how to help her. Looking at

her like this, I could see the error I made. Ivy was as much a victim as the rest of them, only she was a

living one. She had to live with her mother’s sins.

Kneeling down beside her, I grab her hands, dropping the scrubbing brush. “You’re not her,”

“I am, I am. She made me, can’t you see?” Tears burned my eyes at seeing her so distraught and feeling

helpless.

“No, you aren’t,” I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen, rambling about having to take it back, that she

needed to clean them, they needed to be clean. I looked to Damian, wanting to know what to do, only to

find him gone before he dropped beside her, trying to get her to go with him. Still, not even then would

she move intent on cleaning the other 50 or so graves in this row.

“Get me a rag,” I tell one of the guards.

“Sorry, my King,” Dustin asked.

“I said get me a rag,” I told him, taking the scrubbing brush from her fingers again.

“Stop, I will clean it, stop,” I whisper before sitting in front of the grave. I pull between my legs before

grabbing the scrubbing brush. That was almost down to the wood that held it together. She had worn the

bristles down from scrubbing. Ivy tries to take it from me again, and I growl at her before locking my legs

around her and using the calling to calm her. The moment I do, she lashes out, hitting and clawing at me.

“I’m cleaning it, stop, or I will force you inside”, I warned her, and she stopped when she saw me start

scrubbing the tombstone. When I look up, I notice all the guards are gone. They all return only with

buckets and cleaning brushes a few minutes later. Dustin hands me a fresh scrubbing brush before

taking his bucket to another grave when some of the kitchen staff also come out with Clarice, cleaning

buckets in hand, and I grip Ivy’s chin, forcing her to look at me.

“See, they will be cleaned,” I tell her, pecking her lips, which were just as blistered as her skin. I turned

her face to see all the guards and workers that had come to help.

“They aren’t here for me. They’re here for their Queen,” I whispered to her.

“Where I should have been,” I tell her grabbing the scrubbing brush. It took an hour for us to finish them,

but not one stopped until we had cleaned them all.