Page 17

W hen I asked Abbie what she liked in town, she sounded distant, like what I asked upset her.

That thought alone has me watching her and I can’t bring myself to leave her side.

She peels the skin from her fingertips, a habit that bothers me because she doesn’t even seem aware she’s doing it.

The entire drive home, she was lost in her own world, trapped in her thoughts, tearing her fingers to pieces.

After we returned, she headed to the laundry room to start the washing like she couldn’t get away quick enough.

I followed her silently, watching as she loaded the washer, her focus entirely on the task in front of her.

She didn’t notice me standing behind her until I walked over and picked up the basket.

“Come on, I’ll help.”

She looks unsure but eventually sighs. “You don’t have to help me,” she says.

“I want to,” I reply, carrying the basket over to the clothesline. I set it down and retrieve the pegs. Since I have the afternoon off to prepare for tomorrow’s trip with the king, I decide I’d rather spend the time with her than doing anything else.

“What chores do you have next?” I ask as she hangs a pillowcase.

“Staff bathrooms, then mopping, and whatever Clarice sends me to do,” she says.

“After that, I have to head back to the guards’ floor—your floor—to do the afternoon sweep of the rooms, restock supplies, mop the floors again, then help with kitchen prep before serving.

After dinner, I’ll clear the rooms again, do the dishes, and check the laundry for any extra loads. ”

“How long does all that take you?” I ask, frowning.

She glances at me over her shoulder. “Tonight’s a full roster, so…probably until around 10 PM.”

I furrow my brows. “What time did you start this morning?”

“4:30,” she says with a shrug.

“AM?” I clarify, and she nods, grabbing more linens to hang.

“Why so early?” I ask, shocked at the insane hours she’s working.

“Damian likes the gym cleaned before the men go in for training. Do you train with them?” she asks.

“No, I don’t. Damian handles mornings, and Liam and I alternate nights. Lately, Liam’s been taking most of the night shifts. His paranoia keeps him awake,” I tell her, handing her some pegs and grabbing a sheet to hang.

“Yeah, he seems a little…” She trails off, hesitating.

“Unhinged,” I suggest with a smirk.

She peeks at me, chewing her lip, then shrugs. “He’s nice, though,” she says.

If only she’d seen him in his element. Nice wouldn’t be the word she’d use—psychotic, dangerous, maybe even manic—but definitely not nice.

“I’ll speak with Damian. Does he know how late you’re working?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. But I don’t mind. It’s not every night I work this late, and I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Why would you get in trouble?”

“For not working enough,” she says simply, pegging the last set of linens on the line and grabbing the empty basket.

“How about this,” I say, “I’ll help you finish your chores, and when we’re done, we can go for a run. I’ll clear it with Clarice and Damian.”

Her eyes light up, darting toward the forest. “Really?” she asks, her excitement obvious.

“Really,” I confirm.

“But it’ll be late by the time I finish,” she says, looking longingly at the woods.

“I’ll get someone to cover your afternoon shift. Show me where to start,” I tell her, nudging her toward the laundry doors.

“Are you sure? It’s pretty boring. I’m sure you can find better ways to spend your time,” she says, setting the basket on top of a washer and checking the machines still running.

“Hmm. I’d rather spend time with you,” I say, grinning as her cheeks flush.

“Why?” she asks, grabbing cleaning supplies.

“You’re prettier than Liam,” I tease, snickering.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Where is Liam, anyway? You two are usually inseparable,” she says as we head upstairs.

“Probably harassing someone while working. Or maybe he’s with Dustin,” I say with a shrug.

We spend the next couple of hours completing her chores together. When we finish, I tell her to grab a bag for her clothes while I go clear things with Clarice. I find her in the kitchens and before I can even ask, she speaks.

“You like her, don’t you?” Clarice teases, a knowing smile on her face.

I roll my eyes but sigh. “Maybe.”

Clarice chuckles and waves me off. “Go on, then. I’ll get Ester to cover for her. Have fun,” she says.

Once done, I inform the guards of our plans and let Damian know before heading upstairs to shift and pack a change of clothes. Once I’m ready, I knock on Abbie’s bedroom door.

“What did Clarice say?” she asks, nibbling her lip nervously as she peeks out. She startles when she realizes I am already shifted.

“Gannon?” she asks, sniffing the air slightly.

“Are you expecting another Lycan in your room?” I ask her. She sighs in relief.

“My sense of smell isn’t as strong in this form.” she reminds me.

“Clarice got someone to cover for you, so we’re free to go,” I tell her, stepping inside to grab the small bag sitting on her bed. I take her hand, leading her downstairs and out into the woods.

Abbie wanders toward a tree, then shifts, carrying her uniform in her mouth as she pads over to me. I crouch down, stuffing the clothes into the bag before running my claws through her fur. She purrs, zipping in and out between my legs as I stand.

I laugh as she jumps up, placing her paws on my stomach and rubbing her face against my chest. Pressing my wolfish head against hers, I whisper, “I’ll race you.”

Before she realizes what I’m doing, I lick her face and take off into the woods. Her surprised growl quickly turns into the sound of her paws thundering after me.

Abbie’s excitement is contagious as we run together. This time, I bring her clothes, knowing how quickly her wolf gets caught up in the moment and exhausts her.

After running, we go for a swim. Despite her initial hesitation, she seems to enjoy herself.

Out here, away from the castle, it’s like the weight of the world melts off her shoulders.

She looks carefree, unburdened by the role she’s forced to play at the castle.

But I’ve noticed the moment we’re back on those grounds, she retreats into the servant role she’s grown accustomed to.

I hate seeing her stuck in that position.

Earlier, I spoke to Damian about making her my personal servant, a role that would give her more freedom.

He told me I’d need to speak with the king, though I doubt the king would object—if Abbie agrees.

I plan to raise it to him when we visit the Landeena castle.

“Turn around,” Abbie squeals as she paddles toward the water’s edge. I laugh, turning my back to her.

She has her bra and panties on this time, so I don’t know why she’s so self-conscious. Besides, I’ve already seen her naked—not that she knows that. When I hear her grunt, struggling to climb the embankment, I turn back and grip her hips to help her.

“Gannon!” she squeals as I lift her up and settle her on my lap at the edge of the water, our feet dangling. Her pale skin stands out starkly against my dark fur, yet she doesn’t seem to fear me in this form.

“Why don’t you shift back?” she asks.

I nuzzle her neck, and she drops her chin, but staying in place on my lap.

My hands rest on her waist, and as I glance down, I notice her bra is completely see-through.

Her pink nipples peek through the damp fabric, and I realize just how scarred her body truly is.

Deep claw marks mar her breasts, the angry lines vibrant against her pale skin.

I’ve seen the lashings on her back before, counted them when she wasn’t looking in the water, but I didn’t notice these marks until now.

Resting my chin on her shoulder, I glance at her thighs and hips, where similar scars are etched into her flesh, as though someone had gripped her too tightly and lost control.

“Did Mrs. Daley do these?” I ask without thinking, brushing my clawed thumb over one of the scars on her breast.

Her entire body stiffens on my lap. Realizing her bra is see-through, she scrambles off me, her arms wrapping around herself as she rushes to grab her uniform from the bag. I internally curse, knowing I’ve upset her.

She pulls on her uniform hastily, buttoning it up as I get to my feet.

”I didn’t mean to upset you, Abbie,” I say softly.

“You should’ve told me it was see-through,” she snaps, her hands fumbling with the buttons.

“Where did the scars come from?” I ask, ignoring her frustration.

“Same place the rest did. The orphanage,” she replies curtly, her tone shutting me down.

“They look like claw marks,” I say, reaching for the bag to grab my own clothes. I shift back quickly and pull on my shirt, keeping my chest hidden. As I put on my shorts, I turn back to see her finishing the last few buttons on her dress.

“We should head back,” she says, scooping up the rest of her things.

Her mood has shifted completely. I don’t understand why she’s so upset about the bra—it’s not like I haven’t seen scars before. Her silence bothers me as much as the tension in her shoulders.

As she ties her hair into a bun, I notice a scar on the back of her neck, partially hidden beneath her hair. It runs across her neck and behind her ear. Reaching out, I trace it with my finger, and she jerks away.

“Ivy has a similar scar,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “It’s on the opposite side, though.”

Abbie touches the back of her neck self-consciously, avoiding my gaze. She grabs the bag and slings it over her shoulder, but I take it from her.

“What did I do? Why are you in such a rush?” I ask, gripping her hand. She pulls away, her gaze distant, as if she’s looking right through me.

“Abbie?” I prompt, trying to get her attention.

She blinks, snapping out of whatever thought she was trapped in.

”What do you want with me?” she asks, her voice robotic, devoid of emotion.

“Pardon?” I ask, confused and she seems to realize what she said.

“Never mind. We should head back,” she says, walking off before I can press further.

“Abbie, what do you mean?” I ask, catching up to her.

I grab her arm, jerking her to stop. She sighs but I can tell she is not only humiliated by something but on the verge of crying.

“Your intentions,” she says flatly. “Everyone wants something. Everyone takes something. So what do you want? Why are you always being nice and why are you hanging out with a servant?”

Her words hit me like a punch. She doesn’t even look at me as she speaks, but I notice the way her nose twitches, subtly sniffing the air as if preparing to run.

“I just like hanging out with you. Why is that so bad?” I ask.

“Because you’re a man. You’re a Lycan. And I’m a servant. A rogue,” she replies, scanning the trees until she finds the track and starts following it.

“I don’t want anything from you, Abbie,” I tell her honestly.

She glances over her shoulder at me.

“Tell me—where the scars come from? Why do you and Ivy have matching ones?”

Her hand instinctively touches her neck. “More than my life,” she murmurs.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“It means exactly that,” she says, brushing past me and walking ahead when I try to move in front of her.

The rest of the walk back is filled with tense silence. Her mood weighs heavily on me, and I can’t figure out what I’ve done to upset her. The moment the castle comes into view, she rushes ahead.

“Abbie!” I call after her.

“I have chores to do,” she calls back, her voice sharp.

That’s a lie. I cleared her afternoon with Clarice. Frowning, I follow her scent back to the stairs and see her slip into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

I stare at the door for a moment, debating whether to knock, when Damian’s voice echoes through the mind link. “Gannon, I need you in the king’s office.”

“I’ll be right there,” I reply with a groan, turning away from Abbie’s door. Whatever’s going on, I’ll have to speak to her when I get back from the trip.