Page 2 of Mated To The King’s Gamma (Lycan Luna: Abbie & Gannon #3)

“You’re okay,” I whisper, reaching over and brushing her hair with my fingertips.

She exhales, squeezing her eyes shut, and her face reddens as it always does when she has these panic attacks.

She finds them embarrassing, and I know it will take her a while again before building up the courage to face Clarice and the servants after what happened.

Guilt gnaws at me, knowing it is my fault this time. I rearrange Tyson, moving him between us and tucking the surrounding blanket over him. Abbie rolls to her side, inhaling his scent while I watch her.

“I didn’t mean for you to leave the room, Abbie. You didn’t need to run from me,” I tell her.

“I need him in here with me,” she whispers.

“Abbie, he can’t sleep in our bed forever. I hardly get any sleep, as it is with him kicking the crap out of me in his sleep.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the couch with him,” she says like it is no big deal and as if I would allow that.

“That is…” I groan, pinching my nose. “That is not the only reason. I miss you. I miss being able to touch you and hold you. I can’t do that with him between us.”

“I can’t sleep in here without him, Gannon,” she murmurs, brushing his hair with her fingers.

“Why!” I snap, becoming annoyed.

“Because you will expect things. You don’t expect things with him here!” she snaps at me, and I blink at her in shock.

“You think this is about sex? Abbie, that is not what I meant. I have never asked you for anything more than you are comfortable with!”

“And I am not comfortable sleeping in here without him,”

“You were before he came along!” I tell her.

“Because you always slept on the couch!” she yells, and Tyson jumps, stirring awake. I sit up, horrified at her words.

“Why are you here if you can’t stand to be near me?” I ask her. “Can you even answer that?” I ask her. She says nothing. Standing, I peer over my shoulder at her as I grab my shirt to find her sitting up.

“I feel safe with you,” she whispers.

“Not safe enough to stay in a room by yourself with me,” I retort, tugging my shirt over my head. Abbie says nothing, just stares down at her hands, picking the skin around her nails.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs so softly I almost miss it.

“I have never hurt you or done anything to make you fear me. I am not Kade, Abbie. And if you can’t see that by now…

” She looks up at me, and I pause. I don’t finish what I was going to say as she looks at the door.

Instead, I leave before I say something I will regret. Leaving her there by herself.

Walking across to Liam’s door, I knock once before opening the door. Liam sits on the floor, sharpening his knives. “Go, I will keep an eye on them,” he says without looking up from his sharpening stone running the blade’s edge across it.

When I don’t move, he looks up, “Go, Gannon. Leave the door open. They’ll be fine,” he says, and I nod before walking off to find a guard to beat the crap out of.

I storm down the corridor, my hands clenched so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. My body thrums with frustration, anger, and something even worse—helplessness.

The look on her face won’t leave me. The way she flinches, the way she shrinks from me like I’m no better than the monsters who hurt her.

I’m not angry at her. I could never be angry at her. But this—this ache in my chest feels unbearable. I need to hit something, anything, just to get this pressure out of me before it consumes me whole.

The training arena is the first place I think to go. There is always a guard or two training late; if not, I’ll pull someone out of bed. I need to get out of my head, out of this feeling, before I march back into that room and demand answers Abbie isn’t ready to give me.

But my feet take me somewhere else instead as I stop on the bottom floor.

The scent of fresh bread and something sweet drifts down the hall, and before I can stop myself, I push open the heavy kitchen door knowing exactly what I will find.

Clarice stands at the long counter, kneading dough. She doesn’t look up right away, but I know she hears me.

“Thought you’d be down here soon,” she says finally, dusting flour off her hands before turning to face me. Her sharp, assessing gaze flicks over me, taking in the tension in my stance, the way my fists still haven’t unclenched.

“How?” I ask. She arches a brow at me. “Liam, of course,” she answers. “Judging by that look, I’m guessing this is about Abbie.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “She’s still scared of me.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be, raw with frustration. “I just—reached for her, that’s all. And she flinched like I was about to—” I cut myself off, unable to even say it.

Clarice sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. “She’s been through more than you or I can ever understand, Gannon. You can’t rush her.”

“I know that,” I bite out. “I’ve given her space. I’ve never pushed. But she pulls away again every time I think we’re making progress.” I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You can’t fix it.” Clarice’s voice is gentle but firm. “Not like it’s a wound that just needs stitching up. Some wounds fester for years before they even start to heal.” She tilts her head, watching me closely. “You know this. The question is, do you love her more than your own needs?”

I exhale sharply. “I love her more than anything.”

“Then stop trying to rush her past the pain and just be there. Not as a mate. Not as a man wanting more. Just as you.”

I nod, though I don’t know if I fully accept her words yet.

I want to be patient. I want to be what Abbie needs.

But damn it, I miss who she was before she left me for him.

I miss holding her. Miss seeing her smile, seeing her trust me without hesitation, she did once after it took me ages to get her to trust me, and now it’s like she never did.

Clarice must see the war on my face because she sighs and gestures toward the plate of biscuits on the counter. “Here. Take these back with you. Tyson will want one when he wakes up, and something tells me Abbie hasn’t eaten much today.”

I hesitate, then grab the plate.

Before I turn to leave, Clarice steps forward, placing a hand on my arm. “She’s scared of herself, Gannon. Not you. She is scared of what you’ll make her feel when all she knows is pain.”

“I would never hurt her,” I tell her.

“And she knows that, but her body and her instincts don’t. Those are the parts of her that remember, and those are parts that remember only pain.”

I meet her gaze, my throat tightening. I’m not sure if knowing that makes it better or worse.

With the plate in hand, I return to our quarters, the anger still simmering, but the need to take it out on something fading. I reach our door, and push it open quietly only to go into a panic when I see what she has in her hands.