Page 20

Gannon’s hand moves, fingers slipping beneath my chin to tilt my face up, ensuring our eyes meet. “Don’t hide yours, and I won’t hide mine,” he whispers, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip.

“These from the wars?” I ask, a little shocked. I always thought Lycans healed quickly.

“No, self-inflicted,” Gannon says, peering down at his torso.

“You did that to yourself?” I ask, horrified. He tilts his head to the side, examining my face.

“Why?” I blurt.

“The same reason you gave yourself that scar on your neck, I tried to end it,” Gannon says, his hand moving to the side of my face.

His fingertips trail down the scar behind my ear.

My hand moves over his, and I touch the scar and swallow.

The memory of how I got it and Azalea hers will forever haunt me.

That day, I wish I could remove it from my memory entirely. If only the rope held and didn’t snap.

“You tried to…end your life?” I ask, barely able to get the words out. The thought of gentle, caring Gannon wanting to die is too much for me to grasp.

Gannon nods, his expression pained as he stares down at our intertwined hands.

“I was in a dark place,” he admits softly.

“I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and not like the person staring back at you,” He leans down, pressing his head against mine.

“Just as I know the feeling of not wanting to wake anymore. Looking for anything to erase the agony you are in.”

For a moment, we stand there in silence, lost in our own thoughts and memories. Then, Gannon’s hand moves from my face to cup my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over the scar again behind my ear.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he says, gazing into my eyes with such intensity that it takes my breath away.

“I’m glad you are, too,” I reply honestly.

With a small smile, Gannon leans down and presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss. It’s not passionate or heated; instead, it’s filled with a sense of comfort and understanding. Gannon knows what it’s like to carry heavy burdens and pain; he knows what it’s like to feel broken inside.

“More than my life,” Gannon murmurs. “That is what you and Azalea say?” he whispers. I swallow and nod.

“More than my life, Abbie, you are worth so much more than mine. You hold on, and I will for you, I have for you.”

“Azalea told you?” I ask him, suddenly feeling dirty.

“No, the king did. Azalea wouldn’t betray you. She explained how you both shared similar scars and the meaning behind the words you speak with each other. Not what the butcher did, but I got the picture. Doyle confessed when I found him.”

“You met him?” I ask, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat at the mention.

“Yes, and we killed him for what he did. Mrs. Daley, too. He will never come after you again. I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

“You killed him?” I ask. I am surprised at how little I feel about that information. He had confessed to murdering someone, but I feel nothing.

“He hurt you, so I made him hurt, too,” Gannon tells me, and I nod, biting my lip. What do you say to someone who confesses to killing for you? I should be worried he would, yet I felt nothing. Not sadness, not relief, just nothing.

“I wish I could heal you,” he repeats, and my eyes dart to him, his eyes roaming over my torn flesh before moving to the marks on my neck.

“Kade never deserved you. I hate that his marks lay on your beautiful neck.” I touch them, and they feel bruised. The movement makes me wince.

“You will let me remove his mark from you one day; I can be patient, Abbie,” Gannon says, and my brows furrow at his words.

“You can remove them?”

Gannon chuckles darkly. “Yes, when I mark you and when you agree to let me be yours,” he says, and I step back. I’m not sure I want anyone to have that sort of control over me again, not after what Kade did.

“Shh, not now. When you’re ready. I will wait. For now, having you back is enough for me,” he says, stepping closer. His arm goes behind me, and the water cuts off.

“What if I am never ready?” I ask, wondering if he would walk away.

I’m not sure if I can be with anyone, though I used to want to be with Gannon. I still do; I’m just not sure how that will be possible now. So much has changed. I have changed, and I know it isn’t for the better.

“I’m immortal, Abbie. I have all the time in the world to wait for you,” he says before turning and grabbing the towel hanging on the hook. He wraps it around me, pulling me closer. His lips press to my forehead.

“You’re worth waiting for,” he murmurs, and I sigh, closing my eyes and just enjoying his closeness. For a moment, it feels as though the world outside doesn’t exist—just his arms, his warmth, and the promise of something I thought I could never have again: safety.

Gannon pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning my face as if he’s memorizing every detail.

His hands are gentle but firm as he helps me step out of the shower, wrapping me securely in the towel.

Water drips from my hair, trailing down my battered skin, but he doesn’t flinch at the sight of me.

Instead, his movements are careful, deliberate, as though he’s afraid I might shatter under his touch.

“Let me,” he says softly, his voice low and soothing, as he takes another towel from the hook and starts patting my hair dry.

I stand still, letting him care for me because, truthfully, I don’t have the strength to resist. I watch him work, his jaw tight as he concentrates, his hands surprisingly deft for someone so large.

Once my hair is mostly dry, Gannon takes the clothes I brought and kneels to help me into them.

I hesitate for a moment, but his steady gaze reassures me.

He’s not doing this out of pity—he’s doing it because he cares.

And for some reason, that realization makes the knot in my chest loosen ever so slightly.

“I can do it,” I whisper, trying to take the shirt from his hands, but he shakes his head, his lips tilting in a small, almost amused smile.

“Just let me take care of you, Abbie,” he says, helping me ease my arms into the sleeves, careful not to tug at the stitches lining my skin.

Once I’m dressed, he steps back, giving me space, though his eyes never leave mine.

He grabs the towel to dry himself quickly, then pulls on some loose-fitting pants, that he must have mindlinked to have brought here—not that I heard anyone come in—but then again Liam you never hear so it might have been him.

“Come on,” he says, holding his hand out to me. His voice is soft, but there’s an unspoken authority there that I can’t seem to ignore. “You need rest.”

My heart races as I place my hand in his. His warmth envelops me as he leads me from the bathroom. The walk through the darkened corridors is quiet. Gannon’s presence is comforting beside me, I’ve always felt safe with Gannon.

That is, until we step into his room.

The moment I see the bed, my chest tightens, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin.

Memories flash behind my eyes like lightning—Kade’s hands, his cruel smile, the feel of being pinned, trapped, powerless.

My breathing quickens, and I stumble back, my feet stumbling as I try to back out of the room.

“Abbie?” Gannon’s voice pulls me back to the present, but my heart is pounding too hard, too fast.

“Abbie, look at me,” Gannon says again, his voice firm but gentle. He steps in front of me, blocking my view of the bed, and places his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not him. I will never hurt you.”

I shake my head, trying to speak, but the words won’t come out. My throat feels tight, like it’s closing. Gannon cups my face, tilting my head so our eyes meet.

“Abbie, breathe,” he says softly, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “Just look at me. Not the bed. Not the room. Just me.”

His eyes flicker to that of his Lycan as they hold mine, only to return to their normal color, calm and warm, and slowly, the panic begins to ebb. “I’m right here, no one would dare hurt you here.” His forehead rests against mine, and his hands slide down to hold mine.

“I will never, ever hurt you,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Abbie. I’m not Kade. I’m not him.”

Tears spill down my cheeks, and I hate how vulnerable I feel, but Gannon doesn’t pull away. He stays right there.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for,” he continues. “I’m not expecting anything from you. You don’t owe me anything. I just want you to rest. That’s all.”

I nod shakily, though the fear still lingers in the back of my mind. Gannon’s lips press to my forehead, and then he pulls back, giving me a small smile.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, gesturing to the small couch near the fireplace. “You take the bed.”

“But—”

“No buts, Abbie. You need it more than I do,” he says firmly. “I’ll be right here if you need me. I promise.”

His sincerity is so overwhelming, I can only nod. He gently guides me to the bed, pulling back the blankets before helping me climb in. My body feels like it’s made of lead, and as much as I hate to admit it, the softness of the mattress is a relief after everything I’ve been through.

Gannon tucks the blankets around me, his movements slow and careful. He pauses for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I catch the way his eyes soften as he looks at me.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs. “No one will hurt you while I’m here. I swear it and I will kill anyone who dares tries.”

I don’t respond, but I believe him, I know he would kill for me, has killed for me. Yet that just makes guilt eat at me more knowing I may never be enough for him.

As he moves to the couch, I watch him settle in, his massive frame looking out of place on the too-small cushions. He leans his head back, closing his eyes, but I know he’s not asleep. He’s keeping watch, just like he always does.