Page 17 of The Lycan King's Captive

Yet I’d never witnessed courage as admirable as hers.

I brushed my thumbs over her damp cheeks, silently cursing Roman for leaving me with nothing but my eyes as a voice.

The wind shifted again—a reminder that we stood in the open with rain drenching us to the bone. I dropped my hands and motioned Abby to go slow.

I caught more scents as we approached the cabin. Vehicle exhaust and bug spray. Beer someone had poured on the ground. My apprehension lifted. The smells were old. Whoever owned the place hadn’t used it in a while.

Abby must have sensed it, too, because she slipped a shoulder under my arm and urged me forward. “We need to get you out of this rain.”

I hid a smile as she took some of my weight. No one ever ordered me around. On the rare occasions someone tried, my beast roared to the surface and let them know just how unwise it was.

But my wolf was quiet now. Deep in my head, the beast was content, as if he liked her fussing.

The cabin’s door was unlocked, which didn’t surprise me. There was little point securing a place so isolated. A trespasser could bust a window with no one but the deer to notice.

We shuffled inside and were immediately met by the musty smell of empty house. But the cabin was by no means abandoned. The entire floor plan place was visible from the front door, and while the place was modestly furnished it was also neat as a pin. A plaid sofa and matching chair were situated around a word-burning stove, and the tiny kitchen looked dated but functional. A darkened doorway revealed the edge of an avocado green toilet.

Abby spoke in the no-nonsense voice used by doctors everywhere. “Let’s get you to the sofa.”

I eased from her grip and limped toward the kitchen. Sitting held plenty of appeal, but it wouldn’t help me.

She stayed close, as if she worried I might fall. Which was good thinking, because my vision was swimming again.

The fridge was probably older than the Carter administration, but it buzzed with electricity. The main compartment was empty. The freezer was stocked with venison and frozen burritos.

I grabbed as many as I could hold.

Abby realized what I was doing and moved with brisk efficiency, producing a plate and loading burritos into the ancient microwave. While it hummed, she guided me to the sofa and settled a blanket around my shoulders. She wrapped another around her own and went to the kitchen. When she returned with burritos, I tried to pull her down beside me, but she knelt instead. “You eat. I want to look at your side.”

Once again, my wolf didn’t mind the order, and the beast stayed dormant as she lifted the blanket and prodded the edges of the claw marks.

Her ministrations were unnecessary, but it was easier to let her go as I focused on devouring a freezer’s worth of burritos. With every bite, my strength returned, the aches and injuries fading. Wounds knit together, the edges burning and itching as new skin formed.

She looked up sharply. “You’re healing.”

“Yes,” I said in her mind, and her eyes widened at the return of my telepathy. “As long as my body has enough fuel to regenerate, I’m very difficult to kill. Decapitation could do it, but it would have to be a thorough strike.” And, to be safe, anyone who wanted me truly dead would need to put a lot of distance between my head and my body.

A range of emotions flitted across her face, finally settling on curiosity. “Am I like you now?”

My stomach clenched, and it had nothing to do with freezer burned burritos. For the first time since Roman bit her, she seemed optimistic. I wanted to breathe oxygen on that small flame of hope. Instead, I had to snuff it out. Because any lie I told her would be temporary. She was already destined to hate me. I wasn’t going to make things worse by deceiving her.

“You have some healing abilities, but you’re not like me.”

“Because you’ve been a werewolf longer?”

Pain shot through my mouth. I swallowed as the itching, burning sensation coalesced between my molars. “Because I’m a lycan.”

Confusion swirled in her eyes. “I’ve heard that term before. Lycan is just another word for werewolf.”

I didn’t need oxygen to speak, but I drew a deep breath anyway. “Werewolves are bitten. Lycans are born. We were never human. Roman called you a werewolf because he made you, just as his sire made him. Our two sides have been at war for centuries.”

She tensed. The cabin seemed to tense with her, the small room swelling with unease as rain pounded the roof.

I should have been grateful for the shelter—for surviving every torture Roman put me through. I’d endured each humiliation without breaking his stare. Yet I couldn’t look Abby in the eye now. Not when I had to tell her the truth about what she was.

About what we were to each other.

So I stood and went to the window, my gaze on the forest just beginning to brighten with morning sunlight.

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