Page 59 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

I counted to ten in my head. Then I rushed across the room and tried the door knob.

Locked.

As I’d suspected, Arlo had ways of making sure I didn’t leave my room. Cursing under my breath, I hiked my sleeve up and examined my arm. Three slashes marred my forearm, the wounds red and ugly. Blood clotted in the furrows as my body struggled to heal.

My gaze drifted to the bed, a vision of Einar with his first aid kid filling my mind. Had everything been fake? Had any of our moments together meant anything at all? Or had it all been farce? A test trial fueled by Adina’s potion, every interaction carried out under Arlo’s watchful eye.

My chest tightened. Only vaguely aware of what I was doing, I went to the bathroom and started straightening the toiletries lined up on the sink. A therapist once told me that repetitive behaviors were rooted in an anxiety sufferer’s need to regain control. I understood the theory well enough, but understanding why I did compulsive things didn’t make me stop doing them. My anxiety was just part of me, like my hair color or the freckles I’d hated as a kid. I managed my disorder with medication because I refused to let it rule me.

My fingers brushed my prescription. The bottle tipped, rolled, and clattered to the floor.

Memories of Einar rose, his silver gaze steady as he nodded toward the bottle protruding from my pocket. “There’s no shame in taking medicine. An ailment in the mind is the same as an ailment in the body. Treating anxiety is no different than setting a broken bone. You’ll receive no judgment from me.”

My heart sped up. “You’ll receive no judgment from me.”

But I’d judged him. Was his ailment all that different from mine? He lost control, but he managed his condition as best as he could. And the second I’d learned of it, I was prepared to write him off as a lost cause.

I bent and retrieved the bottle from the floor.

“You’re under my skin, Harper Ward. And the harder I try to fight it, the more I want to make you mine. No one challenges me like you do. No one dares. Every time we argue, I walk away wondering if I should have kissed you instead.”

He’d shopped for me. Lined up labels for me. Because he understood how it felt to lose control. I couldn’t give up on him.

“Arlo?” I called, rushing from the bathroom.

Goliath popped into existence directly in front of me, his body wreathed in a cloud of black smoke.

I stumbled backward, and I coughed as smoke filled my lungs. “What?—?”

“Shh,” Goliath said, stepping from the cloud. His face was pale under his tattoos, and his tail curled tightly around his hip. “We have to be quiet,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Arlo won’t be gone long. If you want to see Einar, we’ve got like five minutes to get you downstairs.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I do want to see him.”

Goliath offered a shaky smile. “I thought you might say that.” He sobered. “Harper… I never wanted to lie to you. But Prince Einar’s story is his to tell.”

Doubt crept in. “Well, he never told it. Not to me.”

“Because he was afraid to drive you away.” Determination filled Goliath’s eyes. “None of us have ever seen him like this. He’s happy with you. Adina has spent decades searching for a cure. And then you arrived. Maybe you’re the cure, Harper. Fate is powerful magic.”

Hope soared in my chest. “What do I have to do?”

“Just be you. Arlo is probably still in the crypt where Einar stays when he’s in one of his rages. If I can get you to the trap door, you can enter and try to break through to Einar. Arlo might balk at first, but he’ll keep you safe.”

I nodded. Then my heart sank. “Arlo locked me in.”

Goliath scoffed. “Locks can’t hold me.” He put out his hand. “Hang on tight. This will feel weird.”

I gripped his hand. And the floor dropped from under me. A scream lodged in my throat as I plummeted, the world dissolving into smoke. A second later, my feet slammed into a hard surface, buckling my knees.

I sagged to the ground, coughing as I tried to catch my breath.

“Sorry,” Goliath whispered, bending over me. “There’s no good way to prepare someone for morphing.”

I nodded, one hand pressed to the paved path that connected the garage to the main house. Evening air swirled around me, ferrying away the last of the smoke. Ahead, a door leading into the garage stood ajar.

“It’s through there,” Goliath said in a low voice.

I let him tug me to my feet. Together, we entered the darkened garage. Moonlight streamed through windows set high on the walls. Several vehicles filled the space, chrome gleaming in the gloom.

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