Page 28 of His Lost Lycan Luna

"Abbie?" Clarice's voice reaches my ears, and I peer around the edge of the bed. She gasps, and I quickly shift back, reaching for the sheet on my bed to tuck around me.

"I'm sorry, I promise I was careful and didn't scratch the floor." Tears burn my eyes and I peer down at the mess on the floor. "I promise I will clean up the fur," I quickly tell her, covering myself. Clarice stares at me, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I wonder how many lashes I will get for my selfishness.

"You're not in trouble, Abbie. I noticed you didn't come down for supper," she says, placing a food tray with a slice of pie on the bed.

"Sorry, I will get changed and come down," I tell her. She stares at me for a second before nodding and heading toward the door. She pauses just as Gannon and Dustin walk past my door.

"You know, Abbie, if you want to shift, you can go into the woods. Just let the guards know you're out there so they don't think you're a stranger." Clarice says, and I tug the blanket tighter when I notice Gannon has stopped and is staring past Clarice at me. I drop my gaze, unable to meet his gaze.

"It's okay, it won't happen again," I assure her.

"Abbie?" she speaks softly, and I lift my gaze to hers. Her brows furrow, and she looks at Gannon behind her.

"I'll take her for a run," Gannon offers, but I shake my head.

"No, it's fine. I think I will just take a shower and clean up the mess I made," I tell them. Gannon goes to say something but closes his mouth. With a swift nod, he walks off. I let out a breath and Clarice watches him leave. Clearly, my shifting inside has angered him.

"Try to get some rest, but if you want to shift, you can go to the woods to do so. I have told you, Abbie. You aren't a prisoner here," Clarice says kindly before leaving me. Yet she says that, but I cannot see Ivy, or even go to that floor. I don’t much feel like tempting the Lycans by doing something, even if allowed.

Mrs. Daley used to like to play those games, get our hopes up and say we could have a break. The moment we did, she beat us bloody. Or like the time she said we could eat with the children at the dining table, only to humiliate us when we sat down with them. She tossed our food on the floor and made us eat like dogs. After that, when the children begged for us to sit with them, we never asked again. We were only twelve at the time.

We had finally given in to the children and thought for once we would ask; it sucked because the kids always asked. We only asked once because it was Mrs. Daley’s birthday. We spent all day preparing the cake and making sure we had a delicious meal prepared for her. We thought if we worked extra hard and made her happy, she would let us join her and the other children. She had promised us that if we baked her favorite chocolate mud cake, and cooked a roast we could celebrate with her and try the cake we painstakingly created for her.

We were so excited, and when the other kids sat down, we served them food. Then we gathered our own plates. Usually, Mrs. Daley gave us whatever scraps the kids didn't eat or sometimes if she thought we were being lazy, she gave the scraps to the pigs and we went without. We were on our best behavior, she promised. Even Katrina was excited for us and helped us bake the cake. Yet as we plated our food and went to take our seats, she snapped at us.

"What are you doing?" she snarled, and we both froze and looked at Katrina who stared at her in confusion.

"They're going to join," Katrina says before she is interrupted by Mrs. Daley.

"Dogs don't sit at the table," she said, getting up.

"I said you could join us because I was feeling generous, but filthy rogues eat like filthy rogues," she said, snatching our plates. She emptied the plates onto the floor.

"Now sit and enjoy your meal," she ordered us. The humiliation and sadness at the broken promise nearly made me cry, but I held it back, knowing what tears earned us. With one last glance at Katrina, we saw her lips quiver, and she tossed her napkin before storming out.

I nudged Ivy as I went to sit on the floor. Ivy, I could tell, didn't want to eat it, though the floors were clean, we would know. We clean them daily. She had just glared at Mrs. Daley, and I had to nudge her, giving her a look to remind her we hadn't eaten in two days and she had fainted the day prior. Who cares if it was ruined? We still needed to eat, Ivy especially. She always got less than everyone. Mrs. Daley was exceptionally cruel to her. I would always sneak her food scraps when I could, knowing she wouldn't receive half of what I got or anything at all.

"Please," I whispered to her, nudging her with my elbow. Ivy looked at me and dropped her gaze to the floor. She then sank down beside me and scooped up a roasted potato from the floor and nibbled on it.

Looking at the slice of pie on the tray, makes me wonder if Ivy has eaten. Maybe I can sneak it over to her. Ivy is always too shy to ask for food. She has copped one too many beatings for it, so my conscience gnaws at me about how much I have eaten since being here, realizing she may not be eating at all. I quickly change, scoop up the plate and peer out the door, trying to sneak into the King's quarters. Yet it doesn’t take long before Trey, one of the guards stationed there, spots me and sends me away.

ChapterNineteen

IVY

The last three days have been a disaster. Ester keeps finding ways to sabotage me and get me in trouble. So far, I have been having trouble with Clarice, one of the cooks, and now I find myself staring down at the broken vase she deliberately shattered.

To top it off, I have a fever; my back seems to have an infection. I fight back the tears while retrieving my dustpan and broom and start to sweep the mess up. She isn't even supposed to be up here, yet I always catch her tampering with my work. She always waits to see my reaction, then darts off. This time, glass is scattered everywhere. It’s a wonder it didn’t cut me.

Gosh, I wonder how much it costs? It looks so expensive, so I know I'm in trouble. Hearing voices on the stairs, my breathing becomes erratic, and I start grabbing the big chunks and dropping them in the bin as quickly as possible. Yet this causes me to slice my fingertips, making me hiss. I’m so over the injuries. I’m over constantly aching. I just want to rest.

Being here is worse than being at the orphanage. I swear my ribs are broken on my left side. The bruising is now a deep dark purple with yellowing around the edges from Ester tripping me on the stairs.

My new shoes also give me hell, though someone keeps supplying me with thick socks for which I am grateful. In addition, someone gave me a blanket from the King’s room. I had wondered if it was him since the first morning when I woke up with it draped over me. I cautiously place it back in his room, only to find it tossed over me again the following morning. I have kept it ever since.

I have noticed, though, that the King has been on edge and hasn't been working much or leaving his room much. I also saw him snap at a few guards.

Another thing I have noticed is that he is lately smelling heavily of liquor. The last few times I have brought him dinner I could tell he was drunk. His behavior has been strange. Sometimes I even notice him following me around, which is terrifying. I can't think with his intense staring, and I mess up constantly which ends up angering him even more.

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