Page 63 of His Loved Lycan Luna

“I am Beta Damian’s servant. I don’t think he has another. No one was in the room when I went in there,” I tell him.

I grab my soap, placing it on the niche before hissing as I start the shower. Gannon growls behind me while I examine my arm, which is black and blue, where Kade mauled me, the stitches pinching my skin, holding it together. The water sprays out, bursting from the shower head in a wide spray, making my injuries burn and sting.

“Can you shut the door?” I ask him, not wanting to turn around. I hear the door close and sigh, stepping under the water, only to cringe away. My head throbs as I wet my hair before turning around. I rub my eyes to rid them of the water. When I open them, Gannon is standing in front of me.

The door is closed behind him, but he is inside the stall. I quickly try to cover my breasts, though I have no idea why. When I asked him to close the door, I didn’t mean for him to come into the shower with me.

Gannon’s eyes run the length of me, then quickly dart away. My stomach sinks. This is why I didn’t want to turn around. I know what he sees; my mutilated skin is anything but pretty. I look disgusting, my skin carved up and the pieces forced back together like broken puzzle pieces. Turning to face the back wall, a lump forms in my throat.

“Can you get out, please?” I whisper, though I know he will hear me with his heightened hearing.

Embarrassment washes over every inch of me, and I suddenly want to scrub myself raw, as if I can clean away the vile marks lacing my skin. As if I can scrub away the memory that comes with them.

“Am I scaring you? I won’t hurt you, Abbie,” Gannon murmurs next to my ear before his chest presses against my back. He reaches past me, grabbing the soap out of the niche in the wall.

“I saw the way you looked at me, Gannon. Just go; I don’t want your pity,” I tell him. He growls, the sound vibrating against my back.

“The way I looked at you?” he asks, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. He dips his face into my neck. His nose runs up the side of my jaw.

“You don’t have to pretend like it’s all okay, Abbie. I know how much this must hurt,” he whispers, and I can feel his warm breath tickling my skin. “But please let me take care of you.”

I try to pull away from him, but his arms wrap tightly around me, trapping me against his body.

“I don’t need anyone’s pity or sympathy,” I snap at him, anger flaring up inside of me. “Especially not yours.”

Gannon’s grip loosens slightly, and he takes a step back so that we can face each other.

“Abbie, look at me,” he says softly, placing a hand on each side of my face and forcing me to meet his gaze. “I don’t feel pity for you. What happened to you is terrible and unfair, and it breaks my heart to see what that animal did to you.”

I swallow before answering, my voice coming out shakier than intended.

“I know I look disgusting, so please, leave.”

Gannon growls and I become startlingly aware that he is indeed naked.

“I only looked away because I could tell you were uncomfortable with me staring, Abbie, not because I didn’t like what I could see,” he purrs, his voice laced with an undeniable warmth and sincerity.

“But he ruined me. I’m broken,” I tell him, my voice cracking as I summon the courage to speak those words aloud without crying. The weight of the realization settles heavily on my shoulders, and I can’t help but feel like a shattered doll, its porcelain form broken and cracked, held together by fragile glue, marred and made ugly, never to be whole again.

Gannon’s gaze softens, his eyes filled with empathy. “We are all a little broken, Abbie,” he says gently, reaching for my arm that shields my chest and the stitching that traces across my skin. His lipsbrush against my shoulder, and a shiver courses through me at his tender touch.

“Don’t hide from me. You never have to hide from me, Abbie,” Gannon whispers, his voice a soothing balm against the scars that mark my body. His grip tightens around my wrist, his thumb caressing the back of my hand in a comforting rhythm. With a sigh, I release my arm, allowing his hand holding the soap to glide over my torn-up flesh. The scent of Gannon envelops me, mingling with the steam that fills the small space, creating a bubble around us.

As Gannon’s hands move across my body, washing away the physical remnants of my past, a sense of relaxation washes over me. My shoulders drop, and I lean back against him, surrendering to his care, unable to stay strong any longer. The sheer size of his presence could easily overwhelm me, his strength capable of breaking me in half. Yet, at this moment, he is gentle—a tender giant whose fingers massage my scalp, removing the congealed blood and gunk with a tenderness that belies his size.

“I wish I could heal you,” he murmurs, turning me around to rinse the soap from my hair. My eyes roam over him, taking in a sight I’ve never witnessed before. Gannon, usually adorned in at least a tank top, now stands before me shirtless. The scars that stretch across his skin catch my attention, tracing a story of battles fought and wounds endured. They litter his body all the way to his hips. Mesmerized, my gaze fixates on the thick scars that brand his chest—it is as if someone had tried to rip his heart from his chest. The lines are harsh and pronounced, the texture of his skin rough beneath my fingertips as I trace them gently.

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, peeringdown 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.

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