Page 3 of His Fierce Lycan Luna

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I allow myself to believe him. With his hands on me and his voice a soft caress at my ear, hope flickers—a delicate flame in the space that holds my fears.

Hope feels dangerous to me. It threatens the walls I’ve built, the safe cocoon of darkness where I’ve hidden. Yet here, in this sliver of time, I cling to it, and the possibility that there might be beauty in the scars. Strength in the pain and a future where I see myself through eyes not clouded by the ashes of my past.

As Gannon continues, his voice is a gentle caress in the silence of the room.

“This lash here,” he continues, his fingers hovering over a scar, “it tells me you’ve faced unimaginable horrors and yet, you’ve emerged stronger. Your strength is breathtaking.”

“That’s not strength Gannon,” I murmur.

“Really, because all I see is a woman who is still alive despite everything she has been through.” I shake my head yet he ignores me.

“These bite marks,” he says, his voice filled with reverence, “they’re proof of the battles you’ve survived. You’re a survivor, Abbie, in the truest sense.”

“Your eyes,” he marvels, “despite the darkness they’ve seen, they hold a light that’s purely yours. A reminder that there’s beauty even in pain.”

“Your hands,” he notes, gently taking them in his, “they’ve clung to hope when despair seemed the only option, yet still, you fought. It doesn’t matter whether it was for you or Azalea. You held on even though you preferred death.”

Tears blur my vision; I didn’t hold on. If only he knew how many times I tried to end it, yet fate chose torture, not freedom for me.

“This mark on your neck,” he murmurs, “while it might seem a reminder of Kade, but to me, it’s a reminder that not even a mate bond can get between me loving you.”

“You’ve been to hell and back, yet here you are Abbie. Don’t let what they did to you be the only way you see yourself.”

That’s easy for him to say, all I see is them when I look in a mirror.

“Your heart,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “it’s seen the depths of human cruelty, yet it’s filled with an unparalleled capacity for love and forgiveness. It’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

“And your soul, Abbie,” he concludes, “despite being fractured by torment, it’s not dimmed. It’s tragically beautiful,and there’s nothing more captivating than that. Nothing more captivating than you.”

A lump forms in my throat at his words. He must be deluded to think I am the least bit captivating. I’m frightening, yes, but certainly not captivating.

Chapter

Three

GANNON

The evening unfolds with a gravity that weighs heavily on my heart. Abbie sits across from me, her usually radiant face now clouded with doubt and self-loathing. I know she doesn’t believe my words; the compliments that I bestow upon her seem to dissolve before they can truly reach her heart. But I’m determined, resolved to remind her every day of the beauty I see in her until she sees it in herself.

Still, I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness as I watch her pick at her fingers. I wish she could see herself through my eyes, see the way her laughter lights up a room, the way her eyes sparkle when she talks about her passions, the way her heart is so full of love for others.

But tonight, she is lost in her own darkness, unable to see the light that shines within her. And so, I continue to speak words of love and admiration, hoping that someday she will believe them and see herself as the beautiful, deserving woman that she truly is.

As the sun dips, leaving the sky draped in darkness, I prepare the spa bath, adding oils that fill the room with a soothing scent. With a deep breath, I shed my clothes but keep my boxer shortson, understanding Abbie’s fragile state and not wanting to alarm her further. Gently, I lead her into the warm water, positioning her between my legs. The moment her back meets my chest, she shudders, a gasp escaping her lips as her body goes rigid in my embrace.

I reach for the soap, intent on washing her, but she stops me, her hands trembling as they grip my wrist to stop me. “I will never hurt you,” I whisper, my voice laced with a sincerity born from the depths of my soul. “I would rather rip out my own heart than ever hurt you.”

Her hand trembles but eventually loosens its grip as I move the soap over her skin, carefully avoiding the areas that might trigger her.

After a few moments, her hand falls limply into the water, and she allows me to clean her, though I meticulously avoid touching her in any way that might cause distress.

Next, I shampoo her hair, my fingers working gently through the strands, washing away the grime of the day. When we’re done, we soak in the silence that blankets the room, the warmth of the water encasing us both until it gradually turns cold. With a sigh, I pull the plug, turn off the jets, and wrap her in a towel, leading her back to the room where the fire crackles invitingly.

Abbie quickly dresses and grabs a blanket, moving closer to the fire. She sits there, staring into the flames with a vacant expression that chills me to the bone. After a while sitting in silence, eventually, I decide to cook dinner.

It’s hard for me to sit still in the silence. As I cook in the kitchen, the aroma of sizzling steak fills the air. I call out to Abbie, asking her how she likes her steak cooked, but there is no response. Concern gnaws at my insides as I peer around the corner to find her sitting in front of the fire, staring into its mesmerizing flames as if transfixed.

Then, I see it—her hand outstretched toward the flames. “Abbie!” I boom, and she jolts back to reality, her hand jerking back from the fire. I rush to her side, clutching her hands and turning them over to inspect for damage. Her fingertips are burned. “Why, Abbie? Why would you do this?” I demand, my voice a mix of frustration and concern.

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