The Lycans Luna Witch

Chapter 9

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Addie

What is happening?

As I sit on the basin, the mist from the warm bath engulfs me, along with the scent of lavender from the bath salts sprinkled into the bath liberally.

My stomach aches with its fullness and the introduction of foods it has never had before. At Silas' castle, we ate only bland food: potatoes and rice, occasionally some vegetables, but no meat and definitely no eggs, something I absolutely adore. I look toward the door Hades has just parted through. Such tenderness from a man who could just crush me. Why he doesn't is beyond me. All this effort for what?

The overwhelming sadness accompanying that thought envelopes me. I belong nowhere, and I am utterly alone.

I place my bag next to me and then unwrap the blanket covering my lower half, avoiding looking at the mirror directly behind me. Next, I open the white robe and let it fall from my shoulders.

I am naked underneath, and I cringe, thinking how Hades must have seen all of this. Though admittedly, when I examine my body, I am surprised it looks so good. Nearly every fang mark has healed. With a respite of four weeks, my body has never gone this long without being fed on. The difference is remarkable. As weak as I feel, I still feel better than I have in ages, which says a lot.

My skin looks less pasty, and when I touch it, it even feels softer. Which I didn't think was possible with all the scarring. As I run a hand over my arm, I cannot help but think about how Hades' touch against my skin feels. There is a literal spark between us. It appears one-sided, as he seems unaffected.

It lingers in my body as if my body is creating it rather than it being an external force. It flows through me and makes me feel delicious, calm, and protected.

Perhaps it was some sort of werewolf mojo, magic that made me feel safe until they pounced, like the predators they were—like Silas.

That thought sends a fresh shiver down my spine and firms my resolve to regain my strength and leave. He would be looking for me. And with vampires in this area and the story of Silas siring The Black Witch, the last thing I need is to be near any of that.

The thought of leaving here, though, creates a hollow pit in my stomach, and I know why. It is the flesh-and-bone man who has always existed just as a dream. Over the last year, an intimacy developed in that dreamscape I wished was real. Being near him now is somewhat intoxicating—like being under a spell. Is it witchcraft?

It must be as I saw the picture above his fireplace. There is another woman, obviously, and she is stunning. I shouldn't be surprised that a man like him is taken. I wonder what she thinks of this situation. Thoughts of me waking up on his chest make me want to leave immediately, the embarrassment too much to bear.

I rub the ache in my chest, knowing that the jealousy and hurt sharing space with the mortification are unwarranted emotions. He is not mine, and I have no right to these feelings. I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts.

While my mind is swarmed with all these thoughts, I don't think I am strong enough to stand. When I hop off the basin, my legs hold me for only two seconds before giving way. With a painful thud, I am on the bathroom floor, a small yelp leaving my mouth.