His Lost Lycan Luna

Read His Lost Lycan Luna by Jessica Hall Chapter 10 – I spent the majority of the day cleaning, but I was bored once it was done and realized that a good chunk of this job was standing around and waiting for the King to ask for something, which I was beginning to learn wouldn’t often be because he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

I sat on the bed waiting for time to tick by while wishing I could go see Abbie and check on her. Clarice had new shoes brought up to me, and it felt strange having actual soles in my shoes. But being new, they also gave me blisters from trekking up and down the stairs all day.

I didn’t understand why cleaning supplies couldn’t be kept up here. The stairs were a k****r on my legs. Hearing a c***h just before 5:30 PM in the corridor. I opened the door and saw Esters silhouette walking away. I glared at the mess she just made; she smirked at me over her shoulder while she sauntered away, and I groaned, but at least it gave me something to do.

I just couldn’t understand her instant dislike to me. I had done nothing to her. How could I have when I only just met her today?

Was she trying to get me in trouble, trying to get me punished? In a panic, I rushed down the steps to fetch a dustpan and broom. She knocked a potted plant over; the soil spilled all over the floor. Halfway down the steps, I turned onto the next staircase but hadn’t noticed her standing there when she put out her foot and tripped me. I grunted as I hit the steps, my eyebrow tore and split on impact as my face bounced off one of the steps, my back throbbed, and I could feel the cuts on my back reopen as I tumbled to the bottom of the staircase. Ester walked down the steps before she stopped and looked down at me.

in her eye. How old was she? She was acting like a child. I was the same as her, only rogue but still a servant. Why would she want to see another servant punished?

her taunting smile as she walked around a corner and out of sight. I hissed

eyebrow was indeed split. Great, another wound to tend to. My back throbbed as I clutched the banister and pulled myself up. Don’t cry, don’t cry. I tell myself. It’s just a scratch; you are being a cry baby. I tried to remind myself I have had worse injuries

of rag. I pressed to my eyebrow, trying to slow the bleeding. One thing I had realized over the years was that hand and face injuries bleed the

Each step was agonizing and sent shooting pain all over. It hurt to breathe; it hurts to move. My heels and toes blistered. My back

used to stem my bleeding eyebrow before fixing the pot

and was put straight to work. I was losing track of time. We left

headed upstairs before remembering it was nearly dinner.

The moment walked in, Clarice was waiting. She shoved the tray in my hands, clearly not happy at me being