His Lost Lycan Luna

Read His Lost Lycan Luna by Jessica Hall Chapter 131 – Abbie POV

Everything was chaotic when we arrived back at the castle. One moment, I was walking through the castle doors. The next, Damian was screaming for help with the King. Gannon had to follow Dustin to the King’s quarter, where they took Azalea, who was still unconscious. It was weird calling her that. Ivy. She had been to me all our lives, yet I understood her desire to get rid of the name Della or, should I say, Marissa had given her.

Standing in the corridor, I didn’t know what to do with myself as Damian, and another man carried the King to his quarters. The King mumbled, but his words made little sense. I wanted to go to Azalea but knew it was not the time, but now I found myself lost as I stood there watching the flurry of people rushing around crazily.

Did I just go back to my old tasks when here? Should I look for Gannon or maybe Clarice? I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, and I found myself walking around blindly until I was suddenly in my old room. I hesitantly knocked in case Beta Damian had got himself a new personal servant. However, no one answers, and I push the door open and peer inside. It was getting late, and I assumed I would see Clarice in the morning to ask where she wanted to put me.

Stepping into the room, I find the bed b**e, so I walk down the hall to the closet and retrieve some blankets and pillows. The task was made more difficult by my wounds. The stitches pulled so tight that some were cutting through my skin like cheese wire.

couldn’t sleep in this state, so I made my way to the laundry, searching for clothes. Finding the uniform servants, pajamas, and some socks, I grabbed them off the shelf before retrieving a towel and rummaging through the first aid kid for

while a half wall divided up the middle to the toilets and basins; long mirrors ran the

the shower stalls, I glanced at the state I was in. My normal auburn hair was matted, twigs and leaves tangled in the knots. The clothes I was wearing were torn, and I could still smell his

or supposed to be. Looking at what was left of me as I peeled off

scars were never deep or jagged as

to think

on my neck from him had turned my flesh black like it was rotting away my skin, the skin raised jagged

down my legs. The blood saturating my pants stuck to my skin and made me feel like I was being skinned alive. Tears blurred my vision, and I bit back the sob as my stitches opened and blood cascaded down my leg in a stream. I tried to step out of my pants when hands fell on my hips, making me jump and hiss as the stitches along my arms and

off, and I grip his shoulder, stepping out of them. He kisses my hip bone, which protrudes beneath my skin. The blood rushed to my cheeks, knowing I was