Chapter 17
I climbed the stairs, balancing the tray in my hands.
“Josephine!”
“I’m coming,” I shouted, unable to hide the attitude this time.
The only reason I wasn’t hurrying more was that I didn’t want to drop the pancakes.
Only when I reached the room did I exhale, glad that the orange juice hadn’t splashed over.
Once at the bedside, I carefully lowered the tray on his lap.
“Are you angry with me?” Lucian frowned up at me.
“No.” I didn’t sound convincing even to myself.
If I thought he was needy before, now, it was different. I tried not to acknowledge it, but it was obvious why—I’d started to pull away.
After that night of passionately claiming each other, he’d become extra.
Calling me over and over for his every whim.
He’d tried to get me to sleep in the room with him, but I’d managed to stick to my guns.
The result was me ending the day exhausted from how many times I’d run back and forth.
I knew what he was doing; every time I relaxed, he called me. Like he had some sixth-Josephine sense.
I would relentlessly keep my distance. I clenched my teeth and scooted the tray onto the nightstand so it wasn’t in danger of tipping over.
I’d been getting too comfortable with him, and that would lead to heartache. I’d already resolved to leave once he was better, but he kept fucking with my head.
His sweetness, his looks, all of it were blows, because it did affect me—and because I craved him. He was too tempting.
“Did Samantha and Sorin go on a trip?” I asked as Lucian grabbed the glass of juice. He stilled at my question. No lights, no movement, nothing had come from the house they’d moved into.
He slowly brought the glass to his lips and took a drink, studying me over the rim.
“No,” he finally said. “Sorin is dead, Josephine.” He chewed on the sausage he’d popped into his mouth. The revelation stunned me.
“What?” I whispered. “What about Samantha?”
“Grieving. Leave her be, she’ll need time.”
He ate so calmly. There was no reaction, no empathy. I gritted my teeth. He’d known about it for a while.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He frowned at me, saying nothing. Numb, I straightened.
“Stay put.” I rounded to the door.
“Where are you going?” he snarled, grabbing my wrist. I stopped and met his wide eyes. Was that a flash of panic?
“To check on Samantha.”
It took an unimaginable effort for him to force himself to let me go.
“If you need something, just wait,” I ordered. Not wasting another moment, I took off, taking the stairs two at a time. She’d opened up to me, expressing how much it meant to get new opportunities in the pack. Now she’d lost her mate because of it.
My steps became faster and faster until I was outside. She’d been alone, suffering for weeks. I rubbed my arms to stave off the crisp chill of the incoming winter. The nights were turning colder and colder, and every morning I woke to a fine dusting of ice on the blades of grass.
Once I crossed the lawn to the front door, I knocked on the mahogany surface. I waited in silence, but there was no response. I knocked again.
“Samantha?” I called. “Can I come in?”
No answer. The door creaked with my nudge and I entered.
The house smelled stale and stuffy, like the place was abandoned. There was no sign of her in the kitchen or the living room. I started going through the bedrooms. The only room I’d been in was Cierra’s old one, and I hadn’t seen what room Samantha had chosen for herself.
It hurt to swallow. Guilt festered in my stomach.
The first two bedrooms were empty. Finally, I found her in the third. I froze at the threshold, studying her still body on the mattress. There was no movement.
“Samantha?” I ran forward and grabbed her shoulder. She rolled with my movement and blinked up at me, her face blotchy.
She was alive. I exhaled slowly.
Hollows dipped her cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot. Tears burst forward, and she let out a wail. I rubbed her shoulder in a soothing circle. Her room was a mess, the blinds closed. I propped myself on the edge of the mattress.
Her sobs didn’t taper off. She deserved to grieve however she wanted, but I was worried about her mental state. I swept a look around her room. Clothes spilled out of all the drawers like she’d yanked things out in anger. Sorin’s clothes were scattered across the bed.
She sought his scent out.
My heart hurt for her. To lose a mate . . . The band around my throat constricted. Dad had struggled when Mom passed. I had no doubt he would have left this world if I weren’t his responsibility. I’d watched him struggle every single day. They were a few hard years, and the pain never truly faded.
Samantha’s shoulders were bony. When did she last eat?
I pushed off the bed.
“I’m going to get you some food.” I shuffled away, heading to the kitchen.
Fruit rotted in the holder in the middle of the table.
Flies buzzed around. I went to the sink and crouched to search for garbage bags.
I found them in a drawer and got to throwing away everything that had gone bad in the fridge, too.
Once I finished tossing everything, I went through the pantry, searching for something light to feed her.
It was slim pickings, but—there—little packets.
Oatmeal would be perfect. I poured the contents in a bowl, added the almond milk, and popped it in the microwave.
While that warmed, I finished emptying the fridge until all that was left were eggs and almond milk, then I tied up the bag and strode to the front door to leave it on the porch.
On my way back to the kitchen, I opened the windows to let in the crisp air.
I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I hadn’t come to see her, but I’d had no idea of her loss.
When I got back to the microwave, the oatmeal was done. I pulled it out and stirred it on my way to the bedroom. Samantha hadn’t moved, and she continued silently crying, her eyes dripping.
I slid my arm around her shoulders and forced her to sit up.
“You need to eat something.” I forced the bowl into her hands. Her watery eyes stared up at me.
“Yes, Luna,” she croaked.
Her hand shook, but she managed to grab the spoon and shovel some in her mouth. She swallowed without chewing. Then took another spoonful.
I removed my arm from her back and went to the ensuite and turned the shower on.
Upon returning to her, she’d finished eating.
“We need to get you feeling like a human again.” She stared at me, her lip trembling. “Stand up, time to shower.”
She swung her legs over the bed and stood, unsteadily. I grabbed her arm and helped her to the bathroom.
She didn’t stop to remove her clothes; she just stepped in and plopped herself near the drain.
I left her in the water and headed to the bedroom to remove the bed sheets and started a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room.
Then I went hunting for some bed sheets, but all I could find was the spare blanket on the chair in the bedroom. I spread it over the bare mattress and carefully laid some of Sorin’s clothes next to her pillows, trying my best not to touch them too much.
The cries from the bathroom tapered off into hiccups.
Her face was tipped up toward the shower.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hovering outside the clear glass.
She was silent, and then she huffed out a breath.
“It was our choice.” She shook her head. “He wanted the position.”
She dropped her face into her hands with a sob.
“I miss him.” Her shoulders jerked violently.
I stepped into the shower without removing my clothes and hugged her, letting her cry. Her pain felt tangible and wrenching. She’d lost her other half.
She was mourning, and nothing would make it better, no words, nothing.
If I lost Lucian . . . I took a moment to imagine his death. My stomach turned hollow. As mad at him as I was, as hurt as I was, if he died . . .? I let out a slow breath to calm my throbbing heart.
I would fall apart.
My hair plastered to my cheeks, and water drenched my clothes. I’d borrow one of her outfits before I left, but right now all I cared about was her.
I continued patting her back in a calming rhythm.