Chapter Fifty-Three
ABBY
MASON DOESN'T SPEAK as he brings me to Kie’s home. I’ve gathered that he must also live there, which doesn’t surprise me. Of course they share a house.
“Please, Mason,” I plead. “Let me see her.”
I need to make sure she’s okay.
Immaculately dressed faeries linger and stare just as they did when I was with Queen Gitta, but it doesn’t bother me as much when I’m with Mason. I’m too angry to care about their opinions of me right now.
I grunt, trying to pull my arm free. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
There’s a shocked gasp from a woman standing on my right, but Mason doesn’t react to my insult. I want to make him so angry that he turns us around and drags me to the cells with Lill. I don’t understand why they keep bringing me to their home.
Mason pulls me down corridor after corridor before pushing open the front door to his home and shoving me inside. I expect him to release me, but he maintains his tight grip as he drags me down the hallway that leads to the bedroom he and Kie keep locking me inside of.
“No,” I beg. “Please, Mason, I— I just want to see— Is she okay? I need—”
Mason leads me past the spare bedroom and into the bathroom beside it. It’s a large room with a walk-in shower along the entire back wall, a toilet to the left, and a double sink on the right. It looks unused, with nothing personal on any of the surfaces.
“She’s fine,” Mason says. “Stop asking about her.”
That’s not comforting. Mason’s version of fine is wildly different from mine, and I want to know which one she is. I hope it’s mine.
“You need to calm down,” Mason continues. He finally releases me, and I press myself against the opposite wall as he walks toward the shower. “You’re hyperventilating and bleeding, and you haven’t formed a complete sentence in minutes.”
Who cares? He understands what I’m trying to say.
Mason turns the shower on and grabs an oversized white towel from underneath the sink. Is he planning on showering right now? Or making me? He’s a fool if he thinks I’m going to do so willingly.
“I’m going to leave the room,” he finally says, turning toward me. “You’re going to shower. Then you will wrap your wounds and change into the clothing I’m going to set on the sink here.” He points to an empty spot on the counter. “Then, once you’re no longer babbling and screaming like an infant, I will speak to you.”
I fucking hate Mason.
He opens the shower door and removes a straight-edge razor from the built-in shelf. He leaves the glass containers, though, which I assume are filled with different types of washes.
“If you try to run away, I will hear you. If you try to hurt yourself, I will hear you. If you try to—”
“I get it!” I snap, interrupting him.
I know precisely what Mason can do. He forgets that I’ve seen his animal form. I know what it feels like to have his teeth snapping inches from my face, and I know what it feels like to have him attack me when I run away.
My scarred knees remember.
Mason works his jaw side to side, his eyebrows furrowed, before leaving the room. He slams the door behind him for good measure. I stare at the wood, struggling to form complete thoughts, before ripping off my clothing and stepping into the shower.
This isn’t a fight I think I will win, so I might as well play along.
The water is warm, but I don’t let myself enjoy it as I rush to scrub my body clean. I’ve been looking forward to showering for weeks, fantasizing about how good it will feel to have hot water running over my sore muscles.
I can’t remember the last time I felt truly clean.
The water is brown by the time it travels down my legs and swirls into the drain, and it takes three rounds of washing before it remains clear. I want to hurry, but I suspect Mason will force me to shower again if I’m not entirely clean when I emerge from the bathroom.
He’s made enough comments about my body odor that I know it bothers him.
The dozens of cuts and scrapes littering my body burn, and I’m careful not to rip open the scabs on my knees as I clean the skin around them.
Fatigue is quickly setting in, and I turn the temperature down when I find myself relaxing just a little too much. The sharp bite of the frigid water keeps me alert, and my teeth are chattering by the time I finally finish.
The towel is on the sink where Mason left it, but now there’s a change of clothes, a first-aid kit, and a toothbrush beside it. I look around, ensuring the bathroom is empty, before hurrying forward and wrapping the towel around myself.
The soft fabric feels good against my skin, and I clutch it to my chest as I peer at the clothing Mason has provided. There’s a pair of black sweatpants and a black shirt, both of which look to be several sizes too large. These must be his.
I suppose I should be relieved he didn’t bring me leftover articles of clothing from women he and Kie have slept with. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a drawer full of trophies.
I dry myself and brush my teeth before applying the ointment and bandages Mason provided. The cut on my thigh doesn’t look great, but I’m not concerned. It’s going to leave a nasty scar, but it isn’t going to kill me. I’ve dealt with worse.
Mason’s clothing hangs from me, and I roll the sweatpants four times to keep the legs from pooling at my feet and dragging along the ground.
I wasn’t provided underwear, a bra, or socks, and Mason removed my dirty clothes so I’m forced to go without. The only items of mine he left behind are my gloves and the condom I stole from the bedside drawer earlier, and I can only imagine the laughter he got at my expense when he found it.
Still, I shove the condom into my pocket before slipping on my gloves. A weapon is a weapon, and I’m not in a position to complain.
The mirror above the sink taunts me, and only once I’m entirely dressed do I look at my reflection.
My skin has lost all its usual color, and the fat deposits that keep me looking healthy have vanished. It pairs well with my sunken eyes and chapped lips, though. I look hollow—and about five minutes away from death.
I look like Lill.
The bathroom door isn’t locked, and I peer into the hallway before tiptoeing into the main living area. Where is Mason?
I quickly find him sitting on the couch, looking comfortable as he stares into the lit fireplace.
His hair is wet, and he’s changed into a fresh pair of clothes. He must’ve showered while I was, which is annoying. He wasn’t standing outside the bathroom listening as he led me to believe, and I could’ve taken this opportunity to escape.
Mason looks me up and down, his lips twitching as his gaze lingers on the rolled-up waistband of his sweatpants. He probably finds this funny, but I don’t see the humor.
“You look better,” he says. “How do you feel?”
I’m going to ignore that question. He doesn’t care.
A bowl of soup is on the coffee table. Inside it, I spot what looks like potatoes and green beans. My stomach aches, and it makes a noise as I eye the food. I’m starving.
“It’s for you.” Mason points to the bowl. “Eat.”
I bet it’s poisoned.
Ignoring him, and the painful ache of my stomach, I sit on the far edge of the couch.
My butt sinks into the cushion and threatens to swallow me, and I struggle to keep my back straight so I don’t get too comfortable. I did as he asked, showered and calmed down, and now I want answers.
“What are you doing to Lill?” I ask.
Mason points again to the bowl of soup.
I grind my teeth as I slide onto my knees before the coffee table. If he’s trying to soften me up so I give him answers, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. I won’t speak a word about Lill to him, not before I’ve had the chance to talk with her.
I refuse to get her into any more trouble than I already have.
My hand shakes as I pull the spoon out of the bowl and set it aside. Mason raises a brow, but he doesn’t say anything as I bring the entire bowl to my mouth and begin gulping down the contents. The liquid burns my mouth and throat, but I don’t care. It tastes so fucking good, and guilt spreads through me as I enjoy it.
I should be asking about Lill instead of eating.
“Slow,” Mason orders.
I speed up, mostly to spite him but also because I can’t stop myself.
It feels incredible to have something other than nuts or bland meat inside my stomach, and I choke slightly as I try to breathe and swallow at the same time.
Mason moves quickly, and I fight the urge to snap at him as he grabs the end of my bowl and forces it away from my mouth. I feel like a feral animal.
Mason nods, mostly to himself. “That’s better. Eat like a lady, Abby, before you get sick.”
He sets my bowl on the table, and I wish I could shoot lasers from my eyes as I glare up at him. He’s such a fucking asshole, and I bite back a snarky remark as I grab my spoon and begin politely eating the soup.
Mason returns to his original spot on the couch. He leans against the cushions before bringing up his right leg and resting his arm over his knee. I don’t like how he looks at me.
“What are you doing to Lill?” I ask the moment my bowl is empty.
My stomach feels better than it has in days.
“I’m here with you , Abby,” Mason says, a smile spreading over his lips. “So I’m obviously not doing anything to her.”
He knows what I meant.
“What’s Kie doing to Lill?” I ask instead.
This time, Mason shrugs. “Unsure. Again, I’m here with you.”
I should throw this bowl at his head. I bet that would wipe the cocky smirk off his face.
Instead, I show restraint. Mason’s purposefully trying to make me angry, and I won’t give him the satisfaction. I was frantic before, and now that I’m calm, I won’t lose control again.
Even if it did feel really fucking good to stab Mason. I want to do it again, and I hope he gives me another opportunity sometime soon.
“Have you hurt her, and do you intend to?” I try again.
Mason nods, seemingly pleased I’ve finally worded a question in a way he deems appropriate. It makes me hate him even more.
“ I have not,” he says. “And it depends on the answers she gives us.”
I shut my eyes and suck in a deep breath, doing everything in my power to remain level-headed.
“Is she hurt?” I ask.
Mason raises a brow. “Have you seen her?”
I’ve grown used to seeing Lill in her weakened, frail state, but I suppose it must be shocking for an outsider. I’m yet to see a faerie who isn’t the picture of health. It’s how Lill would look if she weren’t being starved of magic.
“Other than that,” I clarify.
“A guard whipped her—”
I jolt, interrupting. “What? When? Why? Is she okay?”
Mason blinks, and I snap my mouth shut with an audible click.
“A guard whipped her—” Mason resumes. He shoots me a sharp look, silently daring me to interrupt again. “—without our permission. Lilly’s fine, and her back will heal.”
Lilly . He called her Lilly.
I faintly remember a young Lillian throwing tantrums whenever people called her that. She’d throw herself onto the ground kicking and screaming, and she’d be inconsolable for hours afterward.
I’d rather eat sand than ever call her Lilly.
Mason does, though, and he does so with confidence. There’s something I don’t know. Something about Lill’s childhood here that I’m not privy to.
“What—”
Kie bursting through the front door stops me, and I turn around just as he slumps against it. He clutches his hand to his chest, and he looks crazed as he locks eyes with Mason.
What’s happening?
Mason stands, already alert as he takes in Kie’s disheveled appearance.
“Mason…” Kie gasps. “Lillian.” He stops and shakes his head, almost as if he doesn’t believe what he’s about to say. “It’s her. She touched me. She’s our mate.”