Found
Lyra
My hands shake as I bring them up, trying to shield my face.
I don't know how, but it doesn't matter. Crispin is looming over me, and I'm cornered, and this time there's nowhere to go.
I’m trapped, and he can do whatever he wants to me.
My body tenses, bracing myself, as I pull in a jerky breath. I wait for Crispin’s clove and whiskey scent, but it doesn't come.
Instead, I smell pine and fresh air. Cool and clean. Like standing outside after the rain.
That's not right.
For a second my mind just stalls out completely, not understanding. Nothing about that scent matches the man who should be standing over me right now.
Moving slowly, I drop my hands and force my eyes open, looking up at the alpha standing in front of me.
He's massive, built like a freaking wall. Thick muscle is stacked under a flannel shirt that looks two sizes too small for the width of his shoulders. He has dark hair and a few days of stubble along a sharp jaw. His eyes are locked on me, blue-gray and startlingly intense, like he can’t believe what he’s looking at.
"Adrian." A voice cuts from somewhere behind the alpha. "What the hell are you doing?"
Owen.
Relief slams into me so fast it steals the air right out of my lungs.
"Owen?" I whisper, craning my head so I can see him.
Then he appears. He peers around the wall of the alpha's shoulder, his brow furrowed in confusion. The second he sees me, his whole expression cracks open, confusion collapsing into something closer to shock, his eyes dragging down the length of me and back up again.
"Lyra?"
He moves around the alpha and is on his knees in front of me before I can say a word. His hands hover over my legs, not quite touching. It’s like he's afraid touching me might hurt.
"Oh, my god," he whispers, his eyes fixed on the blood there. His jaw tight. "What happened to you? Who did this?"
But I can’t get the words out.
Shame crashes into me all at once, hot and suffocating, worse somehow than anything that happened last night.
I want to hide my legs, cover myself, disappear into the shelving at my back. "I…um…"
Tears flood my eyes and I blink hard against them, refusing to let them fall right now.
"I didn't know where else to go," I manage to say, barely holding it together. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey, it’s okay." Owen's hands come up to my shoulders, hovering like he doesn't know where it's safe to touch.
"Don't apologize. God, Lyra, what happened?
" He doesn't wait for an answer. His eyes drop to the blood again and something dark moves through them.
Fury he's clearly trying to keep leashed.
"Okay. Okay, we need to get you up. Can you stand? "
"Yeah," I say and he slides one arm under mine, careful, helping me up onto shaking legs.
"Can you walk?"
I nod, then glance past him, up at the alpha still filling the doorway. Just the sight of him has me tensing before I can help it.. He's too big, too close, too much of a stranger standing between me and the only exit in this room.
Owen catches the look on my face immediately.
"This is Adrian." Owen keeps his voice low, gentle. "He’s my friend. You can trust him. He's not going to hurt you. I promise."
Something flickers across the alpha's face when Owen says "friend." It’s there and gone so fast.
Sadness, maybe, or something close to it.
I'm not sure.
It doesn’t matter.
Owen tightens his arm around my waist, trying to guide me forward, but my feet stay planted.
"Wait." I grab at the hem of my skirt, tugging it down as far as it'll go, which isn't nearly far enough. "I don't want anyone to see me like this," I whisper.
Owen's face pinches, conflicted. He glances past Adrian like he's trying to figure out a path where there will be no staff or students.
"I guess we can…" Owen trails off, but then Adrian moves.
I flinch the second his hands lift, jerking back toward the shelving before I can stop it.
Adrian goes still immediately, then takes a slow step back, putting a little more distance between us.
He holds my gaze for a second, like he's making sure I’m okay, then he reaches up and starts working the buttons of his flannel loose, one after another.
Finally, he pulls it off his shoulders to reveal a plain undershirt stretched thin over a massive chest. He holds the flannel open toward me, slow, careful, like he's approaching something easily spooked.
"Can I put this on you?" His voice comes out low, and shockingly gentle for a man his size.
And I find myself nodding before I've fully decided.
Owen helps guide my arms into the sleeves, and Adrian settles it over my shoulders. The fabric swallows me whole, sleeves hanging well past my hands, hem falling to my mid-thigh. It smells so good. Like lush pine and clean laundry.
Adrian works the buttons closed, his big hands moving quickly, his knuckles never once brushing my skin.
It shocks me that someone built like a wall can be so gentle and careful.
Once I'm covered, Owen slips his arm back around me, steering me carefully past Adrian. We move through one long hallway after another, dark wood giving way to more dark wood, until we reach the law library.
A handful of people sit hunched over thick leather volumes, nobody sparing us so much as a glance.
Owen stops in front of an old brass elevator, pressing the call button, and we ride up one floor in silence. The cage rattles faintly the whole way while my mind races.
Do my parents know I'm gone?
Did they call the police?
Have they been looking for me?
The doors open onto a quiet corridor, and before I know it we're stepping into a small office tucked behind a row of file cabinets.
Owen guides me toward a small couch pushed against the far wall, one hand steady at my elbow, while Adrian shuts the door behind us with a quiet click. He reaches for the switch, and the overhead light snaps on. It’s so bright and harsh, I squint against it, my eyes watering until they adjust.
Owen kneels in front of me and reaches for my hands.
I let him take them, but I can't look at him while he does it.
I already know what he's looking at. I've had all night to stare at the bruises on my body, but somehow him seeing them is worse than anything Crispin did.
My whole body wants to fold inward, tuck my wrists out of sight, disappear into the cushions.
"It looks worse than it feels," I hear myself say. My voice comes out flat and far off, like it belongs to some calmer girl.
The beta doesn't answer, but his thumb moves over the back of my hand, so light I barely feel it.
"Who did this to you?" Adrian asks from across the room, his voice instantly deep.
The name climbs my throat and lodges there. If I say it out loud it becomes real, and if it becomes real I have to feel it. I shake my head and stare at a crooked diploma on the wall until the burn behind my eyes recedes.
Thankfully, Owen doesn't push. But Adrian shifts by the door, and I feel him change his mind before he says it.
"She needs to go to a hospital," Adrian says.
"No." It bursts out of me, sharp enough that they both go still. "Please. No hospital."
They'll call my parents.
Or maybe even Crispin. After all, I basically belong to him now.
And if they force me to go with that asshole, I’ll fucking kill myself.
But I don't say any of that out loud. I just press my arms tight across my stomach and shake my head again.
"Nobody's making you do anything." Owen's hand settles on my knee.
"She's hurt, Owen." Adrian isn't cruel about it. He says it quietly, like pushing at all pains him, and his eyes flick to me and away, and whatever he pictures drags his jaw tight. "We don't know how bad."
Heat floods up my neck, and I turn my face away, unable to hold his eyes another second.
Then they're talking over my head, hospital and risk, what I need against what I'm asking for, and I let the thread of it go. Their voices smear into a low hum. My gaze drifts up the leaning towers of books and the crooked frames and catches on a photo propped on the corner of the desk.
I stare at the little framed photo, latching onto something solid while everything else in the room keeps sliding past me.
Four men are all squeezed together in the frame, grinning at whoever was holding the camera.
A man with tan skin and dark hair has his arm slung around Owen's shoulders, both of them laughing at something outside the frame. Two other men stand pressed in close beside them, grinning at the camera. One of them, built broad through the chest with a flannel shirt straining at the shoulders, is Adrian. The other man has messy blond hair that touches his jawline, falling into his face. He’s got a slightly darker beard and one arm thrown wide like he was mid-laugh when the photo was taken.
They all look so happy.
"Okay." Adrian lets out a defeated sigh. "We’ll see what Nico says."
Owen turns back to me, crouching down so we're eye level, his hands finding mine again. "We're taking you home." His tone is certain, making the decision for me. And, honestly, I'm relieved.
"Okay." I nod, and something in my chest finally loosens, the last of the tension bleeding out of me all at once.
I take a deep breath and push myself up onto shaky legs. The pine scent of the flannel shirt mixes with Owen's clean sage and lemon, both of them surrounding me at once, steady and warm.
I take one step forward, and my knees buckle without warning, the floor tilting hard to one side.
Adrian is there before I can fall, one big hand wraps carefully around my arm as his arm scoops under my knees. Then I'm off my feet entirely, cradled against his chest like I weigh nothing at all.
I gasp, my palm flying out to press flat against him, steadying myself against solid muscle and warm skin through thin cotton.
"I've got you," Adrian says in the gentlest voice. "I won't hurt you. I promise."
Owen appears at my side instantly, one hand smoothing over my hair, the other resting light against Adrian's arm like he needs to be touching both of us at once. "You’re safe, Lyra," he says. "It’ll all be okay."
And I have no idea why, but I believe them.