The moment the door shut behind me, I hesitated, clutching the makeshift supplies I had gathered tightly in my hands. The air inside the Lycan King's chambers was stifling, heavy with the coppery scent of blood, smoke from the hearth, and something distinctly... him. It wasn't the scent that made my knees wobble, though. It was him.
He stood there, leaning against the far wall like he didn't have a care in the world, even with blood streaking down his torso and pooling faintly near his feet. His red gaze flicked to me, sharp and assessing.
"Well?" His voice was low, almost a growl. "Are you planning to just stand there all night, or are you going to do something useful?"
I flinched at his tone, a sharp pang of doubt gnawing at me. What the hell was I doing here? Why had I let Sabastine guilt-trip me into this madness?