Chapter 82 TO BE KIDNAPPED BY A LYCAN PRINCE
MERRIELYNN.
I woke up groggily, my head pounding with a dull ache.
My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I couldn’t make sense of my surroundings.
This wasn’t my dorm.
The bed was too soft, the room too unfamiliar. My heart began to race as fragments of memory came rushing back. The strange man. The attack. My body jolted upright, and I looked around in panic.
Had I been kidnapped?
I rubbed my temples, trying to calm the storm in my mind, but the ache refused to ease. My eyes darted around the room, and then it hit me—I recognized this place.
The dark walls, the heavy furniture, the faint scent of cedar and something distinctly masculine.
This was Cormac’s room.
The realization didn’t bring the relief I thought it might. Instead, it made my stomach twist.
Before I could process anything further, the faint sound of running water caught my attention. My gaze snapped to the closed bathroom door just as it swung open.
Cormac walked out, steam swirling behind him. He was wrapped in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips.
Droplets of water clung to his chest, sliding down over the sharp lines of his muscles. His black hair was damp, messy, and unfairly good-looking.
Our eyes locked. My breath hitched.
“You kidnapped me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His expression darkened immediately. He walked closer, stopping a few feet from the bed. “You think I walk around at night wearing dark clothes and hoodies so I can hunt down the first unsuspecting female I see?”
The sarcasm in his voice stung, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You’ve done it before,” I muttered under my breath, thinking about my first day at Pinnthorpe, when he’d had me hauled from my dorm without so much as an explanation.
His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes, and he stepped back, turning away.
“That’s different,” he said, after a moment, his tone flat.
I didn’t argue, though I didn’t see how it was different.
Instead, my gaze betrayed me, trailing down his back as he walked away. His muscles shifted with every movement, and I hated myself for noticing. I had bigger problems right now.
“How did I get here?” I asked, shaking off my distraction. The memory of the attack was still fresh—the man’s hands on me, the way he’d knocked me out.
Cormac didn’t answer right away. He rummaged through his dresser, his back still to me. Finally, he said, “I saw it happening. I took care of it.”
“Took care of it how?” I pressed, but he didn’t respond.
His silence stretched.
A new thought occurred to me. “How did you see it happening?”
That silence... again. “I was around the area.”
Something about his tone made me wonder if he was being entirely truthful, but before I could analyze it, he turned fully toward me, his eyes narrowing. “What were you doing walking around on your own at that hour?”
“It wasn’t late,” I said defensively. “It was just after six.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “It was a quarter to eight.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Was it really that late?
“Don’t do it again,” he said firmly.
I looked down, my thoughts spinning. At one point, Cormac had been the worst thing I had to deal with at Pinnthorpe. But now? Now there were men who wanted to kidnap me. My world felt darker and more dangerous than ever.
“Do you know who was behind it?” I asked softly.
“No,” he said, his voice clipped.
The weight of his answer pressed on me, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ready to stand. “I need to get back to the dorms.”
“You need to rest,” Cormac said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“I can rest in my own room,” I countered.
He stepped closer, and I couldn’t help but swallow hard as the space between us shrank. “You could have a concussion. You need to be under observation. If you want to leave later tonight, fine. But for now, you’re staying here.”
His words were steady, final. I wanted to argue, but I could feel the fatigue in my body. I sighed, conceding for now.
But self preservation kicked in as i wrapped my arms around myself. “ I need a shower. And I don’t have any of my things.”
“You can wear my clothes,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll get you some body wash.”
I wrapped my arms around myself tighter. “I don’t want to use men’s body wash,” I muttered.
Though what I really meant was that I didn’t want to smell like him.
The thought felt too intimate, like crossing a line I wasn’t ready to approach.
He studied me for a long moment, then turned and walked toward his closet.
When he came back, he was holding a dusty box. He placed it on the bed and opened it, revealing a collection of unopened toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a loofah, face products, even lotion.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Ran an errand for my sister once,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. “She never got around to using them. You can.”
“Your sister wouldn’t mind?” I asked, hesitant.
He shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable.
“Okay,” I said finally constantly, reminding myself that Cormac had saved my life yesterday. I took the box into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
The shower was heaven, the products rich and luxurious on my skin. For a moment, I let myself relax, letting the hot water wash away my tension. When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a robe I’d found hanging on the back of the door and returned to the bedroom.
Cormac was gone, but he’d left out a pair of sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt for me. I hesitated, acutely aware of how I wasn’t wearing any underwear. Ultimately, I pulled on the clothes, tying the drawstring tightly to keep the pants from slipping. I put the robe back on, too.
I followed the scent of bacon to the kitchen, where Cormac was at the stove. He didn’t look up as I leaned against the counter.
“How come your sister doesn’t go to our school?” I asked casually, breaking the silence.
Cormac stilled for a moment.
"I heard she's homeschooled, is that true?"
He stared at an empty spot on the white wall, his expression blank.
Then after a moment, he resumed his cooking.
But then he turned to look at me suddenly, and his voice cut through the air. “Don’t ask me about my sister." He said quietly.
There was no anger in his tone.
No edge to his words.
But his meaning was clear.
And I realized it, deep within me as I looked into his eyes.
Talking about his sister, for some reason... was off-limits.
“Sorry,” I murmured, looking away.