Chapter 177: Wrapped in My Scent

(Scarlett)

The girl’s face stays tucked into the side of my neck until the front of the packhouse comes into full view, the lower windows glowing warm against the dark. That’s when she lifts her head. Her eyes catch the light spilling through the open door, and she flinches so hard I nearly lose my footing. Her hands come up over her face in one quick movement, and she turns inward against my chest like she can hide from the brightness. She doesn’t understand when I tell her it’s okay. I know she doesn’t. But my tone definitely matters. The panic in her scent sharpens for a second, then eases by half a degree when I keep walking without changing my hold on her.

Kieran moves ahead and pushes the back door open wider so I don’t have to jostle her. The girl peeks once more through her fingers as we cross the threshold. Her gaze flicks wildly over everything, and her whole body goes taut again. I continue to talk to her soothingly as I take her upstairs. By the time we reach the bedroom, my arms ache, but I keep them tight around her anyway. She’s stopped shaking quite so violently now, though every few seconds her head lifts and turns as she tries to track where she is.

The second we enter the room, the boys stop dead. Not because they don’t want to come in, but because they do. Too much. But all three of them clearly decide at once that crowding her in a closed room is a terrible idea, so they shuffle off toward one corner instead. They move with exaggerated care until they end up near the far wall like three ridiculously dangerous statues pretending they aren’t taking up half the room. I almost laugh, but the girl is still trembling in my arms, so I don’t waste time.

I carry her straight into the bathroom and set her down gently on the floor. She lands in a crouch, balanced on the balls of her feet and one hand. She looks like she’s prepared to bolt in any direction if this turns bad. Her green eyes flick from me to the tub, to the sink, to the mirror, then back to me again. I keep my movements slow for her.

“Alright,” I murmur, turning on the tap. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” The rush of water makes her flinch. Her whole body jerks, hands coming halfway back up like shields, and I’m already shaking my head before she can recoil fully.

“It’s okay. See?” I reach under the stream with one hand and let the water run over my fingers. “Just water.”

She stares, and the fear in her scent shifts, curiosity threading through it. Very slowly, like she can’t quite believe she’s doing it, she stands and swats at the stream with two fingers. Water splashes across the sink and onto the front of her filthy dress. She jerks back, blinking. I laugh. I can’t help it. It just slips out of me. Her head snaps up. For one beat, she only looks at me, and my heart hammers. Then, cautiously, she reaches out and bats at the stream again. This time, she doesn’t flinch when it splashes.

“That’s it,” I whisper. “See? Nothing scary.”

I wet the washcloth and kneel in front of her again, showing it to her before I bring it near. She eyes it hard, suspicious all over again, but when I touch it to the dried blood near her wrist, she only tenses instead of trying to pull away.

“Good girl,” I murmur without thinking. “You’re doing so well.”

I work from her wrists down first. The marks there make my stomach twist every time I look at them. I clean them as gently as I can, talking to her through every flinch and every sharp breath. The boys remain in the bedroom. I can hear them moving now and then beyond the doorway. When I’ve cleaned the worst of the dirt from her arms and legs, the cloth is streaked red-brown, and the sink water has gone cold twice. “Okay. Hair next.”

She doesn’t like the sink at first. Doesn’t understand why I want her up on the counter. She looks at me with that wary animal suspicion. I pat the long bench beneath the mirror. Then the edge of the sink. Then the folded towel I’ve laid out there.

“Come on. Up.” Nothing. No reaction. I sigh and smile despite myself. “You are unbelievably stubborn for someone I met ten minutes ago.”

Her head tilts. Then, finally, after a little more coaxing and a lot of patient hand gestures, she climbs up onto the bench and crouches there. I move behind her, wet my hands, and start slowly working the water through her hair. She goes perfectly still, and for a second I think I’ve lost her. Then she purrs. It vibrates through her whole tiny body as I massage shampoo into her scalp and work through the knots with careful fingers. It does crazy things to me. Is this what the guys feel like when they care for me?

I towel her dry as best I can and go back into the bedroom for clothes. The boys barely move when I come out. Their eyes track me, then the folded pyjamas in my hands, then the bathroom door behind me.

“Is she okay?” Felix asks.

I nod. “Better.”

When I bring the pyjamas back into the bathroom and hold them out, the girl takes the shirt first and presses it straight to her face. She inhales long and deep. Then rubs her cheek against it. My heart practically folds in on itself.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “That’s mine.”

She looks at me over the shirt, then does it again. I help her into the clothes slowly, one piece at a time, guiding her arms and legs through without rushing. She keeps stopping to smell the fabric, rubbing her face into the sleeves, the neckline, the front of the shirt.

When we step back into the bedroom, I almost laugh again. The boys have transformed one whole side of the room. There’s a tray on the bedside table now, loaded with food in little piles like they couldn’t decide what she might want so they chose everything. On the floor beside the bed, they’ve laid out blankets and pillows into what looks like a makeshift nest made by three very large, very earnest men trying not to scare the life out of a traumatised girl. And they are still all standing in one corner. Stock still.

The girl sees them and freezes in the doorway. Then, to my surprise, she slips from my side and moves straight toward the floor bed. I catch her hand, and she startles. I smile and pat the mattress instead.

“No. Here.” She practically launches herself onto the bed on all fours, circling once, then twice, sniffing the pillows, rubbing her face into the blankets, pushing at them with her hands and knees like she can’t quite believe she’s being allowed this. I smile so big it hurts.