Chapter 22 I don't hate you
~Lyra’s POV~
Seeing the door open again from the outside did not surprise me in the slightest. Being kept as a prisoner meant I was not supposed to have any form of privacy, and I understood that very clearly.
What actually surprised me and made my breath catch was seeing Taren walk inside while pushing a trolley in front of him. The trolley was gleaming under the soft light, and the aroma drifting from it slipped into my nostrils like a gentle invitation. The scent alone made my empty stomach twist and clench with sudden longing.
“Taren. Is it really you?” I said his name before I realized I had spoken aloud.
“Yes my lady, it is me,” he answered quietly as he brought the trolley to a stop in front of me.
“How?” I asked, my voice trembling even though I tried to steady it. “I thought you were…” The words refused to leave my mouth and hung somewhere between fear and disbelief.
“Dead?” he finished for me with a small smile, but I shook my head immediately. I had not thought he was dead, but I had been so terrified for him.
“No. I thought you were dying. I saw you being taken from the car. Your eyes were open, but you looked… I don't even know how to describe it.” The memory replayed itself as a shadow that slithered across my thoughts and refused to leave.
That warm, gentle, almost breathtaking smile settled on his lips again. “I am fine my lady, as you can see. It was only a temporary issue, and it has been resolved.” He said the words with such calm assurance that I had no choice but to believe him. “What about you? Do you feel okay?” he asked suddenly, studying my face as though searching for any sign of lingering pain.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You look like you are hurt,” he said while his eyes swept over my arms and leg with such concern that I felt seen in a way I had not expected. “Are you sure you are okay? I could bring Kaitlyn to tend to any wounds you might still have.”
“Oh, these?” I raised my arms slightly. “No, they are healed already. You do not need to worry.” I tried to ease the tension in his voice.
He hesitated for a moment before he spoke again. “Look, I know you do not trust us yet, and you have every reason not to, considering everything you have endured. But I promise you that I mean well. I am only looking out for your well-being and your best interest.”
I appreciated his concern more than I expected, and I was not pretending when I lifted my sleeves all the way to my shoulder so he could see that the skin was smooth and untouched.
“See? The cuts were here and here, but they are gone now. I heal very fast,” I said gently, wanting him to understand that I truly was fine. I was oddly grateful that someone cared in a place where the walls felt like they were closing in on me.
“That is a relief,” he murmured, and his tone carried a wave of satisfaction that warmed the air between us. Then his expression changed slightly as he cleared his throat. “But do you not want to freshen up and change your clothes? You have blood all over you.”
“I want to,” I admitted softly, lowering my gaze. “But there is nothing here for me to change into.”
I had thought about taking a shower several times already, but apart from the fact that I had nothing to wear, I was still afraid that someone might barge in at any moment since the door could not be locked from the inside.
“I will get you something,” he said immediately. “In the meantime you can go ahead and eat. You must be hungry.” He gestured to the trolley.
Then he left the room so quietly that the only sound left behind was the deep growl of my own stomach. I had not eaten anything since morning, and the hunger was almost painful at that point.
When I opened the food container, the sight of the meal almost made my eyes sting with emotion. The smell intensified, rich and fragrant, and my starving body responded with another rumble. This was food. Real food. Not the death disguised as a meal that the Shadow Pack people had attempted to force into my mouth.
I dug in without hesitation, eating as much as I could, even though a guilty whisper in my mind kept telling me that a prisoner should not be allowed to eat something this delicious and comforting.
By the time I finished, Taren returned, carrying a few folded clothes in his arms.
“I am sorry. This is all I could find on such short notice,” he said gently as he handed the clothes to me. “I hope you can manage with it. I will try to get something else for you tomorrow or the next day.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely as I unfolded the clothes. They were another simple t-shirt and a pair of pants, a little bigger than what I had on. I did not mind at all. “This is good enough. And the food was really good.” I wanted him to know I appreciated everything he had done.
“I am glad you enjoyed it.” He gave a short bow, and that small gesture startled me. Something felt different. Why was he bowing to a prisoner? Had something changed about my status without my knowledge? “Have a good night,” he added before grabbing the trolley again and retreating toward the door.
“Um… Taren,” I called softly, unable to silence the questions buzzing inside my head.
He paused and turned fully toward me, giving me his complete attention.
“Please do not take this the wrong way, but I need to ask. Why are you being nice to me?” I watched his eyes narrow slightly, and I misinterpreted it immediately, so I hurried to explain. “I mean everyone here hates me, so it feels strange and suspicious having one person act kindly toward me.”
“Not everyone hates you,” he said calmly. “I do not hate you. Kaitlyn does not hate you either. And there are others who do not hate you, even though they will not show it openly. The ones who are cruel to you behave that way mostly because of what they suffered at the hands of other witches.” His voice carried sincerity that washed over me slowly.
“You never suffered anything from a witch?” I asked, studying him closely.
“I would not say that I did not suffer anything,” he admitted. “But nothing horrible enough to make me hate. I have a few good friends who are witches.”
My jaw actually dropped. Werewolves being friends with witches was unheard of to me. Everything I had been told suggested that werewolves and witches could never coexist as friends. The world inside me tilted slightly, as though the truth I had believed in my entire life had just cracked open.
But he continued speaking.
“And my mother used to be best friends with High Seer Elda before the war broke out.”
“High Seer Elda?” I repeated with wide eyes as the information stretched my mind in disbelief.