The Lone Wolf's Lycan Princess

Silver

Erin POV

There was no way he could be the voice in my head. He simply noticed my panic and assured me that I was safe. There was nothing more to it. Yet, I couldn't help but wonder why his voice, just like the one I had created, had a calming effect on me. Why did I not feel the same fear around him as I did with others? Perhaps it was because he was treating me like a living being, the first person to do so since everything had happened.

The aroma of the food he was cooking filled the air, enticing my senses. Unconsciously, I placed my hand on my stomach, momentarily forgetting myself. It let out a low grumble, and I was pretty sure he heard it, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he was trying to spare my embarrassment. I reached for my phone and messaged him, "Can I help?"

He glanced at his screen, then spoke, "I want you to relax right now. You must be tired after cleaning this place so well."

He took a step closer to me, and to my surprise, it didn't instill panic in me like it usually would. "Erin, can you look at me?" he asked, confusing me. I did as he asked.

"That's better. There's no need to hide your eyes from me. It's hard for me to gauge how you're feeling when I can't see them. If you want to try, you can mouth the words you want to say. I'll try to read your lips so you don't always have to text."

"Okay," I mouthed, and a smile formed on his face.

"I understood. You said 'ok'," he said. "Now, sit, Erin. The food is almost done. I'll bring it out."

I followed his instructions and glanced at the glass of wine he had given me. It would be rude not to finish it, so I took another sip. It tasted good, but different.

After several minutes, he appeared with two plates. The way he had plated the food was like something out of a cooking show or a nice restaurant. He placed one plate in front of me and sat down across from me. "Fair warning, I'm no chef. So, although I have to say I'm impressed by how it looks, I don't know how well it tastes," he chuckled.

I tried to mouth "thank you." It felt strange forming silent words with my mouth, but if he understood me this way, I would give it a try. "Dig in," he said, as if waiting for me to take the first bite. It made me feel a little awkward, but then he took a bite himself. "I guess it's good," he complimented himself. As he continued eating, I attempted to cut into my food.

My hand trembled uncontrollably as I tried to cut the food, causing frustration to well up within me. It seemed as if my body had a mind of its own.

"Let me help," he offered, standing up. As he loomed over me, I felt a sense of unease, his warm breath brushing against my skin. I expected him to simply assist with cutting the meat, but instead, he placed his large hand over mine, completely enveloping it. Surprisingly, this gesture halted my trembling. He held it there for a moment, gently rubbing his finger against my hand as if providing a soothing massage. Eventually, he released his grip and settled back into his seat.

"As a writer, I sometimes experience hand cramps that cause involuntary shaking. Applying pressure usually helps. I hope I didn't overstep," he explained.

I silently mouthed “Thanks” attempting to comply with his request to look at him. He looked as if he would reach out to me again but restrained himself, focusing on his meal. Finally, I took a bite, savoring the delicious flavors.

I glanced up at him and mouthed “real good.”

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he responded.

I did my best to consume all the food and drink he had provided, feeling a slight buzzy feeling from the wine he had poured for me. When I finished, I made a move to clean up, but he insisted on taking care of it. "I'll handle the cleaning tonight. You've already worked for hours today," he insisted. I felt a bit awkward, but he was my boss for the next three months.

Once he had placed the plates in the dishwasher, he motioned for me to join him in the living room. I settled into one of the chairs. "Would you like more wine?" he asked, but I declined, as the single glass was already making my head feel fuzzy.

He handed me a document, explaining that it was a separate contract outlining a few details to ensure our comfort while living together. He gave me the night to read and sign it, assuring me that it was nothing nefarious. I nodded in understanding.

"If you're tired, you can go to your bedroom. But remember, you're not restricted to that area. Make yourself at home," he explained. I nodded again, appreciating his hospitality.

"Thank you for dinner," I mouthed, expressing my gratitude. As I stood up, he wished me a good night's sleep. Walking towards the room, I closed the door behind me. Sitting on the comfortable bed, I began reading over the contract he had given me. It covered most of what he had discussed earlier, but a few clauses caught my attention.

One clause stated that for the next three months, I couldn't be in a relationship with another man or bring another man into the house. Did he really think this was necessary? I couldn't imagine being in such a situation. The same rule applied to him as well. Additionally, I was not allowed to leave the property without him. He claimed it was for my safety, as his house was secluded and easy to get lost. Not that I had anywhere else to go, anyway.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a pen and signed the contract. Placing it carefully on a small table in my cozy room, I took a moment to appreciate the upgrade from my previous living conditions. I grabbed a small bag and my notebook from my duffle bag and made my way to the bathroom. I also grabbed a pair of pajama shorts and a camisole.

Once inside the bathroom, I covered the mirror with a towel to the best of my ability. Taking a relieved breath, I stood on the cool tiled floor. Opening the bag, I flipped open my notebook as well. There was something strange about me, something I had noticed since that fateful night when everything changed. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I had my reasons.

I pulled out a small silver blade and held it in my hand. Many would judge me for this, thinking that self-harm was a sign of my instability. But the pain actually numbed me at times. And not just that, when I cut myself, I experienced small flashbacks of the night my family died. Unlike in my dreams or when I looked in the mirror, these flashbacks were different. They were of my sister, desperately trying to communicate with me.

And it wasn't just her; I felt hurt as well. All I could gather from these flashbacks was the message, "Silver does not hurt you, live." I didn't understand what she meant, but every night, I tried to see more, to uncover the truth. I also tried to track another thing - my healing. It seemed that I healed fast, but when I cut myself with silver, I noticed odd black streaks forming on my skin. I dismissed it as my imagination playing tricks on me, but I was determined to cut deeper and track how fast I healed.

I quickly changed into my soft pajamas. As I lifted my cammie slightly, I felt a twinge in my lower abdomen. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the blade against my skin, feeling a brief moment of pain. A single tear escaped my eye as I slid down onto the floor.

Closing my eyes, I watched my memories replay in my mind like a silent film. The room faded away, and I found myself transported back to the past, standing beside my sister's bed. The air felt heavy, and my breaths came in shallow gasps, as if I were struggling for air. A strange ache pulsed through my body.

In that moment, my sister's voice trembled as she struggled to speak. "Silver does not hurt you, live Erin" she managed to utter, her words filled with vulnerability. I pleaded for the memory to continue, desperate to uncover the truth, desperate for my sister, for my family.

But just as the scene unfolded, my phone buzzed beside me, jolting me back to reality. "I forgot to give you one thing, do you mind if I give it to you fast?" read the message from River. I pulled down my cami and got up, responding with a simple "ok." Leaving the bathroom, I opened the bedroom door to find River waiting outside, holding a tablet in his hands.

"Your room does not have a TV, but this has all the apps," he explained, handing me the device. I took it from him, mouthing a silent "thank you." However, as his gaze fell upon my shirt, I noticed a flicker of concern in his eyes and then a weird sound escaped his lips. Was that a growling sound he made?

"You're bleeding," he stated, moving closer. Panic welled up inside me, and I instinctively shook my head, backing away. "I won't touch you, Erin. But can you show me? From the looks of your shirt and shorts, it's bad. I need to know if I should get you medical help," he calmly reasoned.

My chest tightened, and I fought to maintain a semblance of bravery. I locked eyes with him and silently mouthed, "I'm okay." He let out a sigh, clearly unconvinced.

"You're not," he said softly. "Let me at least get my first aid kit and help." With that, he turned and walked away momentarily, leaving me to grapple with my own fears.

I knew it was pointless to just close myself in the room. I anxiously waited, the sound of my racing heartbeat drowning out the silence. Suddenly, he returned, his footsteps echoing in the small space.

"Come sit on your bed," he instructed me, his voice steady but laced with concern. Trembling, I complied, my body betraying my fear.

"Erin, can you show me now?" he asked, his tone gentle. I hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

"You did this to yourself, didn't you? I won't judge, but I can't allow you to be hurt. You could get an infection, and since you're working for me, you are my responsibility," he explained. It finally made sense - he was doing this out of a sense of duty towards me.

I slowly lifted my shirt, exposing the wound. His expression contorted with pain as his eyes met mine. With careful precision, he retrieved gauze and a cleansing liquid. "I'm going to clean it. I have to touch you to do so," he murmured, his voice barely audible. As he soaked the gauze, a cool, antiseptic scent filled the room. He gently pressed it against my skin, his touch surprisingly tender. Once done, he swiftly secured it with dry gauze and medical tape.

He lingered, not pulling away immediately, and strangely, I didn't want him to. There was something about him that put me at ease. In this moment of desperation, his touch brought a sense of calm that I desperately needed. His gaze locked with mine, his eyes intense and captivating. His breath brushed against my skin, the closeness almost suffocating. I could swear he was about to kiss me before abruptly pulling away.

"I should go. Message if you need me, Erin," he said, his voice breaking the spell. With that, he rose and left the room. I sat there, stunned but strangely at peace. I couldn't fully decipher his intentions, but a part of me longed for that possible kiss. He was the first person who made me feel alive and normal again, and that meant everything to me.