Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals!

Chapter 152: 152. Olive Branch

Maisie

I didn’t remember how we got back to the house. The run to the house had been a blur and I was a mess of shaking limbs, the steady thump of Mercer’s heartbeat as he held me soothing me a little.

By the time Mercer opened the door to my bathroom, I was still trembling.

I stood there uselessly, arms wrapped around myself, while he moved around. The sound of running water filled the quiet space. He knelt beside the tub and tested the temperature with his fingers.

I felt his eyes on me, on the blood crusted in my hair, the dirt and claw marks streaking my arms, the way I couldn’t reel in the shakes.

I couldn’t meet his gaze. Didn’t have the courage to.

"Get in," he said gently.

A soft sound slipped out as I sank into the water, the delicious temperature relaxing my muscles instantly.

The water clouded instantly and Mercer repeated the process of refilling the tub, four times, before the last of the grime was gone and I was reasonably clean.

"I’ll be outside, if you need anything," he added after a moment.

I swallowed hard, finally lifting my gaze to watch him inch for the door.

And that was when I noticed the uneven bounce in his step.

A single red droplet hit the white tile. Then another.

My breath caught as the thin trail of crimson followed him across the floor, and there was already so much blood on him, it made it difficult to pinpoint where it flowed from.

But I found it and my eyes widened with horror when I found the tiny hole a dangerous inch away from his spine. "You were shot."

That must’ve been the pain I felt through the bond earlier.

Mercer halted in the doorway. His shoulders tensed. "It’s nothing—"

"You’re bleeding," I cried. "That’s not nothing."

Had he carried me the entire way like that? Walking around with a bullet made of ash in his back like it was nothing?

"When we learn to fight, we learn to tend our own injuries as well." His fingers closed around the door knob. "Don’t worry, Adams. You won’t die because your mate got one silly bullet in him."

I froze. He thought I was worried because... of the bond? He thought I was worried about how this might affect me?

"That isn’t why... I... This isn’t about... I just..." The words died in my throat when the full weight of his gaze settled in me.

Those piercing green eyes cut right through me, dismantling whatever silly wall and armor I thought I had in place. "Why then?" His voice was hard, laced with bitter mockery. "You don’t like seeing me get hurt?"

My fingers shook slightly in the water and I looked away as he took one slow step towards me, reminding me of his state of undress.

"You care whether I bleed?"

I swallowed thickly as he drew closer.

"Somewhere underneath all that righteous fury, you give a damn what happens to me?"

Every word landed somewhere deep inside my chest and my pulse hammered.

"Use your words, Adams."

I almost did. I looked at him and I almost told him. That every time they got hurt, it felt like some part of me was dying. That watching Soren burn had driven me mad. That watching Jericho thrash in his sleep, fighting himself, wanting and begging for death, made me murderous. That watching Quinlan get ripped up like that felt like being stabbed in the gut. And seeing him bleeding made it hard to breathe.

That maybe—

Maybe I had never stopped caring.

Not even when I wanted to.

Not even when they deserved my hatred. Not even when they were hurting me.

The confession climbed all the way to the back of my throat.

Then I remembered Tessa’s back against the glass windows, his eyes on mine, and her moan as he moved inside her. How his eyes never left mine the entire time. I remembered feeling like I was losing my mind, spiraling with no one to anchor me, to explain why I was hurting when I didn’t think I had a right to.

How going to bed at night felt like a knife twisting into my chest. And waking up every morning feeling nothing but despair.

The words died.

I wrapped my arms tighter around myself and my voice went cold. "You should see a doctor."

Mercer stared at me, and his expression grew defeated. "I see. I’ll leave you to your bath."

He didn’t look back.

What have you ever done to deserve to deserve them?

I suddenly felt tired of being angry. Of holding on to the rage as the single source of strength I had to keep myself away from them. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of recounting every terrible incident just so I could forget the good ones. Just so I could tell myself their reasons weren’t valid enough to treat me like dirt, even if they thought it was. Just so I could remind myself that leaving was important, even if I’d begun to forget why.

I was tired of hating myself for wanting. For caring. I was tired of... hating.

The door creaked and I was speaking before I could stop myself. "Mercer. Wait."

He froze in the doorway.

I didn’t think I’d be able to wear my heart on my sleeve ever again, or admit to having these feelings that felt more like a thorn in my flesh.

So, I said, "Let me do it for you."

It was all I could offer. My olive branch.

Mercer blinked. "What?"

"The bullet. Let me take it out for you." At his stunned silence, I added swiftly, "You have long arms, but I’m not sure they can reach all the way back there."

Yes, Maisie, keep going. Real smart.

He studied me for a moment longer. "And I am to assume you gained surgical experience sometime in the last six years while you were getting acquainted with a mopping stick?"

My cheeks heated. "You know what? Fuck you. I was trying to be nice."

But there was a lighter note in the air. I thought he seemed a little less like the lead in a movie who had an unrequited love situation.

His lips pulled firmly. "It takes a certain level of trust and vulnerability to let anyone hold a sharp scalpel to your spine when you have ash inside you, Adams. One wrong move and the ash gets stuck in the wrong place and I might be crippled for life."

I understood what he was trying to say to me. That it was akin to putting his life in the hands of a child who could very well ruin him.

And yet, he wasn’t saying no. He was waiting. For something.

"Then teach me," I whispered. "Teach me how to do it right."