Chapter 85: The Cost of Leaving

(MAYA)

Griffin is quiet and reserved, and he speaks in an oddly formal manner, but I like him. I’m usually prone to rambling when I’m feeling nervous, but he actually pays attention to what I say. The way he focuses on me when I’m speaking has knots forming in my stomach. Last night when I woke up, he was quiet and unwilling to talk. Now, though, he seems to be more than willing to engage with me.

I wasn’t serious when I offered to cut his hair, but then he gave me that look as if he could not quite believe I had the ability, so that riled me up. I didn’t expect him to say yes. Why would he trust me, more or less a stranger, to come near him with a pair of scissors?

But here we are. He’s sitting on the floor with his back to me, his soft silver hair right in front of my face.

As we were getting set up, I saw a small scar on his right cheek. It looks old and faded. I didn’t notice it before, but it gives him a mysterious edge. Corrine told me that the scars on her back would never heal because of how nearly fatal those injuries were. I’m curious about the story of Griffin’s scar. It does nothing to take away from his attractiveness.

I swallow.

I probably should not have offered to do this. Corrine always told me that my mouth would get me in trouble one day. It seems that day has arrived.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask weakly. “I mean, I said I give a good haircut, but Finn’s a child. What does he know?”

A low, husky chuckle from Griffin makes my lower abdomen tighten. “I will not complain.”

“What if it’s a disaster?”

“I will like whatever you do to my hair. You don’t have to worry.”

I purse my lips. “Very well. I did warn you.”

His shirt is spread out beneath him. I didn’t want to mess up the witch’s wooden floor, so he took off his shirt. I’m going to flush the hair down the toilet once I’m done, and then he can have the shirt back.

Griffin is thin, incredibly so. It’s obvious that he’s deeply malnourished, and it upsets me. This doesn’t seem like months but rather years of neglect.

“How long were you in there for?” I ask quietly, trying not to be affected.

“I don’t remember.”

I study the length of his hair, wondering how much I should cut. “I guess you don’t know what they wanted from you, either?”

When he remains silent, I pat the center of his back.

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that you are safe now. Where do you plan to go after this? I mean, once we get out of this cabin?”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “I haven’t decided yet. What about you? You have mentioned your mother a few times. Where is she?”

My heart tightens. “Last I knew, she was at the palace. King Erik gave us one of the cottages on the grounds. I was staying with my mother there.”

“If you were working for the king and living on the palace grounds, how were you able to maintain contact with the human society?”

His precise question makes me blink. “Well, I didn’t. Healer Jerry, the one who recruited me, was able to help my mom with his healing abilities. That was one of the biggest reasons why I decided to completely cut ties with the human world. You can’t work alongside shifters if you don’t do that, you know.”

Those amber eyes settle on me, vivid intelligence in them. “You are young. Why would you cut ties with the human world when you should have known that the wolf society would not accept you with open arms? You would not belong anywhere.”

I laugh awkwardly. “Well, Corrine did explain this to me, but I wanted my mother back. I’ve always protected her. She has always been fragile. If I knew of a way to get her to feel better, how could I pass that up?”

“No matter the cost to you?”

I open my mouth and then snap it shut. My voice is quiet now, low. “I never really considered the cost to myself when it was my mom’s health on the line. And if you think I will regret that decision, you’re wrong. However much time she has, I’m selfish enough to want it for myself. I want her to be comfortable. I don’t like her tears when she doesn’t remember me, the panic in her eyes when she looks at me like I’m a stranger. I can’t stand her sobs when she gains awareness and realizes that she didn’t recognize me just a few hours ago.”

Griffin is silent, as if contemplating my words. “She doesn’t recognize you? What is her illness?”

I sigh as I gaze at the silver hair before me, my eyes unseeing. “I forgot. Your kind probably doesn’t have this kind of disease. She has dementia, early onset. I’ve been looking after her since I was sixteen.”

“That is a young age to assume such a responsibility.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But once I get out of here, she’s the first person I’m going to go see. I want to make sure she’s okay. But—” My voice trails off as I lift the drenched towel and run it over Griffin’s hair.

“But?” he asks after a moment.

I squeeze the towel, rubbing his head with it. “I used to be fascinated by your world, but after everything that has happened, I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”

His shoulders grow stiff.

“I’m not trying to insult you,” I continue, knowing he’s probably offended. “I just don’t think I’m built for your world. I know I said I won’t regret my decision to leave everything behind, and I don’t. I did it for my mother, and I stand by that choice. But I’m not as strong as your kind, and I can’t protect myself. The only thing I have is my brain. I was able to use it to escape this time, but I still lost over six months of my life. What about the next time? Nobody came to rescue me this time, and they probably won’t the next time, either.” I hear the bitterness in my voice and wonder if I harbor some resentment. “They used me when I was valuable to them but turned their backs on me when I went missing. Almost as if I was not worth looking for.”

“Is that what you truly believe?” Griffin asks me.

I set the towel back in the bowl of water. I don’t have a comb, so I use my fingers to straighten out his hair.

“Maybe. I was told that Corrine was badly injured. If something did happen to her, I would understand that she didn’t come after me. But I was still working for Erik. He should’ve tried to look for me. That he didn’t—”

“How do you know he did not send out search parties for you?”

Griffin’s question makes me feel guilty. “Maybe he did, but wouldn’t they have found me by now?”

“I was in that place for as long as I can remember. If they couldn’t find me, why do you assume they would have been able to find you?”

I purse my lips, and my voice is low. “I know I sound unreasonable, but it feels like I was abandoned.”

“I don’t believe Erik is the kind of person to abandon anybody, especially not somebody who left their entire world to help his kingdom.”

I pick up the scissors. “Why do you talk about him with such familiarity? Do you know him?”

He shrugs. “I’m acquainted with the king.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m not interested in finding them out.” Griffin probably remembers a heck of a lot more than he’s telling me, but I don’t want to pry and learn something that’s going to put me back in the crosshairs of danger.

My answer seems to displease him, but I don’t care. I just want to get out of this place. It’s bad enough that proximity to this shifter makes me feel all kinds of things. He’s wildly attractive, in that cold, aloof way I have never found even remotely appealing. But with him, I find myself sneaking glances. Granted, he’s not completely aloof with me, but there is a standoffish air to him, and it’s mildly irritating.

“How short do you want your hair?”

“As short as possible, if you would.”

I lift my upper body and rest my weight on my knees as I begin cutting. Beautiful locks of silver hair fall to the shirt on the wooden floor. I feel a hint of envy. “You shifters have such stunning hair. I always thought silver hair made a person look old, but it makes you look magnificent.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“My father had silver hair,” Griffin tells me. “Unlike me, he preferred to wear it like his ancestors, tied behind his back. I find it cumbersome.”

“I bet your father had some feelings about that.”

“He was certainly not pleased.”

I carefully cut the hair from his nape, trying not to nick him. “Stay there. I have to do this from the front.”

Waddling over on my knees, I come to kneel in front of where he’s sitting and realize that his face is right at my chest. It wouldn’t bother me normally, but the shirt I’m wearing is thin, and I can feel his hot breath on my breasts. It doesn’t help that I’m not wearing a bra. I normally don’t need one because, unlike Corrine, I am not generously endowed. Still…

I clench my jaw when his breath hits my collarbone, trying hard not to shiver. My hand comes to rest on his shoulder as I feel myself topple forward. Instinctively, I assume, he grasps me by the waist.

“I have you.”

Simple words, but an unbidden tension unravels within me.

Swallowing, I continue to trim his hair, snipping the longer ends and styling the shorter ones so that he doesn’t look in the mirror and decide to end me over the monstrosity I’ve created.

His hands are large, and they encompass my entire waist. I wet my lips, feeling uncertain.

What is it with me and this guy? He’s not my type. I always go for nerdy, scientist types, introverts mostly. I enjoy ruffling their feathers, and the sex is always interesting because I like taking the lead and they always let me. But Griffin? As quiet and unassuming as he may be, instinct tells me that in bed, he’ll be the one calling all the shots.

I don’t like that in a man. I prefer to be in control. My entire field is about control and precision in what I do. In bed, I like being pleasured in certain ways, and it’s easier to guide men when I’m the one in charge. I know what I like, and I know how to get it.

This guy is unpredictable. Although, I have seen him naked, and the sheer size of his…cock…would make for an interesting—

An “eep” slips past my lips when Griffin’s hands tighten around my waist.

“What are you thinking about while cutting my hair?” His voice is a scratchy growl, and he lowers his head, sniffing. What is he—

Suddenly, a memory pops up of Corrine complaining about Locke’s sharp nose. Pair that with the thoughts floating in my head, and I’m flushing in embarrassment. I instantly try to move back, but he holds me in place.

When he looks up at me, those intense amber eyes have me stammering, “L–let go of me.”

He releases me, and I lean away from him, only to fall over backward.

His hand reaches out, wrapping around my wrist, and he yanks me back toward him before I crack my head open a second time. The force of his pull has me falling into his arms. In an attempt to protect me, he shields me as his own back hits the ground, his arms wrapped around me. Dazed, I don’t move as I lie on top of him, my head spinning.

“Are you hurt?”

His question makes me shake my head in humiliation. “I’m so sorry!” I scramble off him. “Are you okay?” Water has spilled everywhere, the bowl having been kicked over as all of this was happening. “You didn’t have to—I was just thinking something. Why’d you have to make it weird?!”

I can’t bear to face him. My face feels hot as I pick up the bowl and try to mop up the water with the towel, my back to Griffin. Once I’m done, I turn and see him feeling his hair.

“It’s still long.” He sounds rueful.

“I–I’m not done with it yet,” I say reluctantly. I pick up the scissors. “Don’t move.”

Forcing myself to think about nothing but the acid rain outside, I finish the job. When I move back, I feel myself gaping at him. If I thought he looked ethereal with his long, flowing locks, with this short hair, he looks wickedly handsome. His cheeks are too sunken, but once they fill out with some proper nutrition, he’s going to be a heartthrob.

I’ve met a few good-looking shifters, but no one like Griffin.

He’s checking his shirt to see if it’s dry, and I wonder if he’s aware of how hot he is. He doesn’t seem to be. Or maybe it’s not important in the grand scheme of things, and I’m just shallow.

“The rain has stopped.” He looks up, his eyes sharp.

I look out the window, and indeed, while the skies are still gray, the sound of the constant raindrops hitting the cabin is gone.

“What does that mean?” I ask cautiously. “Can we leave?”

The steady rain has ceased, and not with some dramatic crack of thunder. It seems to have simply faded, as if it lost interest. The hiss of acid eating through leaves and bark tapers into silence. The forest outside looks wounded, steam rising from blackened earth and skeletal trees. It smells like burnt copper and rot.

Griffin moves before I do. He strides over to the door and stands there, quiet and deliberate, pressing his palm against the door like he’s listening through it. He’s watchful and calm. Like waiting is a skill he has mastered. Like he has waited a long, long time.

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Stay close.”

I nod, ready to trust him with my life right now. I just want to be away from this madness. Griffin steps outside and scans the clearing. I follow him.

The forest looks wrong. Burned. Wilted. The trees seem smaller, bowed under the weight of something invisible. The air buzzes, too thick, as if the world is holding its breath. After a few paces, Griffin stops. His body goes still in that way only shifters can manage—silent, coiled.

Then, she steps out of the trees.

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