Page 30 of Into the Woods

He places his hands on my upper arms and holds me in place. “She’s in her suite of rooms, quite comfortable, I assure you.”

I push against his hold, desperate to get to her. “You… No. You don’t know what she’s been through, Garrick. You don’t know what she needs.” What if she has an episode and goescatatonic again? She had finally settled and stopped shaking just before I left for the fucked up dinner with Christophe and his uncle.

I fully expected to come back and crawl into bed with her. That close, I might have gotten some sleep in bits and starts, but with her somewhere else in this gilded prison, somewhere that I can’t hear her if she cries out, that I can’t get to her if she needs me, any hope for me to drift off is gone.

This entire thing is a mess, and now I don’t even know where my friend is. Tears sting as they gather in my eyes.

“Would it soothe you to lay eyes on her before you retire, miss?” He gives my arms a subtle squeeze and dips slightly to put himself in my line of sight, gaining my focus. “I can escort you to her suite to set your mind at ease.”

I blink back the tears that threaten to spill and ask, “Is that allowed?” When did things change so drastically that I’m asking permission to do anything? This is some serious bullshit.

Garrick smiles, his eyes crinkling with the shift of his cheeks. “It’s not explicitly forbidden, but perhaps we’ll keep this little fieldtrip between us, shall we?”

I pull in a shaky breath and let it out slowly while nodding. I’ll agree to just about anything right now if it gets me to Tru.

“Right, then. If you’ll follow me?” He releases his hold on me and steps back, sweeping a hand toward the hallway.

I follow him through an impossible labyrinth and push past him when he finally opens a door. The layout of the suite is similar to mine with a sitting room and a door that likely leads to the bedroom and ensuite beyond.

What I do not expect is the relaxed tiger of a man, lounging on the settee that looks far too delicate to support his bulk.

Teague pushes to his feet, hand immediately reaching for the holster at his side. He darts his gaze over us, looking into thehall beyond when he detects no immediate threat from Garrick or myself. “What’s happened?” he barks.

“Miss L’Ourson would like to see Miss Cochonette and ensure her comfort before retiring for the evening,” Garrick explains.

I duck around the men and dart for the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I’m sure they both have keys and would have no qualms about breaking through, if need be, but the symbolic security eases my nerves.

The lamp on the dresser casts a soft glow throughout the space giving me just enough light to see the silhouette of Tru’s small form tucked beneath the mound of blankets.

I tiptoe across the room and slide onto the plush bed. Any worry of disturbing her with my movement dissipates; the mattress is so luxurious that there’s no transfer of movement. Wispy, platinum blond hair rests on her cheek, rising lightly with each soft exhale.

Her features are as relaxed as I think I’ve ever seen them as she sleeps, the throw from my room still clutched in her fists, tucked up next to her face. She’s okay. She’s resting. I don’t know how, after the upheaval from what has become our normal routine in the years that she’s lived with my family. That routine was necessary when she was released to us. Change—the unknown—is not her friend.

I reach out and gently slide the hair off her face, tucking it away so I can really see her. So she’s not hidden from me.

There are no salty trails from her early tears. She’s fresh-faced and absolutely still, no trembling, no pinched lips, no tic in the muscles of her jaw.

I almost don’t recognize her like this. It’s been years since I’ve seen this side of Tru.

I’ve missed her. Missed the way she used to be…before.

The door cracks open, shitting all over my illusion of separation. Teague fills the space and after a moment, he silently demands that I leave Tru to sleep.

It goes against everything in me to leave her, but this is not the time to put up a fuss. Maybe I can confuse these men, throw them off their game by yielding when resisting won’t get me anything in return.

I silently pad out of the room, noting that Teague’s gaze stays on Tru well after I’ve brushed past him. Only when he’s satisfied that my presence didn’t disturb her, does he pull the door closed and turn to glare at me.

“Satisfied?” His voice is low and gruff, softened only by the slightest lilt of an accent.

My brows pop high. “I am. Why’d you move her though? She was fine with me in my room.”

“I feel better having her here, with me.” He folds his arms across his chest, settling into his heels.

I have no doubt that it would take a truckload of determination and a damn miracle to get through him to hurt her. But why?

“Where is this over-the-top protective shit coming from? What do you… If you touch her, if you lay one fucking finger on her, I’ll kill you myself.” How I’d accomplish that is a problem for future Winnie, but I don’t tell him that because the way his head snaps back as if I’ve slapped him gives me pause.

He looks offended at my insinuation that he might harm her in any way.

---