Page 31 of Beyond the Cottage

Gretta gaped at him.

Ansel lit a lantern on the dresser and returned to her. “I’ll make you a deal. If you accept this room, I won’t enter it again without your permission, and I’ll give you the master key to the facility. It unlocks all doors except the one across the hall.”

Did he really have one? Now that she thought about it, he never carried a full set the way Seven did, and the one he used for her cell had opened the back door when he took her outside. If she was stuck in this hellhole until the storm passed, having free access would make her feel less trapped.

But was it worth gagging on his scent?

“Show it to me,” she said.

He pulled the key from his pocket, and she ripped it from his hand. Maybe he had some perfumed candles laying around.

“No one else has access to this room,” he said. “Keep it locked at all times.”

“I will. Now leave me alone.”

His pained gaze lowered to her cheek. “You have an abrasion. Will you let me treat it before I go? I’ll touch you as little as necessary.”

“I’ll take care of it myself.”

He waved a finger back and forth across her eyes as he studied her pupils. “How does your head feel? Any dizziness? Sleepiness? Nausea?”

“I know what a concussion feels like, I don’t have one.”

His face clouded over. He dropped his finger, leaning in. “Who gave you a concussion?”

“Stop looming over me. It’s getting old.”

“Who, Gretta? Tell me, or I’ll visit Antrelle and beat it out of every goddamn man in the city!”

Fucking hell. He was as psychotic as Jonas. “I got it at work, alright? It was an accident.” She’d rescued a vampire from a witch’s attic, and in his panic, he’d knocked her out.

“What the hell do you do for a living?”

“None of your business. Backoff.”

He did, a little. Gretta wrung out her muddy tunic’s hem.

“Wait here,” he said, heading for a room off to the side. When he came back, he offered her a towel.

Gretta took it between two fingers. “Is it clean?”

“Yes,” he said, flushing.

She unfolded it and wiped her neck and hair. “I assume that was a washroom. I want water brought here for a bath. You can leave buckets in the hall.”

He gave her a subdued nod. Gretta silently dismissed him, touring the room as she patted herself dry. She picked up a book—Economics of the Trollish-Goblin War—and tossed it on a chair.

“Gretta?”

“What.”

He didn’t answer. Sighing impatiently, she turned to him.

And jolted.

His expression held more than pain and regret. He looked totally hopeless. Lost. She had no sympathy whatsoever, but it shook her. Ansel the boy had always been so positive, facing torment and fear with unwavering optimism for their future. And Lab Coat certainly didn’t have a sunny disposition, but there’d been a sturdiness to him.

Now he just looked broken.

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