TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 415

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MAPTER 340 FOR YOUR OWN DAME

CHAPTER 340: FOR YOUR OWN SAKE

EMBER’S POV

Then I drag myself up and into a long hot shower that turns my abused muscles from screaming to merely complaining, and I dress in soft clothes, and I feel almost human, right up until I realise ! left my phone down in the training room.

On the bench, where I set it before Knox dragged me onto the mat. It’s been sitting down there før hours.

So I pad back down through the quiet house, still-damp hair cool on my neck, toward the sub-level

stairs – and the house at this hour is dim and hushed and half-lit, everyone about their morning

business elsewhere, and I’m not thinking about anything except the phone, until I turn the corner

toward the lower hall and I see her.

Marjorie.

At the far end of the corridor, near the service passage that runs down toward the east wing, moving fast – and hooded, a dark shawl pulled up over her head, which I have never once seen her

wear.

And there’s something in her arms, a bundle, no, not a bundle, an arm, a pale limp arm hanging loose from whatever she’s half-carrying, half-dragging into the shadow of the passage.

I stop dead.

“Marjorie?”

She freezes.

For one long second, she goes completely rigid, her back to me, the hooded shape of her utterly

still in the dim hall.

And then she turns her head, just enough, and her face in the shadow of the shawl is nothing like the warm, bossy woman who runs this house like a small, furious empire. It’s tight. Guarded.

Almost – I don’t have another word for it – hunted.

“Go back upstairs, Lady Ember.” Her voice is low and hard, and I’ve never heard it like this. “This

doesn’t concern you.”

Marjorie, is that one of the-

“What are you-is someone hurt? M

“I said it doesn’t concern you.” She shifts, angling her body, putting herself squarely between me and whatever’s in the passage, and there’s something almost aggressive in it, in the set of her

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CHAPTER 340 FOR YOUR OWN SAKE

+25 Points

shoulders, in the flat warning of her voice. “Some things in this house are not yours to look at. Not yet. Go back to your rooms and forget you came down here.” Her eyes hold mine for one more beat. “For your own sake.”

And then she’s gone – she turns and melts into the dark of the service passage with her strange limp burden, and the door at the end swings shut behind her.

I’m left standing alone in the dim hall with my heart doing something uneasy in my chest and the words hanging in the air behind her.

This doesn’t concern you.

I stand there a long moment. I think about going after her. I think about the pale arm hanging loose, and the hood she never wears, and the hunted look on the face of a woman I’d have sworn

had nothing to hide.

Then I get my phone from the bench, and I go back upstairs, because whatever that was, it isn’t mine, and I have a hundred other things clawing at me – Rafael, the rose, Friday, my mother, a fight I now know I might one day have to survive.

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