I knew the instant I woke up that I wasn't in my bedroom.
For one, the air smelled fresh. Clean. Like the sun beating down hard on fresh lilies and the intoxicating scent of something manly and crisp. Like notes. Definitely not like laundry detergent.
And then, the voices came.
"You couldn't think of anywhere else to bring her but here?" a familiar voice all but snarled and the walls and glamorous chandelier's rattled from the force of it.
"Pretending a problem doesn't exist isn't going to make it go away, Mercer. The sooner we tell her the truth, the better. If I hadn't stepped in, it would've consumed her. We all know there's no coming back from that," the calmer one said. His voice was monotone. He was the one who had commanded me to sleep.
My head was pounding wretchedly and my lashes fluttered open.
I was greeted by the view of a waterfall.
All of my thoughts were forgotten, every single worry or ache spooling out of my body as I stared out the ceiling to floor window, lips parted in awe.
I'd never seen anything so beautiful. I wasn't even aware Ashbourne had waterfalls. The sunlight reflected off the waters causing them to glisten as they poured down, down into the massive lake below.
Where was I?
I tore my gaze away for long enough to look around me. I was in the largest bedroom I'd ever seen. All pale French oak floors, walls of deep, muted greige. One entire wall was a shelving of books. Architecture. Philosophy. Literature. There were trophies, too. Too many to count.
The art hung here and there was antique. The rug was antique. The oval shaped mirror was antique. The dresser was antique. The bed was the largest piece in the room, big enough to fit a group of twenty, and the black silken sheets felt so perversely soft of my skin that I wanted to burrow back into them and sleep. And sleep.
It was all so staggering that when I glanced down at my chipped nails, my clothes, it was clear as day that I didn't belong here.
Wherever here was.
The sound of the arguing outside had faded and just as I threw the covers over my legs, the door knob twisted.
"You're awake."
The sunlight hit the blonde's face and I felt it like a punch to my gut. He was so handsome, I bet women salivated over him all the time. He belonged on the front page of a magazine that advertised underwear.
Hell, if he was advertising pans for omelettes, I would totally spend all of my savings buying them.
He was taller than Prince Soren by a couple of inches and he had these icy blue eyes that seemed unperturbed and unshaken by anything. "I am Quinlan. But you may call me Quinn."
"Quinn," I repeated, unable to take my eyes off him.
His reaction to hearing his name on my lips was strange. His lashes fluttered strangely and he seemed to… shudder.
I was probably overthinking it. "Where am I? What happened?"
He remained by the door. Perhaps to give me space, I wasn't exactly sure. But he didn't move a single inch forward. "There was a fight. You lost control. You are at our private home at Cresthill."
The fight came back to me in small increments, though, it was all blurred with that red haze. So I focused on the one thing that didn't hurt my head to think about.
"Cresthill?" I echoed.
Cresthill was as its name implied. It was situated at the top of the rolling hills of Ashbourne, home to only the city's richest. I'd heard that the entirety of it was owned by the royals, but I hadn't exactly believed it even really existed. Until now.
Compared to my tiny room in the pack that wasn't anywhere as large as Quinlan's bathroom, it was safe to assume I couldn't comprehend it even existed because we were worlds apart.
I noticed then that the sun was setting. "How long have I been asleep for?"
"Nine hours," Quinlan said. "It's six in the evening."
My eyes widened. I had missed the afternoon shift on my other job–
The entire day's event crashed down on me, hard. I was expelled. I was… done. My life was over. I had nothing left to look forward to. All I had worked my ass off for was gone. I was going to be a maid forever.
My eyes stung with tears I should've long shed. I was tired. So damned tired of everything. I bit down on my bottom lip to hide the quiver.
"An official request has been made to the Head Mistress's office," Quinlan said as if he could read my thoughts. "Until investigations have been concluded, you may continue at Greymoor as you wish."
I froze. "W-what?" My face threatened to crumple with more crying. "How? The Head Mistress said–"
"The Blacks built the Academy and keeps it funded," he stated without a hitch to his expression. "Atlas cannot refuse a direct order from us."
I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to wrap my mind around it. "Y-you… You helped me."
Quinlan merely turned his back. "You have blood on your clothes, Ms. Adams. You may freshen up. I'll have a fresh set of clothes brought up for you. And you will join us down for dinner. We have much to discuss before your inevitable ride back home."
"We?" I asked. I licked my lips, mind whirling. "Thank you. I mean, I appreciate what you've done for me but I don't think I can fully accept it without knowing why. Lycans do not give help without expecting something in return."
He cocked his head, the sunlight catching his blonde hair and turning it golden. "True, that." Then he turned around and left.
***
I was panicking.
For so many reasons.
What could they possibly want from me?