4. Abbadon

"What a stubborn little…" my mutterings fade into incoherent grumbles as I pace back and forth in front of Eliza's closed door, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The echoes of my own thoughts bounce around my mind like ricocheting bullets. Can't she see that every action I took was meant to help her? Didn't I traverse miles through the unforgiving woods to find her, to clean her wounds, to meticulously remove every twig and leaf from her hair before tucking her in safely? Yet, despite my efforts, my intentions seem lost on her, obscured by a veil of mistrust and fear.

You're a monster to her, a cruel voice whispers in the recesses of my mind, venomous and unforgiving.

The accusation strikes a nerve, a bitter reminder of the divide that separates us.

A surge of exasperation washes over me, mingling with a pang of hurt at the thought of Eliza seeing me as anything less than genuine in my efforts to aid her. The weight of her perceived animosity toward me hangs heavy in the air, a barrier that I struggle to breach.

Determined to break through this impasse, I make a conscious decision to be patient and persistent in my efforts to win her over. I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I prepare to face another day with Eliza.

Over the next few days, I maintain a careful balance between giving her space and making my presence known. I keep my voice soft and soothing whenever I speak to her, and I try to anticipate her needs before she even has to ask.

One afternoon, as I"m tidying up the small room she"s been staying in, I demand gruffly, "What foods do you prefer?"

"This is fine," she insists quickly, cuddling a feather pillow to her chest.

"Tell me," I growl.

There"s a brief pause before she finally responds, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I like strawberries and fresh bread, with a bit of butter."

Disgustingly eager, I venture out into the woods and nearby fields to gather fresh ingredients, taking care to wash and prepare them properly before presenting them to Eliza. Each time I bring her a meal, I can see a faint hint of gratitude in her eyes, and I take that as a sign that I"m making progress.

As I watch Eliza eat the food I"ve prepared for her, I can"t help but acknowledge the truth to myself. She is my mate. It"s undeniable. Everything about her captures my full attention—her scent, her voice, the way she moves. Even the way she eats is fascinating to me.

But I know that I can"t rush things. I need to gain her trust before I reveal the truth to her.

It"s a delicate balance, one that I"m not entirely sure how to navigate.

"Good morning," I grunt, walking into the room.

She jumps, eyes flashing wide and snaps, "Don't you know how to knock?"

I stop, staring at her curiously. One minute she"s terrified, and the next she"s got a fiery spirit that belies her frail nature.

"Fine," I say gruffly. "I"ll knock next time."

Slowly, the tension leaves her body. She nods. "Good. Thank you."

I nod in response, equally as curt, and take a seat in my usual spot—the chair beside the bed. More than a little uncomfortable, I clear my throat and thrust a book in her direction.

She looks at it in confusion. "What's that?"

"A book." She glances between me and it. "Thought you would be bored sitting here all day."

Plenty of time has passed since the night I found her dying in the forest, and while she"s still weak, she seems to be getting stronger. Just not as quickly as I would like her to.

I can"t shake the feeling that there"s something more going on with her, something that"s causing her to be so frail. I"ve tried asking her about it, but she always brushes me off and insists that she"s fine.

But I can"t take any chances. I won"t risk her health in any way. That"s why I"ve been so insistent that she stays in bed and rests. I know it must be frustrating for her, but it"s for her own good.

"I… Well, I am, but…" Eliza's cheeks take on a rosy pink color—something that humans do on occasion.

When she does it, it's nearly too adorable to stand.

"I can't read," she says quietly.

I let out a frustrated sigh as I realize my mistake. Of course she can"t read. Why didn"t I think of that? I feel like an idiot for assuming she could.

"Fine," I say gruffly, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

I shove out of the chair, feeling frustrated with myself. I start to walk towards the door, but before I can leave, I hear Eliza"s hesitant voice calling out to me.

"Wait," she says. "Would you... would you read it to me?"

I stop in my tracks, surprised by her request. For a moment, I consider saying no, but then I remember my goal of gaining her trust. I turn around and walk back to the chair, picking up the book from where I left it.

Eliza smiles at me, a genuine smile that reaches her eyes. I can"t help but feel a flutter in my chest at the sight of it.

I clear my throat and begin to read, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing. It"s been so long since I"ve allowed myself to feel anything close to this, and it"s both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the words on the page flow from my mouth, I can feel her relax further into the bed.

Her eyes are closed, and she looks almost peaceful. It"s a sight that I never thought I would see, and it fills me with a sense of satisfaction that I can"t quite explain.

For the next few hours, I read to her. We make our way through the first few chapters of the book, and I can feel the tension between us slowly dissipating. It"s a small victory, but it"s something.

When I finally finish the chapter, I look up to see that Eliza has fallen asleep. I can"t help but smile at the sight of her, so peaceful and serene.

I carefully place the book on the nightstand and lean forward, starting to tuck her in. As I do, I catch a whiff of her scent. It"s so powerful and alluring, and I can"t stop myself from reaching forward and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

Her eyelashes flutter for a moment.

I freeze, unsure of what to do. Part of me wants to lean in and kiss her, to claim her as my own. But I know that would be a mistake. She"s still healing, still trying to trust me. I can"t rush things.

Instead, I slowly pull away and stand up, taking one last look at her before I leave her to rest. I know that I need to be patient, to let things progress naturally. But it"s hard when she"s all I can think about. When her scent is all I can smell. When all I want to do is hold her in my arms and never let go.

As I turn to leave the room, I hear her whisper my name, "Abbadon," in her sleep. The sound of it on her lips is like a punch to the gut, and I can"t help but pause for a moment.

There"s something so innocent and vulnerable about the way she says it, and it makes me feel things that I've never experienced.

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself before turning back to look at her. She"s still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the effect she"s having on me.

I can"t help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards her. It"s a feeling that I haven"t experienced in a long time, and it"s both terrifying and exhilarating.

As I watch her sleep, I can"t help but take in every detail of her appearance. She"s so delicate, so fragile. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and it"s stretched taut over her slender frame. Her long dark hair cascades around her, a stark contrast to the cream-colored sheets that she"s lying on.

Her face is heart-shaped, with delicate features that make her look almost ethereal.

Despite the dark circles under her eyes and the hollowed-out cheeks, she"s still beautiful. There"s something about her that draws me in, that makes me want to protect her from the world.

I need to know what"s going on, what I"m up against. I need to know how to help her.

But for now, I am content with watching her sleep. There"s something so peaceful about it, something that calms the storm that"s constantly raging inside of me.

"Abbadon," she murmurs again, her brows tugging together to form a cute expression of frustration over her sleepy features.

With that, I lose any and all willpower to leave the room. I perch myself back on the chair and watch her in content.

"Eliza," I say quietly. Even her name soothes me.

She shifts beneath the blankets, her hand falling out and hanging over the edge of the bed.

Without thinking, I reach out and caress her delicate palm. Her hand twitches at my touch, and for a moment, I think she"s going to pull away. But instead, her fingers wrap around mine like a vice, holding on tight.

I"m surprised by the strength in her grip, given how frail she is. But there"s something comforting about it, something that makes me feel like she needs me as much as I need her.

"Eliza," I repeat, squeezing her hand gently. "Are you aware of the hold you have on me?"

Of course, there"s no response. She"s still fast asleep, completely oblivious to the effect she"s having on me.

But it doesn"t matter. I"m content to just sit here and hold her hand, to feel the connection between us.

I let out a deep sigh and lean back in the chair, still holding onto her hand. For now, this is enough. For now, I"m content to just be here with her, to watch over her as she sleeps. To protect her and keep her safe, no matter what.

And maybe, just maybe, she"ll come to realize that I"m not the monster she thinks I am.

At least, not when it comes to her.