TWENTY-ONE
GRIM
Annabel seemed fond of the glade, or as fond as my despondent mate could be of anywhere in Hel.
She didn’t speak to me, nor did she smile or seem to listen much when Mimir prattled about some story or other, but she didn’t attempt to leave, either.
She spent most of her time lying on the grass and staring into the sky. I had to restrain myself not to lower the wall I’d erected between us to reach through our bond and sense what she was thinking. I had a fairly good idea that I didn’t want to know her thoughts, even if my instincts were itching to sate my curiosity.
What good would it do to probe for how to make my mate feel better when I was the reason behind her sadness?
So instead I spent my time patrolling the woods surrounding the glade, ensuring nothing crept up
