"Hold her carefully," Logan said to the maid, who was supporting Aella with one hand.
"It's fine, Logan. I can support myself." She snapped at him. "I told you, I don't need anyone's help."
"Well, better safe than sorry." He murmured, and she gave him a glare of anger.
She had been discharged from the pack's clinic and was being moved back to her room—the room she had slept in when she was a scullery maid for the alpha. They got to the door of her room, and she stopped abruptly as her eyes took in the sight.
Four burly, heavily armed guards were standing at her door. She could see that more latches and locks had been added to her door too. She turned to Logan with a disbelieving look.
"Really?" She asked. "Really, Logan? Is this your own form of torture?"
"Anything to keep you
