Page 108 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
She takes it without hesitation, without even looking at what’s inside. “Thank you.”
The words are automatic, spoken with the same inflection she uses for everything now. Thank you for the room. Thank you for the food. Thank you for the warm cloak. That’s all she says—never anything real.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.
She blinks, startled, then lifts the lid of the box with careful fingers. Inside, the delicate silver chain shines in the afternoon sun, the emerald pendant gleaming like captured starlight. I spent twenty minutes picking it out, imagining how it would look against her throat, how her face might light up when she saw it.
Her expression doesn’t change at all.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, closing the box with a soft click. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t put it on. Doesn’t even look at it again. Just tucks the box into her knapsack like it’s any other piece of luggage and waits for my next instruction.
Something snaps inside my head. “That’s it?” The words explode out of me, loud enough that several passersby turn to stare. “That’s all you have to say?”
Astra takes a small step back, her eyes going wide. Through our bond, I feel her fear spike—fear not of me, never of me, but of something I can’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I said thank you. What else—”
“I don’t want your fucking false gratitude.” The curse makes her flinch, and I force myself to lower my voice. “I want you to tell me what you think. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want something else entirely?”
She stares at me like I’ve asked her to solve some impossible riddle. “I—It’s lovely. Really.”
“But do you like it?” I step closer, close enough to see the way her pulse flutters in her throat. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you actually think.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I hope she might give me something real. Instead, she forces a smile onto her face. “I like it. I like whatever you choose for me.”
The words hurt. Whatever I choose for her. Like she’s a doll to be dressed up, a pet to be accessorized—anything but a woman with her own thoughts and preferences.
I take a deep breath to calm down. “That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Her voice is soft, but there’s something raw in it, something that makes my wolf whine with distress.
I stare at her for a long moment, taking in the way she holds herself—shoulders hunched, head down, every line of her body screaming that she wants to disappear. This isn’t the woman who looked me in the eye and exchanged barbs with me. This isn’t the woman who stood up to me despite knowing I could break her in half.
I’ve done this to her. I don’t know what “this” is, but it’s my fault. My heart sinks.
“Come on,” I say roughly, shouldering my bag. “We’re leaving.”
She falls into step beside me without question, Luna purring softly around her neck. We walk through the market in silence, past vendors hawking their wares and children chasing each other between the stalls. Normal life continues around us while my world crumbles with every step.
Three days ago, I bought her a book of poetry. She thanked me and hasn’t opened it.
Two days ago, I bought her a warm cloak lined with soft fur. She thanked me and only wears it when I tell her to.
Yesterday, I bought her honey cakes from a baker because I thought she might enjoy something sweet. She thanked me and ate them without a single change in expression.
And now this necklace, joining the growing collection of things she accepts without wanting, appreciates without feeling.
I’m losing her. Day by day, hour by hour, she’s slipping further away from me, into some place where nothing I do canreach her. The bond between us grows stronger on my end; I can feel every nuance of her emotions, every flicker of trepidation or sadness that crosses her mind. But from her end, there’s nothing. Just empty gratefulness and hollow compliance.
We reach a inn at the edge of town, and the woman behind the counter looks back and forth between the two of us. Astra is waiting by the door like a well-trained pet.
“One room or two?” the innkeeper asks.
I always say one, but tonight—tonight I say, “Two.”
I feel the way Astra stiffens behind me, and then there is a sharp wave of grief and resignation through the mate bond. I’m about to turn to her, needing to know what I’ve done now, but the woman is already handing me two room keys. “Upstairs, first and second doors on the right.”
