Page 114 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“What are those?” I ask, my voice tight with worry as I help him through the doorway.
“For you,” he mutters, his weight heavy against my side. “Was get—getting you something.”
My heart lurches. He was out buying me gifts? While I was here drowning in self-pity, convinced he’d abandoned me, he was out there risking his life to get me more presents?
“You were attacked while shopping?” The words come out strangled as I bring him to the bed. “Lucian, what kind of humans could possibly—”
“Not humans,” he utters through the obvious pain. “Shifters. Four of them.”
I freeze, incredulous. “Shifters?”
Four shifters managed to do this to him? To Lucian, who moves like violence personified, who I’ve seen kill without breaking a sweat?
He collapses onto my small bed with a grunt, finally letting the packages fall to the floor. Blood immediately begins soaking into the blankets, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is the way his face has gone pale, the way his hands are shaking slightly.
“Let me see,” I whisper, reaching for his torn shirt.
His eyes find mine as I start to peel away the ruined fabric. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
“Thought you might have left.”
The words confuse me, making my hands go still. “Where would I have gone?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says roughly, wincing as I continue removing his shirt. “You’re here now.”
The wounds I uncover make me gasp—gashes across his chest and abdomen, bite marks on his shoulder, claw marks down his ribs. But as I grab a cloth and start cleaning the blood away, something makes me frown.
“These aren’t very deep,” I murmur, dabbing gently at a particularly nasty-looking scratch.
“I told you, I won,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I just took some damage doing it.”
“Four shifters, though?” I shake my head, reaching for some bandages. “I can’t believe they managed to get the jump on you.”
“They were waiting for me. It was an ambush.” His jaw clenches as I clean a wound on his ribs. “Cowards.”
“But still...” I wrap gauze around his chest, trying to focus on the task instead of the way his skin feels under my hands. “You’re so strong. So fast.”
“There were too many of them,” he says, and there’s an odd inflection in his voice—almost like he’s trying to sound pitiable. “Overwhelmed me.”
I glance up at his face as I secure the bandage. Something doesn’t quite add up, but he’s hurt, and I’m grateful he’s alive.
“No one has ever worried about me before,” he says suddenly, our eyes meeting as his voice goes lower. “Or patched me up after a fight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve always taken care of my own injuries.” He shrugs, but there’s something careful about the gesture. “I’ve never had anyone to worry about me the way you do.”
The quiet admission makes something crack open in my chest. “Well,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I stand up to clean a cut on his shoulder, “you have someone now.”
His hand catches my wrist, stopping my movements. “Do I?”
I look down at him, confused by the question. “What do you mean?”
“You seem indifferent to everything I do for you. I’m trying to take care of you, and you keep rejecting me. I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”
I stare at him, my mouth falling open slightly. “Are you—are you seriously complaining that I want you for your body?”
