Page 4 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I’ve kept them carefully concealed behind large shrubs even though no one ever comes here. This is my own personal collection in the event I ever need it. These herbs are not easy to grow out here; in fact, they are supposed to be impossible to grow out here. But my mother had a green thumb, and so do I. And the one thing she always told me was not to let anyone know what I’m capable of.
I kneel down, swallowing a pained cry as I do. Beside me is a patch of emerald-leafed plants, their surfaces slightly fuzzy to the touch. Healing moss—one of the most potent natural remedies for wounds, but also one of the most dangerous if prepared incorrectly. My fingers work quickly, selecting only the youngest leaves, the ones with the brightest green color.
Even I can’t grow very many of these, so the ones I do manage are for just in case I get hurt.
Back in my kitchen, I grind the leaves with a mortar and pestle that belonged to my mother. The stone is worn smooth from years of use, and sometimes I imagine I can still feel the warmth of her hands on it. I add a few drops of water and a pinch of dried moonbell petals, creating a thick, verdant paste that fills the kitchen with a pungent, medicinal scent.
My mother’s journal sits on the kitchen counter, its leather binding cracked and its pages yellowed with age. I flip to the section on wound healing, running my finger along her careful handwriting.
I’ve read this page a hundred times, but I still check the proportions carefully. Before her death, my mother was the most skilled healer the Silver Stone Pack had ever seen. Her knowledge lives on in this journal, and through countless hours of experimentation, I’ve learned to replicate her remedies.
The paste goes on cool and soothing, immediately numbing the worst of my pain. I can feel the herbs providing a protective coating on my wounds. They’re not as fast as proper healing magic, but they are infinitely better than Healer Morrigan’s useless tonic.
I’m just finishing wrapping my leg with clean bandages when there’s a knock on my front door. Luna’s ears perk up, and she bounds toward the sound.
I hesitate for a moment before limping over to the door. I open it to reveal the young healer who entered Healer Morrigan’s office with the bandage earlier. We stare at each other for a moment before she makes an impatient sound. “Well, are you letting me in or not?”
“How did you get away so quickly?” I return to the couch as Selene closes the door behind her. Her green healer’s robes have been traded for simple, brown, traveling clothes. Her auburn hair now falls loose around her shoulders instead of being pinned back in the regulation style, and worry creases her young face.
“I slipped away as soon as I could. I’ve been worried sick since you left the healing center.” Her eyes immediately drop to my bandaged leg, and her nose wrinkles. “What is that smell?”
“Healing paste,” I say, settling back on the couch.
Selene’s eyes sharpen, and she kneels beside me, her expression transforming into a mixture of anger and disapproval. “Astra, this smells like healing moss and moonbell. Don’t tell me you’re experimenting on yourself again! I told you, it’s dangerous. You can’t keep coming up with different potions and—”
“I didn’t ingest anything.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back. “But that tonic Morrigan gave me was useless.”
“You knew I was going to come,” Selene argues with me, inspecting my leg. “Couldn’t you be patient for once?”
Before I can respond, her hands start to glow with a soft, silver light. She presses her palms against my leg, on top of the bandage, and warmth spreads through the injury. The pain recedes further, and I can feel the magic encouraging my body’s natural healing processes.
But after only one minute, Selene’s magic flickers and dies. She slumps forward, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I can only do so much. My healing magic is still weak.”
“You did plenty,” I assure her, testing my leg by straightening and bending it. It’s still tender, but the worst of the damage has been repaired. “Thank you.”
“You need to stop messing around with dangerous herbs,” she says, her voice stern but worried. “What if you’d measured wrong? What if—”
Another knock interrupts her lecture, this one more confident and rhythmic. Luna meows and runs to the door again.
“That’ll be Daciana,” Selene says, sighing. “I told her to bring food. You look like you haven’t eaten all day.”
When I grin, she narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t look too pleased. If you thought I was angry, she’s going to be even more pissed.”
I open the door to reveal Daciana standing there with a cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. Where Selene is gentle and soft-spoken, Daciana is all sharp edges and fierce loyalty. Her dark hair is braided back in the warrior style, and even in civilian clothes, she carries herself with the confidence of someone trained to fight.
“Finally,” she says, pushing past me into the cottage. “I was starting to think you’d both been eaten by shadow bears.” Her dark eyes take in my bandaged leg and Selene’s expression. “Though it looks like one of you nearly was.”
I waggle my fingers at her. “I was just getting lectured.”
Daciana sniffs the air and scowls. “Not again! What did she take?”
“She says she didn’t ingest anything”—Selene crosses her arms over her chest and glowers at me—“but I don’t know if I believe her yet. Last time she said that, she nearly keeled over from poisoning.”
“That was ten years ago,” I protest. “Can I eat now?”
Daciana is the Beta’s niece and one of the warriors in the pack. She sets the food down on the table in front of me. “What are you thinking, arguing with Healer Morrigan? You do know she’s going to complain to Alpha Gareth, don’t you?”
