Page 74 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“Every moment you let her hope for a future with you, all the while planning to sell her like a commodity.”
Snap. His pinky finger is now bent at an unnatural angle.
“Please stop,” he sobs, cradling his mangled hand against his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“You’re not sorry for what you did,” I say, grabbing his other hand. “You’re just sorry you got caught.”
I start with his thumb this time, applying slow, deliberate pressure until the bone cracks.
His eyes roll back in his head from the pain, but I grip his chin, forcing him to stay conscious.
“Look at her,” I order, jerking his head toward Astra’s broken form. “Look at what you did to the woman who trusted you.”
He tries to close his eyes, but I dig my fingers into his jaw until he opens them again.
“She saved your life once,” I continue, moving to his index finger. “And you repaid her by putting her in this state.”
Snap.
“By letting them torture her while you watched.”
Snap.
“By planning to breed her like cattle.”
Snap. Snap.
By the time I’m finished, all ten of his fingers hang grotesquely limp. He’s barely conscious, shock setting in from the pain.
Seth chooses this moment to appear in the doorway, having dealt with the inn owner. He takes in the carnage with a single sweeping glance—three dead bodies, blood splattered across the walls, Andrew slumped in the corner with his hands destroyed.
“Lucian…” he says carefully, acutely aware of the alarming edge to my rage.
“Keep this one alive,” I say icily, jerking my head toward Andrew. “He’s not dying yet.”
Seth nods and moves toward the barely conscious human. “What else?”
“Summon Leon and two of my private healers,” I order, my eyes already back on Astra’s still form. “Now.”
“I can have them here in an hour—”
“Ten minutes, Seth,” I cut him off, my voice turning deadly. “You have ten minutes.”
The lethal promise in my voice makes him nod jerkily. “Ten minutes.”
He drags Andrew’s now unconscious form out of the way and disappears through the shattered door.
Finally, I’m alone with her.
I kneel beside Astra’s broken body, my hands shaking as I reach for her. She’s so still, so pale. The pulse I can feel through our forming bond is growing weaker by the minute.
“Astra,” I whisper, gathering her carefully in my arms. She weighs almost nothing, feels as fragile as spun glass. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy, but no words come. Instead, there’s a horrible rattling sound in her chest with each labored breath—the death rattle I’ve heard too many times on battlefields. The sound that means someone is drowning in their own blood.
“No,” I breathe, pressing my ear to her chest. The wet, gurgling sound is getting worse. Internal bleeding. Probably punctured lungs from broken ribs.
She tries to speak, her lips moving soundlessly, but only more of that terrible rattling comes out of her throat. Blood bubbles at the corner of her mouth.
