Page 113 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I press my hands against my chest, trying to calm whatever is stirring beneath my ribs. It feels like it’s getting stronger each day, this agitated thing inside me. Especially when I think about Lucian. Especially when I remember the way he looks at me sometimes, like he sees something in me that I can’t see myself.
But maybe that’s all in my imagination, too.
I walk to the small mirror hanging on the wall and stare at my reflection. When did I become this person? This clingy, forlorn creature who can’t function without a man’s attention? I’ve always been so proud of my independence. Even when my pack treated me like nothing, even when they sent me into the woods hoping I wouldn’t come back, I never let them break me.
But Lucian...Lucian makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. He makes me feel protected, wanted. Alive. When he smiles at me—those rare, genuine smiles that transform his entire face—I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. When he touches me, even just a brush of his fingers, fire races through my veins.
I’ve tried so hard to be perfect for him. To make myself small, undemanding. To thank him for every little thing he does, to never ask for too much, to be as little of a burden as possible. I’ve watched every word I say and every gesture I make, terrified of driving him away with my neediness.
And I hate myself for it. I hate how I’ve diminished myself, how I’ve become this grateful, simpering creature who jumps at his every word. The old Astra would be disgusted by what she has become.
And when he’s gone, like now, I feel like I can’t breathe.
Is this what love feels like? This terrifying mixture of joy and desperation? This need to be near someone so intense it physically hurts when they’re not there?
My reflection stares back at me with lifeless, haunted eyes. I look like a ghost of myself.
“Pathetic,” I whisper to the girl in the mirror. “Absolutely pathetic.”
I’ve become everything I swore I’d never be. Dependent. Needy. Weak. I’m clinging to a man who probably sees me as nothing more than a temporary amusement, ignoring every shred of pride I once had.
The shame burns in my throat like bile. How did I let this happen? How did I let myself fall so completely for someone who was always going to leave me?
Because he was always going to leave me. Deep down, I think I knew that from the beginning. Men like Lucian don’t stay with women like me. He’s powerful, dangerous, and beautiful ina way that takes your breath away. I’m...ordinary. Damaged. A broken shifter with no wolf, no family, no real purpose.
I sink back onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. The scent of him still clings to me, that intoxicating mixture of leather and woodsmoke and something unique to him. It makes the wild thing in my chest thrash even harder, like it’s trying to follow his scent, to hunt him down and drag him back.
“Stop it,” I tell myself firmly. “Just stop.”
But I can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he held me when I was sick, his hands so gentle as he cared for me through the fever. About the way he looked at me across the fire that first night, like I was something precious instead of something broken. About the heat in his eyes when our faces were inches apart, and the way his breath hitched when I whispered his name. About how he says I belong to him every time we’re in bed together, his voice rough with possession and desire.
How desperately I want to believe those words, even though my logical mind screams that they’re just things men say in the heat of the moment. But the way he says them, like they are sacred truths, like he means them with every fiber of his being...I want them to be sincere so badly, it hurts.
I thought he felt it, too—this pull between us, this connection that seems to go deeper than mere attraction. But maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe I was reading too much into every glance, every touch, every moment of tenderness.
A sound in the hallway makes my head snap up. Footsteps. But these are different—irregular, stumbling. My heart starts pounding as they get closer, and then I hear a dull thud against the wall, followed by a low curse in a voice I recognize.
“Lucian?”
I’m on my feet and at the door before I can think, yanking it open so hard it slams into the table behind it. There heis, leaning heavily against the corridor wall, his face pale and streaked with dirt and something wet.
My heart stops. Blood. There’s so much blood.
I rush to his side, terror clawing up my throat. “Lucian!” I gasp, my hands reaching for him before I can stop them. “Are you alright? What happened to you?”
His clothes are torn and soaked with crimson, and there’s a gash across his forehead that is still bleeding freely. He’s swaying slightly on his feet, using the wall to keep himself upright.
“Astra.” My name comes out as a rough whisper.
“Lucian, you’re covered in blood! What happened? Who did this to you?”
“Got in a fight,” he coughs, beginning to lean on me. “I won.”
I wrap my arm around his waist, trying to support him despite the fact that he’s easily twice my size.
“Come on,” I instruct, guiding him toward my room. “I’ll patch you up.”
He seems to be struggling to stay conscious, his breathing shallow and uneven. There are several bundles cradled in his other arm—packages wrapped in brown paper that he has managed to keep hold of, even in this state.
