Page 23 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I close the door on his eager face and wait until his footsteps fade away. Four hours gives me plenty of time to investigate without interference. My tracker instincts are screaming that I’m missing something crucial about this Astra’s disappearance, and I’m not going to find answers by listening to Alpha Gareth’s carefully rehearsed version of events.
I slip back outside once the settlement has quieted. Most of the pack members are probably busy with feast preparations, which means I can move around unobserved. It doesn’t take long to pick up Astra’s scent trail leading to a small, unlocked cottage on the outskirts of the pack settlement.
The isolation of the location bothers me. Even if this pack has strong warriors, their strongest healer should have been protected. Why was she living out here where she could get attacked by anybody?
The cottage itself is tiny—barely more than a few rooms—with a small garden behind it that has been recently disturbed. Someone has clearly searched the rooms, leaving overturned furniture and scattered belongings in their wake. But beneath the chaos, I can see signs of a life lived simply but with care.Clean surfaces, organized storage, and the lingering scent of herbs and cooking.
Whoever lived here was poor but house-proud.
I move through the small space methodically, looking for anything that can give me insight into where Astra might have gone. In what must have been her bedroom, I find an overturned picture frame on the floor. When I pick it up and flip it over, I stop breathing for a moment.
The woman in the photograph has long, brown hair that catches the light like polished wood, and bright green eyes that sparkle with genuine warmth. Her smile is radiant—not the calculated charm I witnessed from Harper, but something real and unguarded. She’s lovely in a way that’s completely different from the Alpha’s daughter. Where Harper’s beauty is conventional and fragile, this woman’s face holds life and character.
She’s sitting on a tree branch, reaching for something. I find myself studying the photograph longer than necessary, caught by something in her expression that I can’t quite name. She looks...joyful. When was the last time I saw someone look genuinely happy?
The thought irritates me immediately. I’m here to retrieve a runaway, not to stand around admiring portraits. I set the frame down forcefully and turn away.
The rest of my search yields little useful information.
As I head toward the door, a movement outside the window catches my attention. A figure stands partially hidden behind a tree about fifty yards away, watching the cottage. When she realizes I’ve spotted her, she starts to retreat, but it’s too late.
I’ve seen her.
Her dark hair is braided in the warrior style, and her posture suggests she’s trained for combat. I don’t follow her.
I don’t need to.
I’m not done investigating.
The feast is exactly the political theater I expected. The pack’s main hall has been decorated with fresh flowers and expensive-looking tapestries, probably brought out specially for my visit. Long tables groan under the weight of elaborate dishes, and pack members are dressed in their finest clothes, watching me furtively when they think I won’t notice.
Alpha Gareth leads me to the head table where Harper waits, practically glowing with anticipation. She has changed into an elegant, blue dress that complements her eyes, and her golden hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders.
“Your Highness!” she says, rising gracefully as I approach. “I’m so honored you decided to join us. I’ve prepared the most wonderful meal: roasted lamb with herbs from our private gardens, fresh bread, and a honey cake that I’m told is simply divine.”
I take the seat beside her that has clearly been arranged for me.
What immediately strikes me is her resilience. After my brutal rejection at the guest quarters earlier, she has bounced back with renewed determination. Her smile is brighter, her posture more confident, and there’s a calculating gleam in her eyes that wasn’t there before. The persistent optimism reminds me painfully of Lady Zari and her insufferable belief that enough charm and persistence will eventually wear down any resistance.
The similarity makes me clench my jaw shut.
Throughout the meal, Harper keeps up a steady stream of chatter about pack life and her healing abilities, plus thinly veiled compliments about my reputation.
“I’ve heard such amazing stories about your military campaigns,” she says, leaning closer than before, clearly emboldened by some misguided confidence. “The way yousingle-handedly routed those rogue packs last year—so brave, so strategic. I’ve always admired men who can protect others.”
I’m silent, bored out of my mind. If it weren’t for the mystery surrounding the missing female shifter, I wouldn’t tolerate this gathering. But somebody here knows something. I’m certain of it.
“And your tracking abilities! Papa says you’re legendary. I bet you could find anyone, anywhere.” Her eyes sparkle with what she probably thinks is charming admiration but is only exasperating. “It must be thrilling, using those skills to serve the crown.”
I take a bite of lamb to avoid responding. Her renewed persistence grates my nerves like sandpaper.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” Harper continues, her hand moving closer to mine on the table with deliberate intent. “About duty and responsibility. I completely understand the weight of such things. It takes a special kind of person to handle that pressure, don’t you think?”
She’s trying a different approach now: attempting to position herself as someone who understands the burdens of leadership. Her determination is becoming more aggressive.
“Your Highness,” Gareth interjects from my other side, “Harper plays the harp beautifully. Perhaps after dinner she could perform for you?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Desperate to redirect this conversation, I gesture toward a woman at one of the lower tables. “Who is that?”
