Page 37 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“I—” She sputters for a moment. “That’s completely different!”
“How?”
“Because you were bleeding to death! I was trying to save your life!”
“So, you’re saying gratitude comes after medical care?”
“Don’t twist my words.” But I can hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice. “That’s not—I mean...”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her touch gentler now as she continues cleaning the wounds. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“You’re right. I should have thanked you properly.” She pauses. “Thank you. For saving my life. And Luna’s.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But you’re still being a baby about the bandages.”
I scowl at her as she studies all the scars on my body.
“You really don’t take care of yourself,” she decides.
“I’ve been taking care of myself just fine for years.”
“Right. These scars are just decorative.”
“They’re an occupational hazard.”
She hums to herself, and I study the way her hands press against the bandages. She has scars, too. On her fingers. I wonder how she got them.
“There.” She sits back when she finishes. “All done. Try not to reopen them by being stubborn.”
I turn to face her, and she’s looking at me with an expression that’s part satisfaction, part lingering annoyance.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much. See how easy that was when you weren’t acting like a wounded bear the whole time?”
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. “Wounded bear?”
“Big, growly, snapping at anyone who tries to help.” She starts packing up her supplies, but her movements are less agitated now. “Though I suppose that’s fitting for a mercenary.”
“You’re not exactly the meek, grateful victim, either.”
“Good. Meek and grateful gets you killed in these woods.” She glances at me sideways. “Besides, I can protect you as well. Now that I’m here, if anyone comes after you with wolfsbane, I will patch you right up.”
She sounds quite proud of that.
The idea that this girl thinks she can keep me in line should be insulting. Instead, I find it oddly charming.
“We should get moving,” she says, looking around.
“Yes. We should.”
But neither of us moves, and I find myself wondering how someone who calls me a wounded bear can make me feel more engaged than anyone ever has.
This is definitely going to be a long journey to Turnville.
We’ve been walking for a few hours when I decide I can’t wait any longer for answers. The forest path is narrow enough thatwe’re forced to walk single file, Astra limping ahead of me with Luna perched on her shoulder like some kind of furry sentinel.
