Page 45 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
Time crawls by. Each minute Lucian is gone feels like an hour, and I find myself straining to hear his footsteps returning. The fever makes everything feel slightly disconnected, as if I’m watching someone else sit by a fire in a forest clearing.
Just when I’m starting to seriously worry, I hear movement in the trees. My hand goes to my knife, but then Lucian emerges from the darkness, dragging a decent-sized deer behind him.
Relief floods through me so intensely, I feel dizzy. A big smile spreads across my face despite the fever burning in my cheeks.
“You’re back,” I say, and I can hear the relief in my own voice.
“Did you doubt I would be?” He drops the deer near the fire and starts pulling out his own knife to dress it.
“Maybe a little.” I watch him work, marveling at his efficiency. “With you around, I will never have to worry about going hungry,” I say gleefully.
Something shifts in his expression at my words; there’s a pleased satisfaction that he tries to hide but doesn’t quite manage to. The corner of his mouth slants upward in what could almost be called smugness.
Leaning against a tree trunk, I watch him cook the meat. My body is aching, and I can feel the fever creeping up again. I’ve run out of the herbal paste, and the infection keeps getting worse. I need a healer or a tonic, but I don’t have access to either.
I wasn’t lying to Lucian when I said I don’t mind dying. For the past few days that he’s been with me and Luna, I have feltfree and relaxed. It’s like escaping a prison. I don’t mind dying while I enjoy this freedom.
“You know,” I say as I chew on some meat he has handed me, “this is way better than anything I could have caught myself.”
“Obviously.” His tone is matter of fact, but I catch a hint of smugness again.
I roll my eyes at his arrogance, but I can’t deny he’s right. And despite his cocky attitude, I can see that my acknowledgment of his skills matters to him, even if he won’t admit it.
We eat in comfortable silence, the deer meat helping to settle my queasy stomach. But as the night wears on, the fever gets worse. My skin feels like it’s burning, and everything takes on that strange, dreamlike quality once more.
“I should sleep,” I mumble, settling down near the fire with Luna curled against my side.
Lucian glances at me, and for a moment, I see concern in his eyes. Or maybe I’m wrong. The fever makes it hard to be sure of anything.
Sleep comes in fragments, broken by bizarre dreams and half-waking moments of confusion. At some point, I think I see Lucian walking away from the fire, disappearing into the forest again.
“No,” I call out, or I think I do. My voice sounds strange and distant. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”
The panic that grips me is completely irrational, but in my fevered state, it feels like life or death. I try to sit up, to follow him, but my body won’t cooperate. I don’t want to be left alone. I don’t want to be abandoned. Not like this. Not again.
Then I feel arms around me, strong and familiar. “I’m here,” a voice says—Lucian’s voice, though it sounds different somehow. Gentler. “Don’t be a baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t leave me, okay?” The words come out as barely a whisper.
A long silence and then, “Okay.”
But the fever makes everything feel unreal. I can’t tell what is really happening and what is my imagination running wild. At some point, I think I hear Lucian talking to someone else—a conversation conducted in low, urgent tones that I can’t quite make out.
“—getting worse—”
“—need to—”
“—won’t last much longer—”
Fear claws at me. Are they talking about me? Is someone else here?
Then Lucian is lifting my head, his arm supporting my weight as he holds something to my lips. “Drink this.”
“No,” I protest, turning away. The liquid smells bitter, medicinal, and my feverish brain screams danger. “I don’t want—”
“Astra.” His voice is firm but not unkind. “Drink it.”
But I’m caught between dreams and reality, and nothing makes sense anymore. I try to fight, but he’s too strong, and the bitter liquid is forced down my throat despite my struggles. It tastes awful—like herbs and something else I can’t identify—and I gag on it. But in my groggy state, I feel the warmth of what can only be healing magic. It shrouds my leg, relieving the pain, and I feel my body sink against Lucian’s.
