Page 59 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“Probably.” But he doesn’t make any motion to gather our things. Instead, he leans back on his hands, tilting his face toward the sun. “Let me dry off first.”
I nod, content to sit in comfortable silence beside him. The afternoon is warm and golden, with birds singing in the trees overhead and the stream babbling peacefully beside us. It feels like something from a dream: a perfect moment suspended in time.
But underneath the peace, electricity is humming between us. I’m acutely aware of his presence, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the way his wet hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. Every breath brings his scent to me—clean and masculine and utterly intoxicating.
“Astra,” he says quietly, and something in his tone makes me turn to look at him.
His gaze sears me, and what I see there makes my pulse stutter. Desire. A raw, undisguised craving that takes my breath away.
“What?” I whisper.
For a moment, I think he’s going to say something important, something that will change everything between us. But then he shakes his head, and the spell is broken.
“Nothing. We should get moving.”
He stands abruptly. The moment of intimacy is gone, replaced by his usual, brisk efficiency.
I watch him, feeling strangely bereft. Something almost happened just then, something that might have been wonderful or terrible or both. But the opportunity has passed, leaving me with nothing but the memory of the heat in his eyes and the ache of unfulfilled longing in my chest.
“Yes,” I agree softly, gathering my now-dry clothes. He turns around as I dress, and then he takes his shirt from me and pulls it over his head.
“Let’s go.”
But as we head off, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking away from something precious, something I may never find again.
As the town of Turnville comes into view through the trees, a strange hollowness settles in my chest. I should be elated—after all these years of dreaming about freedom, of longing to escape, I’m finally here. One more day, and I’ll be in Andrew’s arms, safe and loved and wanted.
So, why do I feel like I’m walking toward the wrong life entirely?
“Look,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice as I point toward the cluster of buildings in the distance. “We made it. Turnville.”
Lucian doesn’t respond. His jaw is clenched tight, and there’s something dark and volatile in his expression that makes my stomach twist with unease.
I try again, desperate to fill the tense silence between us. “Andrew will be so surprised to see me. He has no idea I’m coming at all.” I glance at Lucian hopefully, but he’s staring straight ahead, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he walks. “I wonder what he’ll say when I appear at his shop. He’ll probably think something terrible has happened to make me come so suddenly.”
Still nothing.
“We’ll have the wedding as soon as possible,” I continue, though the words feel strange in my mouth, like I’m speaking a foreign language. “Something small and simple. Andrew isn’t one for big celebrations, and neither am I, really. Then we can start working together in his herb shop.”
I steal another glance at Lucian. His profile could be carved from stone for all the emotion he’s showing, but tension is emanating from him like heat from a fire. There’s something coiled and dangerous in the way he’s moving, like a wild animal barely restraining itself.
The lack of response is starting to unnerve me, so I babble on. “He’s been expanding the business, you know. Says there’s a huge demand in the human settlements for natural remedies. People are tired of the harsh medicines the regular doctors push. Andrew thinks we could help a lot of people with proper herbal treatments.”
My voice grows smaller with each word, because even I can hear how hollow they sound. Every time I try to picture Andrew’s face, to imagine our future together, it feels like I’m grasping at smoke. The details that should feel real and exciting—our wedding, our life together, the herb shop—seem distant and insubstantial.
“We’ll be happy,” I whisper, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince anymore. “He has promised to protect me, to keep me safe from anyone who may come looking for me. We’ll have a quiet life, a peaceful one. No more danger, no more running.”
The word “peaceful” tastes bitter in my mouth, but I don’t understand why. Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? Safety and security after a lifetime of fear and rejection?
I think it is, but as I walk beside Lucian—this dangerous, complicated man who saved my life and hunted for me and held me when I was fevered and broken—“peaceful” feels like settlingfor less. It feels like giving up something valuable that I can’t even name.
“He says he loves me,” I add, my voice barely audible now. The declaration that should fill me with joy sounds flat and unconvincing instead.
That’s when Lucian finally stops walking and looks at me.
“Does he?” His voice is low, vibrating with what sounds like anger.
I turn to face him and am startled by the fury blazing in his eyes. “Yes, he—”
