Page 64 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
Why would he do that? Why would someone who said I was annoying, who called me the most irritating person he’d ever met, who told me I was nothing but a burden desperate for scraps of affection—why would that same person use something so expensive just to help me heal?
His words still echo in my mind, sharp and cutting: “You’re so desperate to be wanted that you’ll settle for the first person who shows you basic kindness. You think gratitude is the same thing as love.”
He was cruel. Deliberately, methodically cruel, listing all my faults like he was reading from a ledger. He made it clear thateverything about me was irritating, that my very existence was a burden he’d grown tired of carrying.
So, why this? Why save my life and pretend it was nothing?
Luna pads over and settles in my lap, purring as I stroke her fur.
“I don’t understand him, Luna,” I whisper, my voice laden with exhaustion and hurt. “He said such terrible things to me. Made me feel like I was worthless, like I was deluding myself about everything. But he did this.”
The tears come without warning, hot and bitter. I clutch the vial carefully, afraid of breaking this one piece of evidence that maybe, despite his cruel words, I meant something to him.
“Lucian saved us,” I breathe, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “He took care of us. Why would he do that if he thought I was nothing but a burden?”
Maybe it was just professional obligation. Maybe mercenaries have some code about protecting their charges, even the annoying ones. Maybe he would have done the same for anyone.
But the bottle is too expensive for mere professional duty. Too personal. Too carefully concealed in a way that let me save face while ensuring I received the help I desperately needed.
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper. “About anything.”
Because when Andrew touches me, I feel nothing. When he talks to me like I’m a child who can’t make decisions, it makes my skin crawl. When he dismisses Luna like she’s garbage, I recoil.
Maybe the weeks in the forest changed me more than I realized. Maybe I’ve been ruined for simple, quiet love by the memory of electric awareness, of feeling truly seen by someone dangerous and complicated.
Or maybe Lucian was right—maybe I am so desperate to be wanted that I’ve convinced myself gratitude is the same thing as love.
I tuck the vial carefully back in my knapsack and try to go to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will bring clarity. That Andrew will seem more like the man I remember. That this hollow feeling in my chest will fade.
But deep down, I can’t escape the growing certainty that I’m trapped in a life that feels like settling for less, holding onto a healing potion from a man who saved me while telling me I wasn’t worth saving.
And I still don’t understand why.
The next morning, Andrew arrives at the inn with a bouquet of wildflowers and that bright smile I remember from our forest meetings. But I’m more tired than I expected, and everything feels slightly off-kilter.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek that feels warm and familiar. “I brought you these. Thought they might brighten up this dreary room.”
“They’re lovely,” I say, accepting the flowers gratefully. “Thank you.”
I arrange them in the water pitcher while he settles into the room’s single chair. I perch on the edge of the bed, noticing that there’s something comforting about having him here, even if Turnville still feels strange to me. I don’t like this town. Something about it feels wrong, though I can’t put my finger on what.
“I’ve been thinking about our future,” Andrew says, and his excitement seems genuine. “About the herb shop, about all the incredible things we can accomplish together.”
“I’d love to see the shop,” I say hopefully. “You’ve told me so much about it over the years. Can we go today?”
“Soon, darling. I’m still getting it ready for you. Making sure everything is perfect.” He leans forward with interest. “But tell me more about these new preparations you mentioned yesterday. The ones you developed yourself.”
I pull out my herb pouch, eager to share my work with someone who will appreciate it. “This combination helps with joint pain,” I explain, showing him the carefully dried herbs. “And this tincture can reduce fever and inflammation in humans. It’s much gentler than what most doctors prescribe.”
His eyes light up with genuine fascination. “Remarkable. These will help so many people. Where did you learn to adapt remedies specifically for human physiology?”
“Trial and error, mostly. Your people have different tolerances than shifters do.” I warm to the subject, pleased by his attention. “This salve can heal cuts and bruises twice as fast as anything else available to humans. And I’ve developed a tonic that can boost immunity during cold and flu season.”
“Incredible.” He examines the herbs with careful interest. “These could revolutionize medicine in human settlements. Think of all the people we could help.”
I nod enthusiastically. This is more like the Andrew I remember. And this is what I’ve always dreamed of: using my knowledge to help people who truly need it.
“What about your pack?” he muses thoughtfully. “They must be devastated to lose someone with such abilities.”
