Page 66 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
The stranger looks like a businessman, but the wrong kind. Everything about him is too much—too many rings crowding his pudgy fingers, too many gold chains that catch the lamplight at his throat, too much greased hair combed over a balding pate. His clothes are expensive but gaudy, and when he smiles, his teeth are too white, too perfect. There’s something fundamentally unclean about him, like corruption wearing a respectable suit.
“This is Mr. Blackwood,” Andrew says, his voice taking on an obsequious tone I’ve never heard before. “He’s come a long way to meet you.”
“In the middle of the night?” My voice comes out smaller than I like. “Andrew, what’s going on?”
“Business, my dear,” Blackwood says, his voice oily smooth. “Very profitable business.”
Andrew’s entire demeanor has changed. Gone is the gentle man who brought me flowers this morning. In his place stands someone eager, hungry, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“This is the wolf I was telling you about,” Andrew says, gesturing toward me like I’m livestock being presented for inspection.
The word “wolf” is a punch to my gut. The casual way he says it—like I’m just some animal, like I’m his property—makes my blood freeze. Andrew knows about me. He has always known exactly what I am.
“I don’t understand.” I back toward the window, Luna hissing softly in my arms as Andrew and Blackwood follow me into the room. “Andrew, who is this man? Why are you—”
“Don’t be shy.” Andrew’s voice carries a sharp edge now. “Mr. Blackwood has traveled very far specifically to meet you. The least you can do is be polite.”
The way he says it—like I’m being unreasonable, like I owe this stranger something—is downright offensive. This isn’t the Andrew I know. This isn’t the man who promised to love me and protect me.
“I think there’s been some misunderstanding,” I say carefully, edging toward the door now. “I should probably go—”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Blackwood interrupts me, rings clicking as he gestures dismissively. “You’re exactly what I was told you’d be.”
Andrew beams like he has just received the highest praise possible. “I told you she was perfect. Look at her—young, healthy, proven bloodline. Prime breeding stock.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. Breeding stock. That’s what I am to him? Every tender moment, every gentle touch, every whispered promise—it was all leading to this? I feel like I’m falling, like the ground is disappearing from beneath my feet.
“Andrew, I want to leave. Now.”
“Oh, but you haven’t heard Mr. Blackwood’s offer yet,” Andrew says, moving to block my path to the door. “It’s quite generous.”
“Offer?” I gulp.
Blackwood’s smile is positively lecherous. “I collect rare things, Miss Lakan. Beautiful, useful things. Your specific bloodline makes you quite valuable for my purposes.”
“Bloodline?” My voice cracks. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play coy,” Andrew says, and there’s irritation creeping into his voice now. “We both know what you are. What you can produce.”
“Produce?” The room starts to spin. “Andrew, what—”
“Children, of course,” Blackwood says matter-of-factly, adjusting one of his gaudy rings. “Full-blooded shifters born into human captivity. There’s quite the specialty market for that sort of thing.”
I stagger backward, Luna’s claws digging into my shoulder as she senses my distress. Every memory is rewriting itself in my mind—Andrew’s interest in my past, his questions about my family, his gentle insistence that I should trust him completely.
“You’re insane,” I breathe. “I can’t have children. I told you that. The magical laws—”
“Those laws apply to willing exile,” Blackwood corrects me with clinical precision. “Forced capture is an entirely different matter. The magic recognizes the difference.”
Andrew nods eagerly. “I’ve done extensive research. Had experts verify it. Your children will be full shifters, completely suitable for my client’s...particular interests.”
My heart is breaking apart in my chest. Every sweet word he ever spoke to me, every kiss, every promise of love—it was all a lie. He never saw me as a person. I was always just a means to an end.
“What do you mean?” I’m inching toward the window now, away from Andrew, desperation clawing at my throat. “What kind of interests?”
“Collectors,” Blackwood says simply, polishing another of his rings on his jacket. “People who appreciate unique, valuable things. Your offspring will be well cared for, I assure you. Fed, housed, trained...”
“Trained for what?”
