Page 92 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I can’t listen to any more of this. The intensity in his voice, the implications of his words—it’s all too much. I back away carefully, my legs shaking.
I find Luna a few yards away, investigating a fallen log with typical feline curiosity. Relief floods through me as I scoop her up and hug her tightly.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I whisper into her fur, my voice shaking. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
She purrs and nuzzles against my neck, completely oblivious to the alarm she just caused me.
As I hurry back to the campsite, Lucian’s words echo in my mind. The way he spoke about me, the reverence in his voice when he called me “precious”…It makes me feel warm inside.
I wait for Lucian to return, and he takes his sweet time. The minutes stretch endlessly as I sit by the dying fire, Luna curled in my lap, both of us listening to the sounds of the forest. Every snapping twig makes my heart jump, even though I know there’s nothing left to fear from Andrew.
When Lucian finally comes back, he’s covered in blood.
It’s everywhere: splattered across his face, soaked into his shirt, coating his hands and forearms like crimson gloves. Some of it is fresh and bright red, while other patches have already begun to darken and dry. He moves with the same casual grace as always, as if being drenched in another person’s blood is perfectly normal.
I stare at him, taking in the gruesome sight. I should be horrified. I should be sick to my stomach, repulsed by the evidence of what he has done. But I’m not. I feel nothing.
I don’t have to ask if Andrew is dead. He clearly is.
Lucian stops a few feet away from me, his blue eyes studying my face carefully. He seems to be waiting for some kind of reaction—shock, horror, disgust. When I continue to stare at him in silence, his expression changes almost imperceptibly.
He clears his throat, the sound awkward in the quiet clearing. “I’ll go wash up.”
He has only taken a few steps toward the stream when I speak. “Why are you doing all of this for me?”
The question stops him dead in his tracks. His back goes rigid, every muscle tensing up as if my words have struck him physically.
“I’m not the best companion,” I continue, my voice tired, my heart aching, a steady throbbing in my head that doesn’t seem to go away. My gaze fixes on the broad line of his shoulders. “And it’s obvious I’m not the best judge of character, either. I’ll drag you down wherever you go.”
A silence hangs between us, heavy and loaded. After turning to look at me, he doesn’t move at all except for the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
“You can do whatever you like,” he says finally, his voice rough and low. “I will never stop you.”
I wait for him to elaborate, to explain what he means, but he doesn’t. Not right away.
“However,” he eventually continues, his voice growing stronger, more certain, “the one thing you can’t do is look at yourself through my eyes.”
My breath catches in my throat. What does that mean?
“You are mine, Astra. You can fight it all you want, but you are mine. And I am yours.”
I don’t know how to respond to this. I can hear the truth in his voice, and the raw honesty makes my chest tight with emotion that I don’t understand.
“From the moment I first laid eyes on you,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, “you were mine.”
He stares at me, those intense eyes burning into mine across the space between us. The possessiveness in his gaze is absolute, unshakeable.
“I’m a patient man, Astra,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue like it belongs there. “I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to believe me. You are the first woman I have ever cared about.”
With that, he turns and walks toward the stream, disappearing from my line of sight and leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
I sit there in stunned silence, his words echoing in my mind. “From the moment I first laid eyes on you, you were mine.” Not “I hoped you could be mine” or “I wanted you to be mine,” but “you were mine.” Like it was a foregone conclusion from the very beginning. Like he took one look at me and decided my fate.
This possessiveness should be frightening to me. After Andrew’s manipulation, after learning how easily I was deceived, I should be running from any man who speaks of possessing me. But instead of fear, I feel something else entirely. Something I’m too terrified to consider.
Buried beneath the confusion and the doubt, though, something else stirs. My pulse quickens when I think about the way he looked at me. I’m not ready to name it, not ready to trust it, but it’s there, nonetheless.
Luna shifts in my lap, drawing my attention back to the present. I stroke her soft fur, trying to process everything that has happened today. This morning, I was hollow and empty, convinced that love is just another weapon people use against each other. Now, I’m sitting here with blood on my hands—metaphorically, at least—and listening to a dangerous man tell me I belong to him.
