Page 97 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I deepen the kiss, one of my hands sliding into her hair while the other holds her waist. She tastes like the meat pies we shared, like innocence and fire all at once. Her hands fist in my shirt, and when I nip gently at her lower lip, she gasps against my mouth.
“Astra.” I breathe her name like I’m laying claim to her.
She pulls back suddenly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, green eyes wide and confused. “I—We shouldn’t—”
“Why not?” My voice is rough with desire.
“Because...” She searches for a reason, her fingers still twisted in my shirt. “Because I don’t understand what this is. What you want from me.”
The honest bewilderment in her voice makes me step back, though everything in me rebels against the distance. I’ve told her that I want her, that I care about her, but after everything she has been through, words mean nothing. She needs time to see that I mean what I say—that I’m not Andrew, not her pack, not another person who will use her trust against her.
“I want you safe,” I tell her, which is true, if not complete. “I want you happy. I want you to stop thinking you don’t deserve good things.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see her trying to work out whether I’m lying. Finally, she nods slowly and sinks back onto the bed, smoothing her hair with shaking hands.
The sudden absence of her warmth leaves me wanting more, but I force myself to move to the window, putting necessary space between us. Through the glass, I can hear music drifting up from the square—fiddles and drums and laughter. Some sort of festival, by the sound of it. I’ve always found such things pointless. Frivolous displays of community that serve no strategic purpose.
But Astra comes over to the window, too, and peers out at the crowd below. There’s a wistfulness in her expression that makes my chest tighten.
When I saw her looking at that pamphlet downstairs, I felt the same pull I’d experienced in the bookstore. The urge to give her something she desires but won’t ask for.
“You want to go?” I ask, leaning against the wall.
She jumps, pulling back from the window. “What?”
I push off the wall and reach toward her, my fingers finding the folded pamphlet in her pocket. She goes completely still as Istart to pull it out, holding her breath. The backs of my knuckles brush against her hip through the fabric.
“Lucian,” she whispers, but she doesn’t stop me. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice breathless.
“You want to go to the festival,” I say, unfolding the colorful paper. “You took this.”
She blinks at it. “I was just curious. I’ve never...” She trails off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve never what?”
She’s quiet for so long I think she won’t answer. When she finally speaks, her voice is small, and her eyes wander back to the event going on outside.
“I was never allowed to attend festivals. Or celebrations. Or feasts.” She blinks back tears. “So, I don’t know how I feel about them.”
Of course they wouldn’t let her participate. Of course they’d exclude her from even the simplest joys.
“Come on.” I grab her hand before I can think better of it. “We’re going to dinner first.”
She tries to pull back. “Lucian, I’m not hungry. We just had those meat pies—”
“Your stomach disagrees.” As if summoned by my words, it growls loudly again, making her face flame even redder than before. When she looks at her cat, I shake my head. “Let her stay here.”
The restaurant I choose is small but elegant—white tablecloths, candles, the kind of place nobles frequent when they want to seem sophisticated. The moment we walk in, Astra goes rigid beside me.
“This place looks expensive,” she whispers, tugging on my sleeve. “We should go somewhere else.”
The hostess approaches with a polished smile. “Table for two?”
“Yes,” I say, ignoring Astra’s increasingly frantic looks.
We’re led to a table by the window. I pull out her chair, waiting until she reluctantly sits before taking my own seat across from her.
“Lucian,” she hisses, “look at this place. Look at the prices on the menu.”
