Page 23 of Brutal Alpha

“What changed?”

“You’re an asshole,” said Julia, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps, to her, it was.

I looked down at her, preparing to—what, apologize? It didn’t matter what I’d been going to do, because Julia was no longer looking at me. Her eyes were slipping determinedly shut, heedless of my squeezing her thigh or saying her name.

I picked up the pace of my steps. We were nearly to safety, but if she died in my arms halfway across the bridge, it would all have been for nothing. It felt like an eternity before the Argent sentries came into view at the end of the bridge, and I raised my voice, desperate yet relieved.

“This is Ethan Cain. I need a ride to the Alpha’s residence, and I need a medic. Now!”

Chapter 11 - Julia

Everything hurt. My head throbbed, every limb ached, and there were several lines of burning pain in my midriff and across my shoulders. I supposed I should take it as a good sign: if I were dead, I probably wouldn’t feel this shitty.

Memory came back to me in wisps and half-formed pictures: the attack on the bridge—shackles placed on my bare ankles—a cavern full of jeering humans—out of nowhere, Ethan—the marriage—the mistake—then running, running, running. I remembered the battle by the bridge, the fear that had shot through me when I saw the hunters converge on Ethan. I remembered running forward, taking out the wolf who was going for his throat, and then nothing but pain.

Even the light as it filtered through the window hurt my eyes. I opened them blearily, blinking in the morning sun. We must have made it to Argent, because as shitty as I felt, I was at least in a bed, my wounds clean and bandaged, and I was wearing an oversized tee that had traces of Leo’s familiar cinnamon and sandalwood scent.

Leo himself was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Ethan was asleep in an easy chair at the foot of the bed, his head lolling to the side at an angle that must surely hurt his neck. I was far too exhausted to sort through the myriad emotions that rushed through me at the sight; relief, anger, gratitude, and an awful sort of fondness all muddled in my brain like the world’s worst cocktail. He was drooling ever so slightly, his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows drawn together in a frown even as he slept. He looked vulnerable, and I couldn’t stand it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I said, and he jolted upright. Rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily back at me, it took him a second to readjust.

“You’re awake.” An astute observation, I countered with one of my own:

“So are you.”

He nodded, standing up abruptly and reaching for a bottle on the nightstand.

“Good,” he said, his voice still low and sleep-rough. “Drink this. The witch said you needed to have it as soon as you woke up.”

Gingerly, I shuffled myself into a sitting position and reached out for the bottle—it was rough glass with a cork stopper, filled with a vaguely green liquid that didn’t look at all appetizing.

“I was kinda hoping for some coffee.”

“I’ll ask Leo. Someone will bring a cup with breakfast.”

“Hey,” I reached out to grip his wrist, shivering with misplaced desire as the bond surged, urgent, between us. “What happened?”

He snatched his arm back. I knew he’d felt that pull, too, but he’d decided to deal with it the way he dealt with everything else: by glaring at me.

“You ran off and got yourself kidnapped—” he started, and I pushed down my immediate flash of anger. We’d both been through it over the past couple of days. For once, I was willing to give him grace about his choice of words, and I cut him off before he could say anything further.

“After the fight,” I clarified. “How did you get us here?”

“I picked you up and carried you over the bridge,” he said, as if I were something he’d picked up at the market or the commissary. “You passed out just before we got to Argent, but Leo had a witch on hand to ensure you pulled through. Drink that.”

He pointed to the still-stoppered bottle in my hand, watching me like a hawk as I pulled out the cork and gave it a tentative sniff. The liquid smelled strong, herbal, and bitter, making me wince. I didn’t want it anywhere near my mouth, but if this witch had managed to keep me from dying, then I was sure she knew what she was doing.

The realization hit me like a truck: I really could have died. Suddenly, the hand holding the bottle was shaking, and I placed it back down on the nightstand next to me. It would only make a bad few days worse if I spilled my healing potion all over Leo’s clean sheets.

“Thanks for making sure I didn’t die,” I said. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, hideously earnest. Ethan must have been as embarrassed by it as I was because he only shrugged.

“I did what I had to.”

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. The tension stretched out between us, and I grasped for the only thing I knew that might mitigate my mortification: sarcasm.

“It was pretty cool of you to jump in and save my life when I thought I could fight six guys at once, Julia,” I said, affecting a terrible, low, grumbly voice. “Thanks for saving our asses with your cool magic after I lost my shit at the crucial moment, Julia.”

I hadn’t really expected him to laugh. I knew better than to expect him to laugh at any of my jokes, ever. It still hurt when he snapped back at me,

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