Page 23 of The Alpha's Bounty
When I finally pull back, her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” I murmur.
I force myself to step away, to walk out into the cool morning air, the weight of duty settling heavy on my shoulders again.But underneath it, louder than any responsibility, steadier than any Alpha bond, is the vow beating in my chest:
Whatever it costs.Whatever it takes.Mina will never face anything alone again.
EIGHT
Mina
I can’t stop thinkingabout the money.
It follows me like a shadow, no matter how hard I try to push it away, clinging to me through every breath, every heartbeat.Cyrus made it sound so simple, so easy.He didn’t even hesitate when Rhodes told him what the court had decided.Didn’t ask for time to consider or weigh the cost.He said he’d pay like it was nothing.Like I was worth it.
But I’m not.
I’ve never been worth it.Not to the foster families who kept me around to do their chores and sent me back when I was no longer convenient.Not to the state that shuffled me through its system like a piece of mail no one wanted.Not to the courts that sided with the people who stole from me, who twisted my life into a mess of rules and accusations I never had the power to fight.
And certainly not to a man like Cyrus.
The thought makes my throat ache.He deserves someone steady, someone who doesn’t come with a list of scars, debts, and failures.Someone who doesn’t leave notes on the kitchen table and run when things get hard.
But that’s what I am.A runner.A girl who leaves.A girl who survives by slipping out the back door before trouble can catch up.
I try to convince myself to stay.That I should let him help me.That maybe this is what mates are supposed to do, carry each other’s burdens, fight side by side.But every time I picture him writing a check big enough to buy my freedom, I feel sick.It isn’t right.It isn’t fair.
He says I’m not a burden.He says I’m worth it.But what does he really know about me?About what I’ve done, about all the ways I’ve already failed?
The only thing that feels fair, the only thing that feels right, is to go back.To stop running.To face it.
If I stole from them, I should own it.If I skipped my court date, I should stand in front of that judge and take whatever’s coming.Maybe it’ll be time behind bars.More fines I’ll never be able to pay.Another scar on a life that already feels covered in them.But it’ll be mine.My choice.
Not Cyrus’s.
He shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes.Shouldn’t have to empty his accounts to clean up the wreckage of my past.He’s an Alpha with a whole pack to lead.He can’t afford to spend himself dry on a girl who doesn’t even know how to stand still.
The decision settles like a stone in my stomach.Heavy.Cold.
I wait until he’s gone to his meeting.He kissed me before he left, strong and sure, like I was something precious.Like he trusted me to still be here when he came back.I wanted to cling to him.I wanted to bury my face in his chest and tell him I loved him, even though the words scare me half to death.But I couldn’t.Because I already knew what I was about to do.
My hands shake as I dig out paper and a pen.I don’t even know where to start.The first draft is sloppy, short, and barely legible.I crumple it up and try again.And again.By the fifth attempt, I’m crying so hard that I can barely see the page.
In the end, I make it simple.
Cyrus,
I can’t letyou do this for me.You deserve someone who doesn’t drag you down with old mistakes.Someone who doesn’t cost you everything.I’m grateful to you, more than I can ever say, but I can’t stay.This is something I need to face on my own.Please don’t follow me.
—Mina
The words blur evenas I fold the paper.I leave it on the table where I know he’ll see it, weighted down with a salt shaker so it won’t blow away when he comes through the door.
Then I pack.
There isn’t much to take.A few clothes, worn thin from too many nights on the road.My toothbrush.The faded backpack that’s been my lifeline for months.I almost grab the sweater he loaned me last night, soft and warm, but my fingers freeze on the fabric.It smells like him, like safety and pine and the quiet strength that makes my chest ache.I can’t take it.I can’t let myself.It belongs here, with him.
So I zip the bag, sling it over my shoulder, and stand in the middle of the room that has been more of a home in a week than anywhere else has in my entire life.I run my fingers over the quilt on the bed, the one his mother made, and my throat burns.I want to curl up under it and stay forever.I want to believe I deserve to.But I don’t.
