Chapter 9: Taking Her In
1620 Words
HUNTER'S POV
I glanced at my phone every so often, willing it to ring. Dr. Pierce had promised to call once Cyrilla was ready for release. It was around 2 p.m. when his call finally came through.
I grabbed my keys, jumped in my car, and raced to the hospital. My heart was pounding, wild with excitement, yet tinged with nerves. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.
It’s just a girl. A human girl. Beautiful women have always been around, but why was I acting like a teenage boy?
I decided to go alone. Colton would likely read too much into it, and honestly, it was annoying. Plus, I didn’t like the way Theon fawned over my mate.
Wait. Did I just call that human 'my mate?'
I muttered a curse under my breath. I hated that the bond was already messing with my head.
I was still set on rejecting her, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t feeling the pull of the mate bond. As I neared her room, doubt started creeping in about my decision to come here alone.
Cyrilla was already sitting on the bed when I entered. The familiar, alluring scent hit me again, catching me off guard, but I masked my reaction as best I could.
"Get up," I ordered, forcing as much detachment into my voice as I could. "We’re leaving."
She glanced at me, her eyes filled with disappointment. "Oh, great. Just you," she sighed.
Her words struck a chord, and I couldn’t help but respond. "I’m sorry, were you expecting someone else?" I shot back, matching her tone.
"Yes, actually," she replied, her words as blunt as ever.
I fought the urge to snap at her. "Follow me," I ordered sharply.
She rolled her eyes but eventually rose from the bed, silently trailing behind me down the hallway.
Her sassy attitude only added to my growing irritation. I clenched my jaw and quickened my pace, only to realize I no longer heard her footsteps. When I glanced back, I saw her struggling with her crutches. I’d forgotten about the deep wound on her sole that still hadn’t healed.
I turned back and called for a nurse nearby. "Get a wheelchair over here."
"I can walk," she hissed, refusing my help.
"I can see that," I replied sarcastically. "Can you stop being stubborn and just take the damn wheelchair?" I snapped, frustration slipping through.
"I said I can walk," she shot back, her voice sharp yet carrying an authority that caught me off guard. For a split second, a flash of unease hit me.
I shook it off quickly. "Suit yourself," I muttered. "But pick up the pace, alright? I don’t have all day."
I turned and walked toward the exit, waiting for her. As I stood there, I noticed that instead of speeding up as I’d asked, she was purposely dragging her feet.
I was tempted to drag her injured ass out of the building, but I restrained myself. I had no choice but to watch her hobble toward me as I waited, seething with frustration.
When we finally got in the car after what felt like an eternity and started driving back to the house, I stole occasional glances at Cyrilla. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, her expression cold, arms crossed tightly, displeasure etched across her face.
I felt irritation flare again. "Sorry if you were expecting Theon instead of me," I scoffed. "I’m all you’ve got, so deal with it."
She turned to me slowly, her eyes cold and expressionless, and for a moment, I felt like my face might fall off. "Actually, I was expecting Millie, you presumptuous prick, but sure," she said in a calm but venomous voice.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, my knuckles turning white. "Don't try my patience, woman!" I snarled.
But she didn’t even flinch. Instead, she grimaced, rolled her eyes, and turned to look out the window, completely unfazed.
If only she knew who I was—what I was—she wouldn’t be so brazen. Lucky for her, revealing the truth wasn’t an option.
No one had ever dared disrespect me. Not my pack members. Not even the other Alphas. One way or another, she would learn to submit.
The entire ride was painfully silent. Frustration simmered beneath my skin, yet I couldn't deny the strange sense of contentment at having her close.
When we finally arrived at the pack house, Millie and Theon were already waiting. Without a word, they stepped in to help Cyrilla, guiding her toward the entrance while I followed a few steps behind.
Then, out of nowhere, Tiffany burst through the door, making a beeline straight for me. She ignored Millie and Theon completely—and nearly knocked Cyrilla over in her reckless haste.
"Alpha Hunter, you're back," she exclaimed joyfully, as if welcoming a hero returning from battle.
I managed to shove her hand away just before she could envelop me in a full embrace. I glared at her, a silent warning not to touch me. But Tiffany was persistent. I could already tell she was determined to make a scene, to stir up unnecessary drama. Without a word, I signaled to a nearby guard. He moved swiftly, stepping in to escort her away before she could make more of a spectacle of herself.
Once inside the house and heading upstairs to her assigned room, I noticed the pained look on her face, even though she didn’t say a word. It hit me then—the effort of climbing the stairs must be putting strain on her injured belly and aggravating her wounded sole.
Without warning, I took her crutches and handed them to Theon. She barely had time to react before I swept her into my arms.
The instant our skin touched, a spark shot through me—an electric sensation Colton had often described. He said it was the best feeling, but he hadn’t done it justice. It was more than that—more consuming, more profound. I couldn’t even begin to explain it. I wondered if she felt it too, but her unchanged expression told me otherwise.
Her body tensed in my arms, but she didn’t protest. I held her effortlessly, ignoring the curious glances from Millie and Theon.
I carefully set Cyrilla down once we were inside her room, just across from mine. Shortly after, Millie entered and showed her where to find everything she might need. She pointed out a closet full of clothes and guided her to the bathroom.
For the first time, Cyrilla smiled genuinely and nodded. It wasn’t surprising that she warmed up to Millie so quickly. Millie was friendly, attentive, and had a great sense of humor.
"I will let you rest now," Millie said. "I'll come back to check on you in the morning."
"Thank you," she said timidly.
Millie gave Cyrilla a reassuring hug before turning to me with a pointed look—one that clearly said, Don’t make this harder for her. Then, without another word, she walked out of the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Cyrilla’s expression shifted. The flicker of warmth she had shown Millie vanished, replaced by quiet sadness.
Guilt tugged at me. I had dragged her here against her will, and no matter how much I tried to justify it, that fact remained.
"I’ll have someone bring you dinner later," I said, making an effort to soften my tone.
She flicked her gaze to me for a brief second before looking away, offering no response.
I clenched my jaw. A simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill her, would it?
She moved unsteadily to the side of the bed and sat with her back turned to me, as if telling me to leave her alone. I walked out of her room, feeling irritated by her attitude. I slammed the door, locked it, and pocketed the key.
I went to my room, still brooding, and decided to take a nap before dinner. After quickly freshening up, I retrieved a small paper bag from beneath my bed. Inside was a hospital gown—Cyrilla’s gown, which I had taken from the hospital earlier.
I lay down, placing the gown beside my pillow, inhaling her scent as sleep slowly pulled me under.
Then, I was in a forest. She appeared before me, smiling, motioning for me to follow. I chased after her as she ran, laughter ringing through the trees. But suddenly, she slipped—falling off a cliff, her hands reaching for mine. I lunged forward, desperate to catch her, but she was gone before I could.
I jolted awake, my heart pounding. A dream. Just a dream.
Shaking off the lingering unease, I sat up, checking the time. Dinner. Instead of heading to the dining area, I requested two meals be sent to my room. I needed some quiet.
When the food arrived, I took one set across the hall. Knocking twice, I waited. No answer. Another knock. Still nothing.
Sighing, I used my key and stepped inside. She was asleep.
I placed the food on the side table and was about to leave when something stopped me. An inexplicable pull. Before I could stop myself, my hand brushed against her cheek.
I expected her to stir, to snap at me for touching her. Instead, she leaned into my palm, murmuring something too soft to catch.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to pull away. Quietly, I exited the room, closing the door behind me.
And then, under my breath, I cursed.
Because right there and then, I knew—I was in trouble. The bond had already taken root. F***k!
- Writer
