I wrench my wrist free from Ryker's grip. My voice is laced with warning as I confront him. 'Stop! Don't you dare touch me!' I glare at him, my gaze shifting toward Jim, who stands nearby, clearly in shock.
'Alpha,' Jim stammers, with disbelief, 'Are you sure Astrid is your mate?'
Ryker nods, his fingers clutching his hair as he mutters in dismay, 'Shit, this isn't good. But at the same time, it's good that I've finally found my mate after all this time, but she's a rogue! This can't be happening!' Panic seizes him.
I cross my arms defiantly, my frustration mounting. 'You're right, this—whatever you think is happening is not going to happen. So at least we can agree on that,' I retort, maintaining my firm stance.
Ryker seems unfazed by my admission. His attention is on the bruises across my face. 'Who did that to you?' His words come out strained in an attempt to maintain his composure.
I respond briefly, wincing as I lean on the counter to alleviate the pain radiating from my ribs. 'Like I told you before, Ryker, mind your own business.'
As Ryker draws closer, instinct prompts me to place a hand on his chest, sparking an electrifying connection between us. I attempt to push him back, but he stands unmoved, his lips parting as the same electrifying sensation courses through him from my touch.
Thankfully, Jim intervenes, stepping between us and taking my hand gently. His other hand rests on my back, offering some semblance of protection. 'Let's go to the backroom, where my first aid kit is. It will hurt less, and you'll be able to move around better if we wrap a bandage around your ribs,' he suggests.
I nod gratefully, desperate for any relief from the immense pain. 'That would be great. Thank you,' I reply.
As we approach the backroom, I glance over my shoulder to find Ryker stubbornly following us. Jim clears his throat, addressing Ryker sternly. 'Not you, Ryker. You've scared Astrid enough for one night.'
Tension hangs in the air as Ryker and Jim exchange wordless glances, their expressions fraught with an unusual intensity. It was as if they were reading each other's thoughts.
Breaking the silence, I warn Ryker, 'You're not coming in, so don't even think about it.' My voice is sharp, putting an end to their silent standoff.
I sink into the chair, the creak of the door half-closed behind Jim as he retrieves a first-aid bag from a high shelf. Carefully, he sets it down on the table beside me, unzips it, and then glances at me with a mix of concern and awkwardness in his eyes.
'I'll do my best only to look when and if necessary, but I'll need you to lift your hoodie and shirt so I can bandage you,' Jim says gently.
'Yes, of course,' I reply, slowly raising my clothing as high as I can manage.
A suppressed grimace slips through my clenched teeth as I endure the sharp pain radiating from my ribs.
Jim winces as he sees my bruised side and wraps the bandage around me. 'Why didn't you tell me how bad your injuries were? I never would have made you work today. I could have bandaged them up and let you rest back here,' he says, a trace of guilt tinged in his voice.
'It's always been easier, you know, to keep everything to myself,' I confess quietly, my gaze dropping to the floor.
Jim's voice is filled with care. 'I've never told you this before, but you're like a daughter to me, Astrid. I can help you. I just wish you would let me help you,' he says, his words brimming with genuine concern.
I let out a soft laugh, then wince as a fresh wave of pain washes over me, causing Jim to momentarily pause in his ministrations. 'I'm allowing you to help me now, am I not?' I manage a small smile despite the discomfort.
'Yes, but that's not exactly what I meant,' Jim says, a touch of sadness in his eyes as he resumes bandaging my injuries.
I stop him momentarily, releasing my clothes and placing my hand on his. 'I haven't told you this either, but I think of you as my father too,' I confess, our shared moment deepening the bond we've found in one another.
The door creaks, and we see Ryker standing impatiently by the door.
My irritation surges, and I mentally hurl daggers in his direction. 'Why are you still here? Go home!' I snap, my words dripping with frustration.
Ryker's once-confident demeanour falters, replaced by a sombre and subdued presence. He mumbles almost to himself, 'I just want to make sure you were okay, or in case Jim needs help with your wounds.'
My tone remains sharp as I retort, 'We don't need your help. Now go away.'
His jaw tightens, his frustration visible, and he turns his back to us.
I reluctantly raise my hoodie and shirt again, allowing Jim to finish bandaging me. However, when I look upward, I find Ryker has returned, and his eyes lock onto my battered and bruised body. His fists clench in anger, and for a brief moment, it appears as though he might spontaneously combust from the intensity of his emotions.
'You need to tell me who did this to you,' he demands, his voice thick with frustration. In response, I flash a defiant smile and unabashedly flip him the bird, further stoking the flames of his anger. With an exasperated huff, Ryker finally storms away, unable to contain his mounting anger.
Jim shakes his head as he secures the bandage in place, and I gingerly stand, feeling minimal pain and a welcomed ease in my breathing. Though discomfort lingers, it's now far more bearable.
Exiting the back room and entering the kitchen, we find Ryker brooding in a corner. I turn to Jim and express my gratitude. 'Thank you, but I have to go home now. I'll try to visit when I can.'
Jim's reassurance follows. 'You're welcome to come and work here again anytime, no questions asked.'
However, Ryker suddenly rises to his feet with a look of determination. 'She's not going home,' he declares adamantly.
My gaze narrows, 'I'd like to see you try and stop me.'
Without hesitation, I bolt through the diner's front door towards the dense woods.