Filed to story: The Alpha and His Nanny Luna (Tiffany & Asher) Book PDF Free
My brows knit together when I opened it to reveal bottles upon bottles of pills.
“Ambien…” I whispered to myself as I picked up one of the bottles and read the label. Why were there so many sleeping pills in this drawer?
“Ahem.”
I jumped when I heard Selina clear her throat from behind me, accidentally dropping the bottle of pills in my hand and watching in horror as it rolled across the floor, eventually coming to a stop in front of Selina’s feet.
“I’m so sorry,” I muttered.
Selina sighed and stooped to pick up the bottle. She brushed past me and tossed it back into the drawer, closing and locking it again.
“I didn’t mean to snoop,” I said in a rushed voice. “I just saw you left the drawer unlocked, and…”
“It’s alright,” Selina replied as she dropped the small key into her apron pocket. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you got curious.”
I turned and watched as Selina walked over to the oven. She slipped a quilted oven mitt onto her hand and pulled out a steaming loaf of bread, then used the mitt to wave away some of the steam.
“May I ask who it’s for?” I asked. “The pills, I mean.”
“Mr. Sterling has been having trouble sleeping for years now,” she replied, her back still turned to me as she turned the loaf pan upside down and let the fresh loaf of bread inside plop down onto the cutting board. “His doses lately have been getting stronger. I’m not sure if the pills even help him at all at this point.”
“It’s not good for his body,” the maid, Lily, said as she shuffled into the kitchen with a basket of clean linens. “Those pills are too strong. And, they’re addictive. I blame it on that woman–“
“Lily!” Selina growled, whipping around to glare at Lily.
“Sorry,” Lily muttered before continuing her work.
I frowned, figuring I wasn’t going to find out who ‘that woman’ was, and returned to peeling the potatoes as I thought about Asher. Every time I had talked to him since I met him, he never seemed overly tired — and, now that I thought of it, he had woken up at almost the exact same time as I did when we spent the night together in the hotel.
…
I had the chance to witness Asher’s sleep deprivation firsthand that very night.
I had just put Ella to bed. She insisted that I read her not one, not two, but three bedtime stories before she finally fell asleep halfway through the third story, so I was up much later than usual. Normally I would be tucked away in my bedroom by the time with my headphones on, listening to quiet music while I drew in my sketchbook on my balcony, which meant that I rarely bumped into Asher at this time of night.
As I was walking back to my room, however, I heard the sound of glass breaking in the living room, followed by a muffled “Shit.”
I hurried toward the sound of the noise, worried that Asher had hurt himself; when I emerged into the living room, I saw him standing in the middle of the room frowning down at the floor. He had his laptop balancing in one hand and was staring down at the floor in front of him, where a wine glass had shattered on the wood and red wine pooled up around his bare feet.
When he heard me enter, he jerked his head up to look at me. His face looked sickly and pale. There was something else behind his eyes, too.
He was drunk.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
Asher shook his head. “It’s alright. The maid will clean it up in the morning.”
I frowned and brushed past him to retrieve a towel and the broom from the kitchen. “Nonsense,” I said, ushering him out of the way when I returned. I bent down in front of him to wipe the wine up off of the floor, then swept the broken glass into the dustpan and dumped it in the trash. “See? It took five seconds.”
Asher swayed slightly in his spot for a moment before turning on his heel toward the kitchen. “I need another glass,” he mumbled.
My frown deepened. I grabbed him by the shoulder, taking him by surprise, and guided him over to the sofa. “Sit here,” I said sternly, as though he was a child. “I’ll get it for you.”
He didn’t protest as I went into the kitchen to get him another glass — but as I got out the wine glass and lifted the half-empty bottle to pour, I decided against it and instead filled a glass with fresh, cold water. When I returned and handed the glass to Asher, he frowned.
“This isn’t wine.”
“No, it’s not,” I replied. “You’re drunk enough as it is. Would you want your daughter to come out here and see you like this? Besides, alcohol won’t help you sleep. If anything, it’ll keep you up and leave you with a headache in the morning.”
Asher was silent for several moments as he stared at the glass of water in his hand.
“You know about my sleeping troubles?” he asked, looking up at me with raised eyebrows.
I nodded. “I saw the pills,” I responded, pausing. “Is it like this every night?”
Asher nodded hesitantly. “Every night. Except, there was one time recently…”
His voice faltered, and before I could tell him to continue, his face shifted back to its usual cold expression. He set the glass of water down on the coffee table and began typing on his laptop.
“Thank you for the water,” he said. “You can go now.”
…
As I slept that night, I had a strange dream. I was standing on a cliff, looking out over the sea. There was a disembodied voice speaking to me.
“I am your wolf… My name is Mina…” the voice said slowly and softly, like the wind.
But when I looked for the source of the voice, there was no one there.
I awoke with a start in the morning, feeling uncomfortable after my strange dream. Had I already spent so much time living with werewolves that their customs were starting to work their way into my dreams?
