The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 72: Chapter 72: The Bouquet

Selene’s POV~

The sharp ring of the doorbell pulled me out of sleep like a blade dragging across silk. My head felt heavy, as though the weight of the bond still pressed me down. A groan slipped past my lips as I rolled from bed, bare feet dragging across the floorboards.

Sara wasn’t here; she had left for her own home earlier, so the silence of the house pressed against me, thick and suffocating. I rubbed at my eyes, still half lost in dreams, and shuffled toward the door.

Already impatient from being disturbed, I could hardly get any good sleep. The thing I hated most was when someone woke me up—I rather preferred waking up naturally.

Another impatient ring.

"I’m coming..." I mumbled, more to myself than to whoever waited outside.

The lock clicked under my hand, and the door creaked open.

And a wall of color filled my vision. Roses. Carnations. Lilies. A bouquet so large it nearly swallowed me whole. My sleepy mind blinked at the absurdity of it—petals brushing my nose, the faint dampness of rain clinging to the stems.

Before I could gather my wits, a low voice, smooth and faintly edged, murmured from behind the flowers.

"Good morning, dear. Are you awake yet?"

Recognition stirred. My lips curved before my mind caught up. "Why are you giving me a bouquet?"

stems as though accepting were instinct.

he

whom I had met a month ago. He is human, but I believe he has more capabilities than most humans. The

time passed, we kept encountering each other, and I never realized when he became

with deep connections across all races, and with his help, Sara and I were able

him the moment he stepped into it. His hair was

half of his face, but nothing could disguise the sharpness of his gaze. For a

fire. Yet it did nothing to lessen his

said, his voice a deep hum that sank into the silence,

have told him that I was alone here so he could come and accompany me. I don’t mind

restrained motion, he reached for my hand. His

beauty," he said softly again, as

though when I glanced at him, his expression was unreadable...eyes lowered,

down," I said quickly, pulling my hand back. "I’ll make something simple for breakfast." I tried to shove him away. I didn’t know why, but whenever

wrong with kissing someone’s hand like that—in his mind, it was pretty common, as most

his presence even when he wasn’t speaking. Each time I looked back, his gaze seemed to be elsewhere—on the table, on the rain streaking the window, on the steam from the pan. I told myself that

I wasn’t looking, I felt it—that quiet pressure against my back, as though unseen eyes lingered on me

enough that I noticed only when the warmth of his

be alone," he said quietly, as though it wasn’t