Page 34 of Stalked By the Alphas
“Force her to watch an execution?” Zach practically pants as one of his less reserved sides takes over.
“Exactly.”
“This could work. Especially if one of us gets more overt in our stalking. Let her catch glimpses of us in the masks. Maybe even snapshot an image from one of Zach’s little videos showing her coming all over one of our dicks.”
I nod, my mood shifting like sand in a desert breeze. “I’ll make contact as soon as she comes off her heat. You two take turns in scaring the crap out of her by following her. She will come with me when I offer her a sanctuary. But little will she know it will be a sanctuary like no other.”
“And then what?” Zach asks, his voice tight with barely contained excitement.
“Then she is isolated completely,” I say, my tone cold. “Cut her off from everyone else. Make her dependent on us until the only thing left in her life is the three of us.”
22
HAZEL
My body is aching,and my mind is foggy when I wake. The sun is high in the sky, and my stomach growls, letting me know I need food.
Fragments of fevered dreams flash through my mind - hands on my skin, lips on my neck, bodies moving against mine. But it’s all hazy and indistinct, like trying to remember a dream within a dream.
I struggle to sit up, wincing at the soreness between my legs. I have a lucid period, and I need to make the most of it before it starts all over again.
Stumbling to the bathroom on shaky legs, I step into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over my tender body. I wash up quickly but thoroughly, needing to make sure I can get something to eat before I’m dragged back under.
Feeling refreshed, I wrap my dressing gown around myself and head downstairs. Pausing at the bottom, Ilook over at the bear. Pulling my phone out of my bag, which I left dumped near the stairs, I bring up the app.
No signal.
“Dammit.” The bear must’ve run out of charge. I scoop it up and plug it in before I head straight for the fridge.
I rummage through it, pulling out eggs, cheese, and some leftover veggies. An omelette sounds perfect right now. As I whisk the eggs, my mind drifts back to the hazy memories of my heat. The dreams felt so real, so vivid. I can almost feel phantom hands caressing my skin.
A shiver runs through me, and I shake my head to clear it, making a much-needed cup of tea.
The sizzle of the pan and the aroma of cooking eggs help me stay present. I slide the finished omelette onto a plate and settle at the kitchen table, forcing myself to eat slowly despite my ravenous hunger. Each bite helps clear the fog from my mind a little more.
Finishing the last bites of my meal, I stand to clean up, wincing at the twinge of discomfort.
As I’m rinsing my dishes, movement outside the kitchen window catches my eye. I freeze, peering out into the backyard. For a moment, I could swear I saw a flash of white—a mask—but it’s just a pigeon.
“Fuck, Hazel. Get it together.”
Turning away from the window, I put the kettle on again and wait while it boils. Pouring out another cup, I make my way to the lounge and sit on the sofa, curling my legs up as I blow into the hot tea to cool it quicker. Idon’t have much time before I disappear back into my nest, and I need to change the sheets first.
I sip my tea slowly, the warmth of the mug in my hands helps, but I can’t shake the unsettling feeling that something isn’t right. My eyes keep darting to the windows, half-expecting to see that flash of white again.
With a sigh, I force myself to stand, and I place the mug in the dishwasher with the plates and turn it on. I need to change those sheets before the next wave hits.
The nest of blankets and pillows on my bed is a tangled, slick-covered, sweat-soaked mess. I strip the sheets quickly, bundling them into a ball to take to the washing machine. I freeze as I catch the scent of something peculiar. Like summer rain. I glance out of the window, shoving the curtain aside in my haste. The sky is as blue as a cornflower, the sun high and hot. I press the sheet to my nose again, but the scent is gone. All I can smell is that sickly sweet smell that is like an overpowering flower garden. Is that my washing detergent? God, I need to change it if it is. But it could just be my heat making me more sensitive to scents. Dumping the dirty sheets in the basket, when I’m spreading fresh sheets over my nest, a chill runs down my spine. I whirl around, half-expecting to see someone standing in the doorway. But there’s nothing there.
“Pull yourself together,” I mutter, finishing making the nest with shaking hands.
I move quickly now, feeling the first stirrings of heat building again in my core. My skin begins to prickle with sensitivity, and I know I don’t have much time leftbefore I’m dragged under the heat. I rush downstairs, shove the sheets and blankets into the washing machine, and set it to wash, hoping I remember to get them out and into the dryer during my next lucid period.
Moving the cam bear back into place, even though it isn’t fully charged, it’s better than nothing, I then strip off my dressing gown as I take the stairs quickly and crawl into my nest, throwing the gown onto the bed. I snuggle down, feeling lightheaded and sleepy again. My skin is clammy, and I groan as I remember, I haven’t cleaned the vibrator. Snatching it up, I hurry to the bathroom and give it a good clean before I have to use it again.
I crawl back into the nest, my body is already full of need, slick gathering between my thighs. I let out a soft whimper as I press the toy against my aching core, relief flooding through me at the contact.
As I sink into the haze of my heat, those phantom sensations return. The ghostly touches skimming across my skin, the weight of unseen bodies pressing me down. The vivid dreams blur the lines between fantasy and reality.
