Page 5 of Stalked By the Alphas
“Stop trying, stop getting hurt,” I mutter, but that thought is depressing as fuck, and I’m not sure that is an option either. I don’t want to be alone. That’s why I put myself through this. But it just isn’t working. Maybe I need to compromise a bit. I could try a scent-matching app. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
With a heavy sigh, I sit back and let the herbal remedy tablets do their thing. I feel myself relaxing and inhaling deeply before I sit up straight again to get back to work.
But something catches my eye and makes me frown. Something isn’t right. I keep my desk meticulously tidy, and the glass ball paperweight is turned away from me.Reaching out, I turn it back an inch until it is how it should be.
As I adjust the paperweight, a chill creeps over me. Someone has been in here. Someone has touched my things.
I scan the room for other signs of disturbance. Nothing else seems out of place, but that doesn’t ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. My fingers tremble as I reach for my phone, flipping it over.
I should call someone. The police, maybe. But what would I say? That my paperweight was slightly askew? That I have a feeling someone’s been watching me? They’d laugh me out of town.
A sudden gust of wind rattles against the window again, making me jump. My heart pounds as I try to calm my breathing. It’s just the storm. It’s just my imagination running wild, as usual.
Reaching for the bottle of herbal tablets again, I shake another two out and clutch them in my hand when I realise I’m out of water.
I rise from my chair again, my legs unsteady as I make my way to the kitchen. The old floorboards creak beneath my feet, each sound amplified in the silence of the cottage. I flick on the light switch, blinking as harsh fluorescent light floods the small space.
The tap sputters as I fill a glass with water, my hand shaking slightly. I down the pills quickly, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. As I set the glass down, movement catches my eye through the kitchen window.
My breath catches in my throat. For a split second, Iswear I see a figure standing at the far end of the garden, silhouetted against the stormy sky. But when I blink, there’s nothing there but swaying branches and sheets of rain.
“Get it together, Hazel,” I mutter, pressing my palms against my eyes. The herbs must be kicking in, making me see things.
As I turn to head back to my office, where I need to get these invoices done, there is a loud crash from upstairs that makes me freeze on the spot, my heart hammering against my ribs. My scent wafts around me, heightened by my fear. The glass slips from my grasp, shattering on the kitchen floor. I barely notice the sting as a shard nicks my bare foot.
Breathing heavily, I grab a large umbrella from the stand by the door and grip it tightly. I should run. I should run and call the police, sell my house, and move back to my hometown in Cornwall, but instead, I place my foot on the bottom stair, wincing as it creaks.
The stairs seem to stretch endlessly as I creep upwards, each step an agonising eternity. My knuckles are white around the umbrella handle, my only weapon against whatever awaits me. The wind howls outside, masking any sounds from above.
I reach the landing, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The gloominess of the first floor looms before me. My bedroom door stands ajar.
Silence greets me, as I edge closer, broken only by the pounding of rain against the roof. I take a hesitantstep forward, then another. The floorboards groan beneath my weight.
A sudden gust of wind slams my bedroom door fully open. I stifle a scream, stumbling backwards. My heart thunders in my chest as I try to get my wits about me.
With the umbrella held in both my hands like a bat, I rush forward into the room only to find it empty and the curtains billowing up in the rush of wind coming through the open window. I lower the umbrella when I see a glass ornament on the floor that has been swept off the dressing table. I move forward to pick it up and replace it carefully, before crossing over to close the window. The hinge is loose. I opened it when I came home earlier to let in a bit of fresh air. Slamming it closed, I pull the lever tightly and breathe out. My head is spinning, and I feel nauseous. I should go down and clean up the broken glass, but suddenly, I feel too tired to move.
I sag against the wall, my legs trembling beneath me. The adrenaline rush leaves me feeling drained and shaky. I slide down to sit on the bed, the umbrella slipping from my grasp.
In the sudden quiet with the window shut, my ragged breathing seems impossibly loud.
“Pull yourself together,” I mutter. “It was just the wind. Nothing more.”
But even as I try to convince myself, doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind. The paperweight downstairs.The figure I thought I saw in the garden. And now this. It’s too much to be a mere coincidence.
A chill runs through me as a horrible thought takes root. What if someone really is watching me? What if they’ve been in my house?
I crawl up the bed and slide under the duvet. My head is spinning, and I feel woozy. I close my eyes against the rotating room, hoping that this will pass quickly so I can check the doors again before I fall asleep.
2
CARTER
I stareat her through the lens of the spy camera set up in the light shade above her bed. Zooming in slightly, I focus on her face. I sit back in the dark office, only a block away from where she lives, the desk and chair the only items in this house so far. I’ve been here for two days. Two long days without seeing her, but it has to be perfect. It has to be her seeing me first, not the other way around. It is a few weeks from her twenty-fifth birthday, and so far, all threats have been neutralised. The latest one was eager to go running for a grand in cash; some of them were less inclined. But it doesn’t matter. All of them will let her go whether they like it or not. That has always been the way, and until she realises she is meant to be with me, with us, that will be the way it goes. The game has moved onto the next level. Hazel insists on trying to find a mate when she knows this pact deadline is around the corner. Shethinks she can back out, but we aren’t going to let her. Never.
I watch as Hazel’s eyelids flutter, her breathing growing shallow and erratic. She thinks she has taken herbal remedies for her anxiety, but she doesn’t know they are laced with something stronger. Taking four within a short space of time has knocked her out completely. She is only meant to be hazy so that she can sleep better. She is agitated and starting to spiral. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.
My fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and smooth the frown lines from her forehead. I touch the screen, stroking it, wishing it was her skin. Soon. Soon, I’ll be able to touch her, to ravage her, to bite her and make her mine.
