Bloody Alpha

JADE

A whimper escapes me as I jam the key in, twist it, and throw the door wide open.

Please, don’t let him catch my scent!

I reach for the door, ready to slam it shut, but I freeze.

What if the noise attracts him?

I shut the door gently, lock it, and push a small dresser against it for good measure.

My heart is pounding in my ears, fluttering like a trapped bird, and my body is trembling, slick with sweat. My head is spinning, and I’m gasping for breath.

Each inhale is a wheeze.

I slide down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, and rest my forehead on my knees. I force myself to take ten slow, deep breaths, trying to quell the panic rising in me as tears streak down my face.

Gradually, the wheezing subsides with each breath, and my heart rate begins to slow. I let out a long breath through pursed lips.

It’s probably just my imagination.

It could have been some random drunk human. But whether it was a human or a wolf, I’m still an easy target, a weak omega. I couldn’t even fend off a Labrador. I let out a frustrated sigh.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shoots up my legs, a harsh reminder of my barefoot sprint through the snow.

Damn, I need to warm up my feet.

I hobble to the bathroom, each step feeling like I’m walking on shards of glass. As I fill the tub with hot water, I inspect my feet and realize I have frostbite.

“Shit! No, it’s okay, Jade. Just breathe. You know what to do,” I tell myself, trying to stay calm.

Being a werewolf means I heal faster than any human, but injuries still hurt, and if left untreated, they can get infected or cause permanent damage.

I test the water to make sure it’s hot enough before dipping my feet in. I sit on the edge of the tub, resting my head against the wall. My feet are so numb that I can’t feel the burning heat of the water.

I sit there for about half an hour, trying to relax. I focus on my breathing and the steady drip of the leaky faucet.

When I start to feel my feet again, I get out, shed my dress, wrap myself in a fluffy robe, and put on thick wool socks to keep my feet warm. I glance at my wristwatch.

Crap! I should have been asleep hours ago. I have work tomorrow!

I rush through my bathroom routine and drag myself to the bedroom. As I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me, I hear a distant howl.

Damn! Is he still out there?

If the guy in the alley was a wolf, he might have caught my scent and might recognize it if we cross paths again.

I ran away when he tried to get my attention. That’s a big no-no in our world. If he ever finds me, I’m in for a world of trouble.

My past encounters with other wolves, especially the dominant ones, haven’t been pleasant. The memories make my breath hitch and my chest tighten. I toss and turn for what feels like hours before sleep finally claims me.

***

I wake up the next morning feeling drained. My body aches all over. I stretch slowly, feeling the blood flow back into my stiff muscles.

My mind is foggy, and it takes me a moment to remember the events of the previous day. My heart skips a beat. I was already a bundle of nerves before this happened, and I don’t need any more stress.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

I roll onto my side, sit up on the edge of the bed, pull on my robe, and head to the kitchen. I make some coffee, sit at the kitchen table, and stare out the window.

As I cradle the mug of piping hot coffee, my mind begins to wander. The wind, which was howling last night, has now subsided to a gentle breeze, barely rustling the treetops.

The sun is casting its radiant glow on the fresh blanket of snow, making it sparkle like a field of tiny diamonds. The sight brings a smile to my face, and I let out a sigh of contentment. Joy is a rare commodity in my life, so I savor these small moments of happiness.

Suddenly, my gaze is drawn to an odd sight just beyond the window. Across my modest front yard, there's a strange depression in the snow, surrounded by smaller ones. It looks like old footprints, now blanketed by a fresh layer of snow.

Curiosity piqued, I open the window for a better look. The large depression is so big it almost looks like a horse had a frolic on my lawn overnight. But that's impossible; there are no horses in this part of the compound.

What could have made those impressions? I wonder, but quickly dismiss the thought. I decide I don't need to know the story behind this.

I finish my coffee and head to the bathroom. As I hang my robe on the hook, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My backside, still sore from the fall on the ice.

Oh. My. God! I exclaim silently. The entire lower half of my backside is a deep, almost black, purple.

Did I really fall that hard? I think, wincing at the sight. It'll heal in a day or two, but it looks awful. I turn back to the mirror, taking in the aftermath of last night.

My dark, curly hair is a tangled mess, resembling a bird's nest. My feet are red and raw, and my backside is a painful purple. I look like a deranged puppet!

I let out a snort at my reflection. I could cry, but what good would that do?

I'm pretty average in every way. I stand at five feet six inches, not too tall, not too short. My hips and backside are a bit larger than what's considered ideal, and my waist is a tad smaller. But no one notices, especially since I always wear clothes that are a size too big.

My face is ordinary, unremarkable. I have dull, dark brown eyes, pale skin, and a mass of curly hair that falls just above my shoulders. I do have a couple of dimples, but they only show when I smile, which I try to avoid. Not that anyone would notice. Not that it matters. I'm average. Invisible. Nothing special.

I've accepted that I'll never achieve anything significant, and that's okay. It keeps me safe.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll find a good man to settle down with. All I want is someone kind and gentle. I've had enough shit in my life, and I don't need any more.

Like most young girls, I used to dream of finding my destined mate, the one who would protect me, love me, and care for me. I dreamed that he would save me from the bullies.

But those were just childish fantasies. Real life is nothing like a fairytale.

There are stories of mates finding each other in far-off lands, even on different continents. But I know I'll never find mine. I made peace with that years ago. Who would want someone as plain and weak as me?

He'd probably run for the hills. Or worse, he might be one of those domineering, tyrant types. I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life than live in constant fear of the one I'm supposed to love.

I know the mating bond is supposed to ensure each other's safety, but would that override the urge to dominate? I don't know, and I'm scared to find out. I'm safest on my own.

My house is on the outskirts of the pack territory, closest to the human town. The higher your rank, the closer you live to the pack house in the center.

I work at the local inn, situated halfway between my house and the pack house. The guests are usually visitors from other packs, mostly older couples. The younger, single travelers usually stay at the pack house.

Damn! I'm going to be late for work if I don't get moving!

I douse my hair over the bathtub, attempting to untangle the knots with my fingers. After that, I work some gel into it and scrunch it with a T-shirt to revive the curls.

I cleanse my face and slip into my work uniform—black slacks and a basic gray shirt bearing the New Moon Inn logo. It’s cozy, and its simplicity aids in my quest to blend into the background.

I rush into the kitchen, snatch a granola bar, and then tug on my snow boots. My reliable old winter coat feels like a weight on my shoulders as I don my fluffy mittens.

With my essentials tucked into the cavernous pockets of my coat, I step outside and secure the lock on my front door.

As I pivot to head to work, my gaze is involuntarily drawn to the imprints in the snow.

No way! I’m not going there!

I shut my eyes and draw a long, calming breath before setting off towards the inn. Despite the biting cold, the wind has subsided, allowing the sun to gently warm my cheeks. I bury my chin into my coat and maintain a steady stride.

The fresh snow crunches beneath my boots, and my heavy breaths materialize as white vapor in the frigid air. I trudge down the silent street, my mind wandering back to the alley.

He probably didn’t even see me. I’m overthinking this.

I need to let this go and concentrate. But those sounds…

Am I exaggerating the situation?

Or downplaying it?