Page 15 of Stalked By the Alphas

14

NOAH

Nighttime is the worst. It’s when all the demons come out to play.

I stare at the laptop, balanced on my knees in this rented house of Carter’s. He seriously needs to get some furniture, but it hasn’t been a priority. He and Zach are staying in the luxurious hotel a few miles away while I’m on surveillance duty. So far, it’s been eventful. I’m guessing the purge she did earlier was because of the herbal tablets. She must be starting to suspect that they are making her feel these spikes in anxiety. She isn’t wrong, but now this causes us a problem. We will have to find another way to get to her. My world has narrowed to these screens, the behavioural patterns they reveal, and the endless psychological analyses that fill my mind.

Sighing, I lean back in the chair and allow myself a moment of reflection. The familiar weight of my watch—a gift from my father on my graduation—sits heavy on my wrist. A reminder of expectations, of duty, of the perfect son I was supposed to be.

Being the son of one of Britain’s most renowned criminal psychologists wasn’t exactly conducive to normal childhood friendships. While other kids were playing in parks, I was being taught to analyse behaviour patterns, to understand the depths of human psychology. My father’s idea of bonding time involved reviewing case studies and attending psychiatric conferences. Even at Oxford, studying psychology, I couldn’t escape the weight of the Forshaw name in academic circles.

But Hazel never cared about any of that.

I pull up the psychological profile I’ve compiled on her over the years. It’s extensive—perhaps obsessively so—but understanding behaviour has always been my way of controlling situations. The familiar patterns and observations scroll past her sleeping patterns, her anxiety triggers, and her relationship dynamics. Every failed relationship is meticulously documented and analysed.

It’s for her own good. To protect her. To keep her safe until we can claim her properly.

But even as I think it, I know it’s a rationalisation.

The truth is messier, darker. Like the research papers I publish under a pseudonym, exploring the psychological implications of multiple alpha-omega bonds. The academic community would have collective fits if they knew their rising star was conducting unofficial studies on pack bonding dynamics. They are nothing if not traditional. But we knew Hazel was meant to be ours. We knew for as long as I can remember. It was always going to be all of us or none of us.

My fingers drum against the desk as I consider our timeline. Three weeks until her birthday. Three weeks to ensure all possible psychological barriers are dismantled. Three weeks until the pact comes due.

The pact. Even now, five years later, I remember every detail of that night. The way the moonlight painted silver highlights in her hair. The sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla that made my head spin more than the whiskey. The way her pulse jumped under my fingers when I touched her ankle.

Seeing her throwing up and then curling up on the sofa earlier with a book, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her. I want to go to her. I want to break into her home and watch her reactions as I take my frustrations out on her. Her emotional state is increasingly fragile, likely due to the stress of multiple failed relationships and approaching her twenty-fifth year unmated. It’s a dangerous combination, but one we can use.

Carter’s been pushing for more subtlety, but I prefer more aggressive action. Small adjustments, careful manipulations, invisible strings pulling everything into place.

Rising from my chair, I walk to the window overlooking the moonlit street. Not too far away, Hazel is sleeping in her cottage, unaware of how long we’ve been watching, waiting, planning.

She thinks she’s been unlucky in love, that there’s something wrong with her that drives alphas away. She has no idea that every failed relationship, every ghosted date, and every sudden departure has been carefully orchestrated. We’ve been protecting her from inferior alphas, yes, but more than that, we’ve been preparing her.

Conditioning her to need us.

My reflection stares back at me from the window, green eyes sharp even in the darkness. I look like my father—everyone says so—but I’ve always wondered if they see the differences. The calculating edge that goes beyond academic interest. The willingness to cross lines he never would.

The obsession.

I check the time. It’s nearly one in the morning. In a few hours, she’ll wake up, go through her morning routine, and open her bookshop. If my suspicions are correct, she will have an appointment with the naturopath to talk about the herbal tablets. I need to keep a close eye on her and what the outcome is of that. Obviously, the naturopath will assure Hazel that they are safe to take. They are. Unless they’ve been fucked with, of course.

But even if she stops taking them, it will only drop the barrier that is protecting her mind. She will think she is seeing things, but without the altered tablets, she will see things how they are. She will see us coming for her, and quite frankly, that doesn’t bother me.

Carter and Zach are less likely to see the good in this. But I’m the one who understands that love, like any behaviour, can be conditioned under the right circumstances.

And I’ve created the perfect circumstances for Hazel.

A movement on my laptop catches my attention as I turn back to it. She’s stirring in her sleep, a slight frown creasing her forehead. I brush my fingers lightly over her face.

Watch. Analyse. Control. It’s what I do best.

I lean in closer to the screen, watching intently as Hazel tosses and turns in her sleep. Her face is pinched with distress, likely caught in the throes of another nightmare. Part of me aches to go to her, to soothe away her fears. But I know that’s not part of the plan. Not yet. We’ve been doing this dance for years now, always watching, never touching. It’s torture of the sweetest kind, and she will pay for putting us through this. But I remind myself it will be worth it. At the end of the day, everything we have done for her and to her will be worth it to have her in our arms, in our bed, our cum pumped deep inside her, our bite marks bloody and vicious on her neck, marking her as ours.