Page 31 of Stalked By the Alphas

30

CARTER

Listening out for Hazel, I make sure the door under the stairs is locked up tight. No way can she decide to explore the house and end up in the cellar we made for her prison. There is a good chance she will still end up in there if she doesn’t make good on her end of the pact, which is looming ever closer, but she has the chance to do this the easy way. Every part of me wishes she does this the easy way.

I busy myself making some pasta. It’s about my limit with cooking, but I can’t ask Hazel to cook, so it will have to do.

As I stir the pasta sauce, my mind races with plans and contingencies. Everything hinges on keeping Hazel calm and compliant. The medication should help with that, dulling her senses and making her more pliable. But I need to tread carefully - push too hard, too fast, and she might bolt.

I strain my ears, listening for any sound from upstairs. The house is quiet except for the bubbling of the pasta pot. Is she okay up there? Should I check on her? I decide not to. She needs space to process everything.

The timer dings, and I drain the pasta, mixing it with the sauce. As I’m plating it up, I hear soft footsteps on the stairs. Hazel appears in the doorway, looking small and vulnerable, clutching the bag from the pharmacy. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and my chest tightens at the sight.

“Perfect timing,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Dinner’s ready.”

She gives me a watery smile. “It smells good. Thanks.”

We sit at the small kitchen table, an awkward silence falling between us. Hazel picks at her food listlessly.

“You should try to eat something,” I urge gently. “The medication works better on a full stomach.”

She nods, taking a small bite. “It’s good,” she murmurs.

“High praise indeed for my culinary skills,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

It works, drawing a soft giggle from her. It warms something in my chest. I’ve missed that sound more than I realised. We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before she gives me a tight smile and returns to picking at her food. I can see the exhaustion etched into every line of her face. The urge to gather her into my arms and protect her from everything is almost overwhelming .

“Why don’t you take your medication and get some rest after dinner?” I suggest. “It’s been a long day.”

Hazel nods gratefully. “That sounds good. Thank you, Carter. For everything.”

Her sincerity catches me off guard. For a moment, I’m transported back to simpler times where there are no schemes or ulterior motives. Just two friends looking out for each other. The weight of everything we’ve done, everything we’re planning to do, settles heavily on my shoulders.

But I push the guilt aside. This is for her own good. She’ll understand eventually.

After dinner, I insist on cleaning up while Hazel takes her medication. She looks relieved at not having to help, which only reinforces how exhausted she must be. As I load the dishwasher, I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She’s staring at the pill bottle, her expression a mix of apprehension and resignation.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

She startles slightly, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “I never thought I’d be here, you know? Taking anxiety medication...”

I dry my hands and move closer, careful not to crowd her. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re not alone in this, Hazel. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Her green eyes meet mine, searching. For a moment, I think she might say something more, but then she just nods and swallows the pill with a gulp of water.

“I think I’ll head to bed,” she says wearily. “It’s been a long day. ”

I nod, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms. “Of course. Sleep well. If you need anything, I’ll be right downstairs.”

She gives me a smile and heads upstairs. I listen to her footsteps, the soft click of the bedroom door closing.

Hazel is here with me. The reality of it hits me like a physical force. I sink onto the sofa and rub my face with my hands.

Everything is moving faster than I anticipated. When I saw Hazel today, looking so lost and vulnerable, all my carefully laid plans went out the window. The alpha in me couldn’t stand by and watch her suffer. I had to act.

But now what? Noah and Zach will be furious that I’ve gone off-script. They don’t understand that sometimes plans need to change. Hazel needs protection and stability now more than ever.

I pull out my phone, debating whether to call them. No, it’s better to wait until morning. Let Hazel settle in first. I’ll deal with the fallout from the others later.

For now, I need to focus on making Hazel feel safe and comfortable here. I want her to see this as her home, her sanctuary. But I need to be patient, to play the long game.

I stretch out on the sofa, flicking through my phone, listening intently for any sound from upstairs. The house is quiet. Is she sleeping peacefully? Or lying awake, wondering what she’s got herself into?

Part of me wants to go check on her, to reassure myself that she hasn’t escaped down the drainpipe. But I resist the urge. She needs space right now. Time to acclimate to her new surroundings.

As I scroll mindlessly through my phone, my thoughts drift to the future. How long before Hazel feels truly comfortable here? How long before she sees this as her home, sees me, Zach and Noah as her alphas? The road ahead is uncertain, fraught with potential pitfalls. One wrong move could send her running.

But the alternative—letting her continue to spiral on her own—is unthinkable. She needs us, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and close.

I know Noah and Zach will want answers about what happened today, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, I need to focus on Hazel.

Setting my phone aside, I stand and quietly make my way upstairs. I knock gently, but there is no answer. I debate for two seconds and then grasp the handle, pushing it down as I crack the door open. Hazel is fast asleep, the curtains wide open, still fully clothed on top of the covers. There is that weird-looking bear on the pillow next to her, and I wonder what she finds so comforting about it. Suddenly, the phone lets out a loud beep, and I glare accusingly at the bear.

Like that, is it?

Hazel sits up as if a gun went off in her ear, and she looks around, startled and hazy.

“It’s just me,” I murmur. “I came to check on you.”

“Oh,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “I must’ve dozed off. ”

“I’m sorry I disturbed you. Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nods as I back out, but I can tell she won’t be going back to sleep for a while. She doesn’t trust me, or she wouldn’t have a camera pointing at the doorway. I’m not quite sure what to make of that, but we will have to work on it.