Page 32 of Stalked By the Alphas

31

HAZEL

Groaning as I flop back to the bed, I feel like shit on a stick. My stomach is cramping and churning, and my head is banging. The room is stifling in the heat, and I’m all sticky and sweaty. I contemplate going for a cool shower, but the thought of being alone in this house with Carter and naked doesn’t sit right with me. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but now... now we are all grown up and things are complicated. I know he wants to probe why I left without saying a word to any of them. But how can I answer that? He doesn’t appear to have done what I expected of him and moved on with his life, mated, and had kids. Where is all of that? Even his fancy law career doesn’t seem to make him happy and fulfilled. It makes me wonder about Zach and Noah. I’ve been trying not to think about them, but how can I not now? Climbing off the bed, I go to the window and stare out. The park is busy now with the locals going for a nice summer walk or a sit-down in the sun while their kids are playing. I get a pang of loneliness and longing. I want that. Why can’t I find it? What is so wrong with me?

I choke back the overwhelming pain and sorrow that I appear to be so unlovable. Pushing open the window a fraction, the sounds of the park filter in and for one tiny second, I am happy for them. I try to cling to it, but I can’t, and the envy crashes over me in a sickening wave. I’m disgusted with myself that I can’t seem to dredge up the emotions to be happy for other people. Feeling even more lost, I turn my head, wanting to look away from them, and then my heart leaps into my throat.

I stumble back from the window with a mewl of panic. No. No. No!

The masked magician across the road, near the shop, just stands there, staring right at me.

I freeze, my heart pounding. He stands motionless, his grin seeming to widen as he stares directly at me. This can’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the hallucination to disappear. But when I open them again, the man is still there, watching me from behind that white half-mask. A whimper escapes my throat as panic claws at me. I need to get away, to hide, but my body won’t cooperate. I’m paralysed with fear. A scream bubbles up, but I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle it. I don’t want Carter to hear, to come rushing in and see me like this.

Trembling violently, I back away from the window until my legs hit the bed. I sink down onto the mattress. “ Go away. Please, just go away.” I curl into myself, hugging my knees to my chest as I rock back and forth. Tears stream down my face as I struggle to breathe through the panic.

This can’t be real. It has to be the medication, or stress, or lack of sleep. But some small, terrified part of me wonders - what if it is real? What if I’m not hallucinating at all?

When my breathing finally stops coming in harsh pants, I inhale deeply and exhale. I need to know if it’s still there, so I force myself to look back at the window, dreading what I might see. The masked man is gone, but the relief I feel is short-lived. My skin crawls with the certainty that it’s still out there somewhere, waiting, watching. I crawl under the covers and pull the duvet over my head, curling up into a ball and squeezing my eyes shut, willing myself to go to sleep, to detach from this reality and to try to get some rest. But all I can see when I close my eyes is that face. That horrible, grinning face.

A noise startles me, but I realise it’s just Carter moving around downstairs. The sounds should be comforting, but instead, they just remind me how isolated I am up here. How vulnerable.

My mind races, replaying the image of the man over and over. Was it real? A hallucination? Or something worse? The uncertainty gnaws at me, making my skin crawl.

I need to calm down and think rationally, but every creak in the house, every shadow flickering across the wall, sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps again as I struggle to control my racing heart.

Suddenly, the silence is shattered by a loud thump from downstairs. I jolt upright, my heart in my throat. What was that? Is Carter okay?

I strain my ears, listening for any further sounds. Nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive and suffocating.

Should I check? The thought of leaving the relative safety of the bedroom terrifies me. But the thought of lying here, imagining all sorts of horrors, is almost worse.

Another thump, louder this time. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to know what’s going on.

Slowly, I ease myself out of bed. My legs feel like jelly as I creep towards the door. I pause, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Do I really want to do this? But another muffled thump from downstairs propels me into action. What if Carter is in trouble, and I’m cowering up here when he might need my help?

I open the door as quietly as possible, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. I feel sick from the erratic thump of my heart when I take the stairs, slowly, quietly.

Clinging to the bannister, I make my way down the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen. The house is eerily silent now. No more thumps or strange noises. Just the oppressive quiet pressing in on me from all sides .

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, a floorboard creaks under my foot. I freeze, holding my breath. Nothing. No reaction to the noise.

“Carter?” I call out softly, my voice barely above a whisper. No response.

I edge into the living room, but it’s empty.

A shadow moves in my peripheral vision, and I whirl around, a scream lodged in my throat. But there’s nothing there. It’s just my imagination playing tricks on me again.

I’m about to turn back when something catches my eye—a smear of red on the doorframe leading to the kitchen. My blood runs cold as I approach slowly, hardly daring to breathe.

It’s blood. Fresh and glistening. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. With trembling fingers, I reach out to touch the smear, half-expecting it to disappear. But it’s real, wet and sticky against my skin.

“Carter?” I call out again, louder this time. My voice cracks with fear. Still no answer.

I force myself to take a step into the kitchen, then another.

A soft scraping sound comes from behind me. I whirl around, my breath catching in my throat. Nothing’s there, but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Carter, please,” I whisper, “if this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”

A strangled sob escapes me as I back away, needing to get back to my room. What happened here? Where’s Carter?

Suddenly, a hand clamps over my mouth from behind. I try to scream, but the sound is muffled against the gloved palm. An arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest.

“Shh, shh,” a voice whispers in my ear.

A bloodcurdling scream rips from my throat, muffled against his hand, as I recognise that voice. It brings a terror with it like no other.

“Shh, baby girl,” the masked magician from Leah’s party murmurs in my ear. “Be a good girl and don’t make a sound, or your boyfriend is going to end up in the ground. Do you understand?” A flash of steel catches my eye as he holds up a wickedly sharp knife.

My blood turns to ice at the masked magician’s chilling words. Carter. Oh God, what has he done to Carter?

I nod frantically, not daring to make a sound. The masked magician’s grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t release me.

“Good girl,” he purrs, his breath hot against my ear. “Now, we’re going to take a little walk. No screaming, no running, or I will be forced to gut you, and I don’t want that... yet.”

Tears stream down my face. My mind races, trying to make sense of what’s happening. This can’t be real. It has to be another hallucination, a vivid nightmare. But it’s all too real.

The masked magician starts to guide me towards the back door. My legs feel like lead, but I force them to move. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to run, but the thought of Carter in danger keeps me compliant.

Slipping through the back door, my feet scrambling to get purchase, I choke back a sob as I see Carter lying on the ground outside, a pool of blood spreading underneath him.

“No!” I cry, but the man’s grip tightens. “Carter!”

He doesn’t respond.

“What have you done!” I hiss, struggling in the masked man’s grip, my fear for myself dissipating into the rage that has descended on me that this arsehole has hurt my friend.

“Got him out of the way. Don’t worry, he’ll live if you come quietly. If not...” He makes a slashing motion at my neck with the knife for emphasis.

“Cart—”

My scream is cut off by a white-hot slice of pain across my forearm. I gasp and then go wobbly as I see the blood gushing out of my arm.

“Shut up, little omega,” he growls and then strikes me so hard that I see stars before I see nothing.