Page 7 of Stalked By the Alphas

6

CARTER

Hazel’s growing paranoia is intoxicating. Her rationale is even better. She is trying to talk herself into feeling safe and secure. There is no way she will find any of the cameras Zach installed three months ago when we finally decided it was time to put our plan into motion. They are high-tech, tiny and built into surfaces where she wouldn’t even know to look. She would need a bug scanner, and if it comes to that, we will lose eyes on her inside. But she isn’t there yet.

Every flinch, every wide-eyed glance over her shoulder sends a thrill through me. She’s beginning to unravel, just as we planned.

I watch her through the hidden camera in her kitchen as she eats her soup, her eyes darting nervously to the window every few seconds. Studying Hazel’s face, even from here, I can see the dark circles under her eyes and the slight tremor in her hand as she lifts the spoon to her mouth. She looks exhausted and worn down. Perfect.

The urge to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and soothe away her fears, is almost overwhelming. But I resist. It isn’t time yet.

Hazel finishes her meal and tidies up. She moves to the fridge, reaching for a bottle of water and freezes.

I frown. What is she seeing?

“Fuck, Noah,” I growl. “What did you do?”

I watch intently as Hazel stares into the open refrigerator, her body tense. She reaches in slowly and pulls out a water bottle, turning it over in her shaking hands.

“What the hell?” she mutters, her voice cracking slightly through the feed.

She closes the fridge door, her breath quickening. Leaning against the counter, she closes her eyes and takes deep breaths.

“Get it together, Hazel,” she whispers to herself. “You’re just tired. You’re imagining things.”

But I can see the doubt in her eyes when she opens them. Whatever Noah did, Hazel is starting to question her own mind, her own memories. It’s exactly what we want.

I pull out my phone and text Noah:

What did you do in the kitchen?

His reply comes quickly:

Turned a water bottle around. Subtle, as requested.

I growl in frustration. Noah’s idea of subtle and mine clearly differ. She is meticulous. We’ve all seen that through the lens. But what’s done is done, and judging by Hazel’s reaction, it’s having the desired effect.

She checks the back door is locked and then I flick feeds as she checks the front door, moving cautiously as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment. Switching feed again, I see her reach the top of the stairs. In her bedroom, she glances around and crosses over to the window. The curtains are open, and she stares out over the street. There is nothing directly opposite her except a few empty shops that closed down a while ago. She has no nets in the window, which I find odd, but I guess she doesn’t think anyone will peek in on her, and from what I’ve seen, she mostly gets changed in the bathroom or closes the curtains. Again, she is meticulous about it. Maybe she wants to see out to the hills beyond the row of shops and houses, which, I’ll admit, is pretty spectacular. I see the realisation dawn on her, and I smile. She thinks someone is watching her from across the street. She hastily closes the curtains and flicks the lamp on, even though it’s still daylight outside. She relaxes slightly and strips off her clothes. It’s not meant to be sensual, but fuck, her movements make my cock stiff.

My eyes trace every curve of Hazel’s body as she undresses, drinking in the sight of her pale skin. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. Her long chestnut hair cascades down her back as she pulls off her sundress and unclips her bra .

She turns, giving me a full view of her breasts, and I have to stifle a groan as I imagine cupping those perfect tits in my hands, feeling her nipples harden under my touch.

Hazel pulls out an oversized t-shirt from under her pillow and slips it on, covering her from my lustful gaze. She climbs into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin despite the warm evening. She reaches for her phone, scrolling through it with a furrowed brow. After a few minutes, she sets it aside and turns off the lamp.

The feed goes grainy for a second but adjusts to the dimness in the room. It’s still early, but she is clearly exhausted. I wish I could curl up behind her and hold her, tell her that everything will be okay and that I’ll protect her from her fears.

But now isn’t that time. She doesn’t truly believe yet. She is still talking her way around what is happening to her.

Hazel tosses and turns, unable to find a comfortable position. Her breathing is shallow and rapid, and her body is tense even in sleep. She whimpers softly, caught in the throes of a nightmare.

I settle back in my chair, eyes fixed on Hazel’s sleeping form. Even from here, I can see the tension in her body, the way her fingers clutch at the sheets.

“Soon, tiny omega,” I murmur. “Soon, you’ll understand what is happening to you and why. You can’t escape us. You never could.”

As the night wears on, I continue my vigil .

Hazel may think she’s alone in facing her fears, but she couldn’t be more wrong. We’re always here, watching. Always watching.