Page 8 of Stalked By the Alphas

7

HAZEL

The room is pitch black when I awake, and for a moment, I’m disoriented. Reaching out, I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. 3:17 AM.

A noise downstairs makes me freeze. I strain my ears, listening intently. There it is again... a soft thud, like someone trying to move quietly.

My breath catches in my throat as panic floods through me. Someone’s in the house.

I slip out of bed, my bare feet silent on the wooden floor. With trembling hands, I grab the umbrella I’d brought upstairs the other day and forgotten to take back down, clutching it like a weapon.

The stairs creak ominously as I creep down them, every shadow seeming to loom menacingly in the darkness. I pause at the bottom, listening. Silence.

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe...

A scuffing noise comes from the kitchen .

My heart hammers against my ribs as I edge towards the kitchen doorway. I’m sweating; my scent is in overdrive, wafting around and no doubt signalling my approach. Moonlight spills through the window, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Silhouetted against the fridge is a tall figure.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t think.

The figure turns slowly, and I catch a glimpse of a face - a white, masked face with a sinister smile.

I scream, and he lunges for me, gripping my arms and shoving me back against the wall.

As my back hits the stone, my eyes snap open, and I sit upright in bed, trembling with tears sticky in my eyes.

“Fuck,” I rasp, shoving my hand into my hair as I look around and see the dawn light peeking through the curtains. “Fuck.”

I feel lightheaded. I’m so scared, but it was just a dream. No, it’s a nightmare. It was my worst nightmare. I’ve had this dream before but not for a long time and never set in this house. I’ll never be able to look at my kitchen again in the same loving way.

Snatching up my phone, I see it’s 5 o’clock. With my heartbeat slowing and the house in silence, I know I won’t be able to do anything until I’ve checked the entire house from top to bottom to make sure no one, not a masked magician, not even a fly, is in here. I scramble out of bed and reach for the umbrella.

My hands shake as I grip it tightly, creeping down the hallway to peer into the bathroom and then further along to the second bedroom. All clear. Moving slowly down the stairs, every creak of the old floorboards sends a jolt through me. At the bottom, I pause, listening intently. The house is silent, but that does little to ease my nerves.

I check every room methodically, flicking on lights and peering into corners. The living room is empty, nothing disturbed. My office is just as I left it. I save the kitchen for last, my heart pounding as I approach the doorway.

Taking a deep breath, I flip on the light. The kitchen is empty, bathed in the harsh glow of the overhead fluorescent. No masked man lurking by the fridge, no intruder rummaging through my cupboards. Just the familiar sight of my tidy countertops and neatly arranged appliances.

Relief floods through me, quickly followed by embarrassment. Of course, there’s no one here. It was just a nightmare, fuelled by my overactive imagination and growing paranoia.

I slump against the counter, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me going drains away, leaving me shaky and weak. I need tea and those herbal tablets.

As I fill the kettle, my gaze falls on the fridge. The water bottle. I’d almost forgotten about that. Hesitantly, I open the fridge door. The bottles are all lined up neatly, labels facing forward. Just as they should be. I recall grabbing one in my haste yesterday morning. I must’ve bumped one, but it ended up turning around. Yes. That’s it. I exhale and try to pull myself together. I need to figure out a way to ease this growing unease I have in my own home. I’m sure now that the picture of me was taken from across the street, from one of the empty shops. It must’ve been. Probably one afternoon while I was taking a nap. That happens at the weekend when I don’t have the excuse of work to keep me going. These herbal tablets make me drowsy sometimes. Suddenly, out of the blue, I remember something.

“The nanny cam.” Leaving the kettle boiling merrily away, I rush upstairs to the spare bedroom and start frantically searching through some boxes I haven’t unpacked, that I dragged up from my childhood home. Stuff of my parents that I can’t bear to look at after their death: a boating accident off the coast of Cornwall that took them out of my life forever nearly eight years ago now. I ignore those boxes and dig through one where I think the stuffed bear with the built-in camera is located. I bought this to keep an eye on the shop while it was empty right after I bought it, just in case of squatters or drug dealers looking for an empty shop to grow their product in. Yeah, I doubt that happens in this sleepy village that really only comes alive for three months of the year, but you never know. I realise now that I’ve always been a bit paranoid. Spotting it, I snatch the light brown bear up and turn it over to check the camera that records through its eyes. Breathing out when I see it’s still there, I grab the lead, plug it in, and charge it up. The app is still on my phone, and it sends an alert when there is movement so you can watch what is going on in real-time. If I place this downstairs by the front door, facing the kitchen, the hallway will be under surveillance while I’m upstairs. This cottage is small, so if anyone were to break in downstairs, I would see them wandering about from that angle.

Sitting back, I spot an old picture peeking out of an album, disturbed by my search for the bear. I gulp and reach for it, pulling it out with a shaky breath.

I stifle the unexpected sob that tears from my throat. The guys. Carter, Noah and Zach huddled around me on the beach as we laughed at something one of us said. I can remember the day exactly. It was so hot, and summer was in full swing. It was about a year before I left to come up North and start fresh, unable to stop the deep sadness of my parents’ death washing over me everywhere I looked. It was stifling and exhausting. I run my fingers over their faces, feeling regret over the way I left, but I knew I had to just go. I had to cut ties with them and let them live the lives they were made for, that were expected of them, that they wanted, without me dragging them down. They all went off to university to study for these big careers, and I, being an omega, didn’t have that option. As much as we all wish society were different, it’s not. Any omega who has been a success has done it without any help. They’ve been like me and defied the traditions of our society and worked their arses off to make something of themselves that isn’t defined by their scent, or the blood in their veins or the size of their hips for childbearing. Those guys, those alphas, they had the best of everything. They had it all laid out and knew where their futures were. Me? I was drifting, trying to find my place in a world where I knew I would have to fight for everything. They needed to be free from me to pursue their dreams and not have to worry about poor old Hazel, who can’t find a mate or settle down or be a proper omega. Poor Hazel with her dead parents and slight paranoia about everything. God, if they could see me now, cowering in corners and setting up cameras in my own home, they’d laugh and be glad I let them go. That pact... that pact was ridiculous. It was the booze talking, and not one of them meant it. It was a possession thing because I was leaving. Nothing more, probably a lot less.

They tried to stay in contact, but I changed my number, staying strong for them so they could get their careers on track and mate with the perfect omega and have babies. I don’t know where they are now, and I don’t want to know. It’s better that way.

I stare at the photo for a long moment, memories washing over me. With a sigh, I tuck it back into the album and set it aside. There is no use dwelling on the past. I have more pressing concerns right now.

I check the bear, and he is charged enough to make sure it’s still working. I pick it up and head downstairs, placing it by the front door, facing the kitchen as planned.

As I position the bear, my phone pings with a notification. The app is working. I open it and see a grainy live feed of myself standing in front of it. “Okay, bear. It’s just you and me.”

Back in the kitchen, I make my tea and take my herbal tablets. The familiar routine soothes my frayed nerves somewhat. I lean against the counter, sipping the hot liquid and stare out the window at the garden bathed in the early morning sun. It’s going to be another hot day today.

Despite the early hour, I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep. I look at my phone and scroll through the messages. Nothing from Rob apart from the breakup text. So why would he be dropping a bunch of roses off in a rainstorm? Unless it wasn’t Rob. There are plenty of blond-haired, tall alphas out there. I try to think of one that would fit the bill, but I come up blank. Secret admirer? Well, he’s got the secret part down, that’s for sure. Finishing my tea, I figure I might as well shower and get ready to go to the shop, pushing the photo and the card to the back of my mind as something I don’t want to think about.

I’m good at that.