MY PSYCHO ALPHA

CHAPTER 13

“They found you.”

The words didn’t land like dialogue.

They landed like a lock clicking shut.

Like the world had just changed rules without telling me.

I stared at Alex, my throat tight, my skin buzzing, the almost-kiss still burning in my mouth like unfinished electricity.

Outside, the howl echoed again—shorter now, clipped, like a signal.

Another answered farther off.

Then silence.

Not peaceful silence.

Hunting silence.

“What do you mean, they?” I whispered.

Alex didn’t answer immediately.

His whole body had shifted—shoulders tight, jaw set, breathing controlled like he was counting down inside himself.

He moved to the window in two steps, fast enough to make my stomach drop, and listened like the night was talking directly into his bones.

I followed, my heartbeat too loud.

“Alex,” I said again, louder. “What do you mean?”

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowed.

His voice came out low. “Go to your room.”

My temper sparked so fast it felt like a match.

“No.”

His gaze snapped to mine—sharp, warning.

“Now.”

“I’m not doing that,” I hissed. “Not this time.”

Outside, a branch scratched softly against the building like a fingernail.

Alex’s eyes flicked toward the sound instantly.

Then back to me.

“You don’t understand what’s outside,” he said.

“And you keep using that sentence like a leash,” I snapped. “I’m done. I’m done with the secrets. I’m done with you acting like I’m fragile and you’re the only one allowed to know what’s real.”

Alex’s jaw flexed. “This isn’t about your pride.”

“It is,” I shot back. “Because you keep making choices for me. You keep showing up. You keep guarding me. You keep—”

I stopped myself before the next words could fall out:

You keep almost kissing me like you’re allowed to want me.

My cheeks burned.

Alex watched my face like he knew what I didn’t say.

His voice dropped even lower. “You want answers.”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “Then you have to stay alive long enough to hear them.”

My stomach twisted hard.

“That’s not an answer,” I said, voice shaking. “That’s another threat.”

“It’s not a threat,” he said, and his eyes flashed like embers for half a second—gone so fast I could’ve imagined it. “It’s math.”

Outside, something moved.

Not a person.

Not a student.

Something that made the air shift like a pressure change.

Alex went still again, listening.

Then he turned away from the window and walked toward the suite door.

My heart jumped. “Where are you going?”

“To check the perimeter,” he said.

“Perimeter?” I echoed, incredulous.

Alex grabbed his jacket off the hook, shoved his arms into it, and didn’t look at me.

“You stay inside,” he said.

I followed him. “No.”

Alex stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

He didn’t turn. His voice came out tight, controlled.

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly.

I swallowed, anger and fear fighting in my chest. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Alex’s shoulders rose with a slow inhale.

Then he turned.

His eyes were dark, but there was something under them—something old and feral, held back by will.

“They’re tracking,” he said.

“Who?”

He stared at me like he wanted to say it and couldn’t.

“Not human,” he said finally.

My blood went cold.

I forced myself to keep breathing. “Like… animals?”

Alex’s mouth twitched, humorless. “Worse.”

“What do they want?” My voice cracked. “Me?”

Alex’s gaze locked on my face like he hated that word.

“Yes,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

“Why?” I demanded.

Alex hesitated—just one beat—and that hesitation was like gasoline on my fire.

“Alex,” I whispered, furious now, “why?”

He didn’t answer.

He looked past me toward my bedroom door, toward the lock, like he was calculating how to put me behind it without breaking me.

That was the moment something inside me snapped.

Not fear.

Not logic.

Just the raw, stubborn refusal to keep being handled like glass.

I stepped closer and jabbed a finger at his chest.

“No,” I said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to say ‘they found you’ and then walk away. You don’t get to keep me in the dark like I’m a child. You don’t get—”

Alex caught my wrist gently, not hurting, not squeezing—just stopping the motion.

His touch sparked through my skin like a warning.

“Stop,” he said.

“Let go,” I snapped.

His thumb pressed lightly to the inside of my wrist—where my pulse jumped under his skin.

For a second, his eyes flicked down there like my heartbeat was a language he spoke.

Then he looked back up.

“Your fear is loud,” he murmured.

“I’m not afraid,” I lied.

Alex’s mouth curved faintly. “You’re furious.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re about to do something stupid,” he said.

I yanked my wrist free. “Maybe I need to.”

Alex’s gaze darkened. “No.”

I backed away, eyes burning. “I’m going outside.”

His body went instantly still.

“No,” he said again, sharper now.

I lifted my chin. “I’m not staying trapped in here while you play night soldier.”

Alex took one step toward me. “Don’t make me—”

“Make you what?” I snapped. “Stop me? Lock me in? Carry me like groceries?”

His jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt.

For one heartbeat, his eyes flickered—gold trying to rise—then he forced it down.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“I’m asking,” he said, voice rough. “Please.”

The word please hit me harder than his anger ever did.

It should’ve softened me.

It should’ve made me stop.

Instead it made my chest ache, because it sounded like fear, and I couldn’t stand how much he was afraid of whatever was out there.

And how little he trusted me to survive it.

I whispered, “Tell me everything.”

Alex’s gaze held mine, raw and tight.

“I can’t,” he said.

I laughed once, bitter. “Then I’m going to find out myself.”

Alex’s voice dropped into something dangerous. “You cross that boundary and you won’t be able to unsee it.”

I stared at him. “Good.”

His face tightened like he’d been punched.

Then he said, very quietly, “You won’t be the same.”

I swallowed. “Neither will you.”

Silence.

Outside, another sound rolled across campus—lower than a howl, like something moving through trees.

Alex’s head tilted slightly, listening.

Then his gaze snapped back to me, urgent.

“Room,” he ordered.

I took a step back toward the door instead.

Toward freedom.

Toward stupid curiosity.

Alex moved fast—too fast—closing the distance.

He didn’t grab me.

He just blocked me, filling the space like a wall.

“You will not go,” he said, voice low.

My heart hammered.

I stared up at him, furious, trembling with everything I wasn’t admitting.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Watch me.”

My temper flared into something reckless.

“Fine,” I said sharply. “Then I’ll go when you’re not looking.”

Alex’s gaze sharpened like a blade.

He leaned down slightly, his voice a rough whisper meant only for me.

“I’m always looking.”

It sent a chill through my spine.

I shoved past him anyway—because I was stubborn and stupid and done.

I reached for the door handle.

Alex’s hand shot out and caught the door before it opened.

Not slamming.

Not violent.

Just… absolute.

“I’m not fighting you,” he said, voice tight. “Not tonight.”

“Then move,” I hissed.

He didn’t.

His eyes flashed again—gold pressing against dark.

Then he forced himself to step back, like it physically hurt.

“Five minutes,” he said suddenly.

I blinked. “What?”

“I’ll tell you something,” he said, jaw tight. “Five minutes. In the common room. Sit.”

I stared at him, suspicious. “You’ll actually talk?”

His eyes held mine. “A little.”

“A little?” I snapped.

“It’s what I can give without putting a target on your forehead,” he said.

My chest tightened.

Outside, the night felt like it was listening.

I should’ve taken the deal.

I should’ve sat down.

But the howl had already cracked something open inside me.

“They found you.”

Those words had turned my fear into fuel.

I backed away slowly, giving a fake nod like I was agreeing.

“Okay,” I said, voice calmer than I felt. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Alex watched me like he didn’t trust my calm.

Good.

He shouldn’t.

Because the moment he turned his head toward the window again—listening, calculating, guarding—

I moved.

Fast.

Quiet.

I slipped past him like a shadow and yanked the door open.

Cool night air slammed into my face.

Alex’s voice hit my back instantly, sharp and furious.

“No!”

I didn’t stop.

I ran.

Down the hallway.

Past closed dorm doors.

Past a startled student in pajama pants who stared at me like I was insane.

Down the stairs.

Out the lobby.

Into the night.

My lungs burned with cold air and adrenaline.

Behind me, I heard the dorm door slam open again—Alex’s footsteps, too fast, too silent.

“Stop!” he called, voice low, controlled, angry.

I didn’t.

I ran harder.

The campus at night was a different creature.

Lights made bright islands on the paths, but between them, darkness pooled thick and deep.

The trees at the far edge looked taller now, closer, like the forest had leaned in.

My feet hit the path leading toward the boundary sign.

The sign was visible ahead, pale in the moonlight.

BOUNDARY — DO NOT CROSS AFTER DARK

My heart slammed.

My stomach twisted.

But my anger pushed me forward.

I reached the sign and stopped for one breath.

The air beyond it felt different—colder, heavier, like stepping into water.

The trees beyond swayed slowly, even though the wind here was still.

Like they were breathing.

I heard Alex behind me now, close.

“Don’t,” he said, voice rough.

I turned.

He stood a few yards away, chest rising and falling like he’d been running, eyes dark and sharp with panic he was trying to hide.

He looked… scared.

Not of me.

Of what was behind me.

“Tell me,” I demanded, voice shaking. “Tell me what you are.”

Alex’s jaw clenched.

His eyes flicked to the sign, then the trees, then back to my face.

“I’m trying to keep you from being chosen,” he said quietly.

“Chosen by who?” I snapped.

Alex swallowed. “By the forest.”

My breath caught.

“That makes no sense.”

“It will,” he said—then flinched like he hated himself for saying the same line again.

I took a step backward.

One foot crossed the invisible line.

The air snapped colder instantly.

Like I’d stepped into a freezer.

My skin prickled.

Alex’s eyes widened.

“Don’t,” he said again—this time it wasn’t a command.

It was pleading.

I stared at him, my breath visible now.

“I’m tired of being in the dark,” I whispered.

Alex took a step forward.

“Come back,” he said.

I took another step into the trees.

The shadows swallowed half my body.

The forest felt… aware.

Leaves rustled even when nothing touched them.

Branches creaked like bones shifting.

The smell changed too—wet earth, old bark, something metallic underneath like blood in water.

My stomach lurched.

Alex’s voice came sharper. “Stop!”

I didn’t.

I pushed deeper, branches scraping my sleeves like fingers trying to hold me.

The path disappeared quickly, swallowed by roots and darkness.

Moonlight filtered down in thin blades through the canopy.

Every sound became loud—the snap of a twig under my shoe, my own breath, the frantic beat of my heart.

The air got colder with every step.

The trees felt closer.

The darkness felt thicker, like it had weight.

I glanced back.

The boundary sign was already farther away than it should be.

Alex stood at the edge, not crossing.

He looked like he was fighting himself.

Like stepping in after me would be both necessary and dangerous.

“Alex!” I whispered, anger slipping into fear now. “Why aren’t you coming?”

His voice carried to me, low and strained.

“Because if I cross after you,” he said, “it becomes official.”

My skin went ice-cold.

“What becomes official?” I whispered.

The trees answered with a soft creak.

A whisper of leaves.

Like laughter without a mouth.

I turned forward again and froze.

Two points of light blinked in the dark ahead.

Then another.

Then another.

Glowing eyes—low to the ground, scattered between trunks.

Watching.

Waiting.

My breath caught.

My feet locked to the earth.

The forest went silent again—the hunting silence.

The glowing eyes shifted closer.

A low sound vibrated through the darkness.

Not quite a growl.

Not quite a breath.

A promise.

My throat tightened.

I tried to step backward.

A branch snapped behind me.

I whirled—

And heard a voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through the cold like a blade.

“Run.”