MY PSYCHO ALPHA

CHAPTER 16

“If you’re afraid of me, say it now.”

Alex whispered it like a vow.

Like a blade offered handle-first.

Like he’d rather be cut by the truth than held by a lie.

The forest was still, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind of stillness you got right before lightning hit—charged and watchful. Moonlight sifted through branches like cold fingers. Somewhere far away, something shifted, then stopped, like it didn’t want us to forget it existed.

I stared at Alex’s face—at the tightness in his jaw, the control in his breath, the way his hands stayed half-curled at his sides like he didn’t trust them to be gentle.

His eyes looked human now.

But I knew what lived under that human.

I’d seen it.

I’d felt it.

The roar still echoed in my bones like a warning tattoo.

And the worst part?

I didn’t feel disgust.

I didn’t feel hatred.

I felt… understanding.

Not the logical kind.

The body kind.

The kind that said: he’s not crazy. he’s fighting.

My throat tightened.

I swallowed hard, the cold air scraping my lungs.

Then I said the only truth I could say without breaking apart.

“I’m afraid,” I whispered.

Alex flinched—just a tiny movement, like he’d been struck.

His eyes darkened, then went still.

I forced myself to keep going.

“I’m afraid of what’s out here,” I said, voice shaking. “I’m afraid of the things that want me, and the rules I can’t read, and the way the forest… knows things.”

His shoulders loosened by one fraction—like he’d been holding his breath.

I lifted my eyes to his.

“But I’m not afraid of you,” I finished.

The silence after that sentence felt huge.

Like the forest itself paused to listen.

Alex’s expression didn’t soften right away. It tightened first—like he didn’t trust relief. Like he didn’t believe he deserved it.

Then his breath shuddered out.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, his voice sounded… young.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I repeated, more steady.

His eyes flickered, not gold this time—just dark, raw emotion pushing up behind them.

He stepped closer, slow and careful, like he was approaching an animal he didn’t want to spook.

“I’m still dangerous,” he murmured.

“I know.”

His jaw clenched. “I can lose control.”

“I know.”

“And I—” he swallowed, voice rough “—I want things I shouldn’t want.”

My chest tightened.

I thought of his jealous table-bite threat. His grocery Olympics. The almost-kiss. The way he’d said losing you like it was already true.

My hands were trembling, but I lifted one anyway.

Not fast. Not dramatic.

Just… honest.

I touched his sleeve lightly, near his wrist.

He froze.

Like even that small touch was too much.

Then I whispered, “You’re fighting it.”

Alex’s eyes locked on mine.

“Yes,” he said.

And there was something devastating in that one word.

Not villain energy.

Not alpha arrogance.

Just effort.

War.

He leaned down slightly, forehead almost touching mine, and for one heartbeat, I thought the kiss was coming again—soft this time, not stolen, not interrupted.

But he didn’t kiss me.

He exhaled, then turned his head like he’d heard something.

His whole posture shifted.

Guard mode.

The wolf inside him lifted its head.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

I blinked. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“Alex—”

He caught my hand, not tight, not painful—just certain—and pulled me gently toward the boundary line.

I stumbled, following.

“Why?” I demanded, breath shaky.

His voice dropped, urgent. “Because I crossed.”

My stomach flipped.

Official.

He said nothing else.

He didn’t need to.

The forest felt different now—like it had stamped us both and filed us somewhere in its memory.

We ran back toward the sign, branches slapping, cold air biting, my heart still sprinting.

When we reached the boundary, the air snapped warmer—still night-cold, but not… alive.

Alex didn’t stop at the sign. He kept pulling me toward the campus lights like he was dragging me out of a nightmare that wanted to keep me.

Only when we hit the first pool of lamplight did he slow.

Only when we were close enough to civilization that the world looked normal again did he finally stop.

He turned to me, chest rising and falling.

And for a second, his hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Then he placed both hands on my shoulders—steady, protective, careful.

“You’re safe,” he said.

I swallowed hard. “For how long?”

His eyes darkened.

He didn’t answer.

Which was an answer.

The next morning, campus looked like a lie.

Students laughed on benches. Someone walked a dog in a sweater. A couple argued about coffee like it was the most important thing in the world.

Meanwhile, my brain kept replaying glowing eyes in the dark.

“Run.”

Alex’s roar.

The pack in hoodies.

The word Alpha said like a title and a curse.

I sat in class and couldn’t focus. Words on the board blurred. My notes turned into scribbles. Every time someone laughed behind me, my shoulders tensed.

By lunch, Lina had cornered me near the student union like a detective with caffeine.

“You look like you fought a demon,” she announced.

I tried to smile. “Good morning to you too.”

Lina squinted at my face. “No, seriously. You look… different.”

Bree hovered beside her, quieter than usual, hands clasped like she wanted to apologize for existing.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

Lina sighed dramatically. “That’s your favorite hobby.”

I was about to deflect with sarcasm when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Are you alone?

My stomach dropped.

I stared at the screen like it might bite.

Another message followed immediately.

Unknown Number: Look up.

I did.

And there he was.

Alex leaned against a pillar across the union lobby, dark jacket, hands in pockets, expression unreadable.

He didn’t look like he’d slept much.

He looked like he’d stayed awake to watch the world.

His eyes met mine instantly.

Of course they did.

Lina followed my gaze and gasped like she’d just witnessed a romantic prophecy.

“Ohhh,” Lina whispered. “He looks like he’s about to apologize with his whole face.”

Bree’s eyes widened. “Is he… okay?”

Alex pushed off the pillar and walked toward us.

Every time he walked into a room, it felt like the temperature adjusted around him.

Not because he was loud.

Because he was noticed.

He stopped in front of me.

He looked at Lina. Looked at Bree.

Then looked back at me.

“I want to make up,” he said.

Lina’s jaw dropped. “HE SPEAKS LIKE A HUMAN TODAY.”

I stared at Alex, suspicious. “Make up for what?”

His mouth twitched slightly, like he hated being perceived. “Everything.”

Bree blinked. “That’s… a lot.”

Alex glanced at Bree briefly, expression neutral. “Yes.”

Lina clasped her hands together like she was about to cry. “This is so romantic.”

I narrowed my eyes at Alex. “How?”

He hesitated—actually hesitated.

Then, like he was forcing the word out, he said, “Date.”

I blinked.

Lina made a sound like she’d just won a lottery.

Bree stared like she couldn’t decide whether to smile or panic.

I stared at Alex. “A date.”

“Yes,” he said, voice stiff. “A normal one.”

My chest tightened.

Normal.

That word again.

Like a spell.

Like a dream.

I swallowed. “Why?”

Alex’s gaze softened by a fraction. “Because you wanted normal.”

I opened my mouth—

Then closed it.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Because part of me did want it.

Because part of me wanted to believe we could laugh about stupid things and eat cheap snacks and pretend the forest didn’t know my name.

I crossed my arms. “Define ‘normal.’”

Alex’s eyes flicked away, like he was searching his memory for something he’d never lived.

“Snacks,” he said finally.

Lina gasped. “YES.”

“Games,” he added.

Bree blinked. “Like… arcade games?”

Alex nodded once. “Yes.”

My heart did something stupid in my chest.

Because he was trying.

Awkwardly. Badly. But trying.

I narrowed my eyes. “And you’re not going to… stalk me the whole time?”

Alex looked mildly offended. “It’s a date. That’s allowed.”

Lina wheezed. “HE THINKS DATES ARE LEGALLY STALKING.”

I glared at her. “Lina.”

Lina held up both hands, still grinning. “I’m silent.”

Bree leaned in slightly, voice gentle. “Do you want us to come too?”

Alex’s gaze snapped to Bree.

“No,” he said instantly.

I raised my eyebrows.

Alex cleared his throat like he realized that sounded possessive.

Then he added, stiffly, “Because… it’s a date.”

Lina whispered loudly, “He’s jealous of friendship too.”

Alex didn’t deny it this time.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Finally I sighed, because pretending I wasn’t curious was exhausting.

“Fine,” I said. “One normal date.”

Alex’s shoulders loosened just a fraction, like he’d been braced for rejection.

“What time?” I asked.

“Now,” he said.

Lina squealed.

Bree’s eyes widened.

I blinked. “Now?”

Alex nodded. “Before anything changes.”

My stomach tightened at the implication.

But I refused to let fear control every second.

I forced a smile. “Okay. Now.”

Lina grabbed my sleeve and hissed, “TEXT ME EVERY DETAIL.”

“I will not.”

“You will,” Lina said, deadly serious, then shoved a snack coupon into my hand. “Use this. For romance.”

Bree offered me a small, nervous smile. “Be careful.”

I nodded once.

Alex watched Bree’s face like he was cataloging the worry.

Then he looked at me.

His voice dropped, only for me. “Stay close.”

I rolled my eyes automatically. “You said normal.”

Alex’s mouth twitched. “Normal… with safety.”

“That’s not normal.”

“It is for you,” he said.

And I hated that he was right.

He took me to the cheapest places he could find.

Which was weirdly sweet.

Not “expensive dinner and fancy lights.”

Not “impress you with money.”

It was “I found a corner store that sells spicy chips and candy for two dollars.”

He led me down the campus street toward a small strip of student shops—coffee, cheap pizza, thrift store, and a tiny convenience shop that smelled like sugar and dust.

Inside, he grabbed a basket with the seriousness of a man collecting weapons.

I stared. “Why do you look like you’re about to interrogate the chips?”

Alex scanned the aisles like he was checking exits.

“Because this place has corners,” he said.

I blinked. “That’s your reason?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. “Alex. It’s a snack shop.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means people get distracted,” he said, tone calm. “And distractions are when things happen.”

My stomach twisted.

Normal with safety.

Right.

I grabbed a bag of gummies. “These.”

Alex looked at them like he’d never seen joy before. “Those are… worms.”

“They’re candy.”

“They look alive.”

“They’re not.”

He stared harder.

Then he nodded like he’d accepted an uncomfortable truth. “Okay.”

I laughed—small, surprised.

Alex’s eyes flicked to my face instantly.

His expression softened for half a second.

Then he looked away like he didn’t want me to catch him enjoying it.

I grabbed spicy chips too, just to test him.

Alex’s nose wrinkled.

“You eat those?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he demanded, genuinely confused.

“Because pain is fun,” I said.

Alex stared at me, then said very seriously, “That explains a lot.”

I snorted.

We reached the counter with a ridiculous pile: gummies, chips, soda, a tiny pack of cookies, and something called “mystery jerky” that Alex picked up like it might be useful in an apocalypse.

The cashier—another student—rang us up, glanced at Alex, then glanced at me, then did that subtle “ohhh” look like they were watching gossip happen in real time.

I felt my cheeks heat.

Alex didn’t notice.

Or did notice and didn’t care.

He paid in cash—of course he did—and tucked the receipt into his pocket like it was evidence.

Outside, sunlight warmed the pavement.

For a few minutes, it felt… normal.

We sat on a bench near the student union fountain, snacks spread between us like a picnic made by chaos.

I ate gummies.

Alex tried a gummy.

His face froze.

I watched him chew slowly like he was trying not to insult it.

“So?” I asked, smiling.

Alex swallowed. “It’s… strange.”

“It’s sugar.”

“It tastes like fruit that lied,” he said.

I burst out laughing.

Alex’s gaze snapped to my face again.

He looked startled, like laughter was a weapon he wasn’t prepared for.

Then, reluctantly, his mouth curved.

Not a full smile.

Just enough to change him.

Just enough to make my chest ache.

“See?” I said softly. “Normal.”

Alex looked at the fountain. “For a second.”

I swallowed. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away.

He picked up a cookie, broke it in half, and handed me the bigger piece like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Then he said quietly, “Because you looked at me in the forest.”

My heart tightened.

“And you didn’t run,” he added.

I stared at him.

Alex’s eyes stayed on his cookie like it was safer than my face.

“I don’t want you to regret that,” he murmured.

My throat went dry.

“I don’t regret it,” I admitted.

Alex’s jaw flexed.

He glanced at me.

“Good,” he said softly.

For a moment, silence settled between us—not hunting silence.

Just… quiet.

Like two people trying to find a shape that fit.

Then Alex cleared his throat, as if he remembered dates were supposed to involve activities and not emotional confessions.

“Games,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

He stood up abruptly, grabbed the snack bag, and nodded toward the student union game room.

“Arcade,” he said.

I smiled. “You know what an arcade is?”

Alex looked offended. “Yes.”

I stood too, wiping my hands. “Okay. Show me your normal.”

The game room was loud in a comforting way—bright lights, students yelling at screens, the beep-beep of machines, the clack of air hockey.

It smelled like popcorn and soda.

Alex stepped inside and immediately stiffened.

Too many people. Too many corners. Too many noises.

His gaze swept the room like he was mapping it.

I nudged him. “Normal, remember?”

Alex exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

He walked to a token machine like it was a threat.

He fed it cash. The machine spat out tokens.

Alex stared at the pile in his hand like it had offended him.

“You’ve never done this,” I realized.

Alex’s eyes flicked to me. “I have.”

“Where?” I asked.

He hesitated.

Then said, stiffly, “Before.”

That was all he offered.

I didn’t push.

I pointed at a claw machine filled with plush animals.

“That,” I said. “Win me one.”

Alex looked at it like it was a trap.

“It steals money,” he said.

“That’s the point.”

Alex’s jaw tightened.

He stepped up to the machine like he was about to fight it.

I leaned against the side, amused. “Choose wisely, Alpha.”

Alex’s gaze flicked to me. “Don’t say that here.”

“Why?” I whispered, grinning. “Afraid the teddy bears will submit?”

Alex’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”

I laughed.

Alex fed tokens in.

He moved the claw with precise, controlled motions.

Too controlled.

Like he was trying not to be superhuman.

He lowered the claw.

It grabbed a plush dog.

For one triumphant second, I thought he’d win.

Then the claw loosened and the dog dropped.

I laughed. “NOOO.”

Alex stared at the machine, offended on a spiritual level.

“It cheated,” he said.

“It’s called capitalism,” I said.

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Again.”

He fed another token.

This time he went for a plush wolf.

Of course.

The claw grabbed it.

Lifted.

Held.

Then—

Dropped it again.

Alex went still.

I could feel his energy shift.

Not wolf-danger.

Petty-danger.

He leaned closer to the glass like he wanted to intimidate the machine.

I whispered, “Are you about to bite the claw machine?”

Alex didn’t look at me. “Maybe.”

I burst out laughing.

People nearby glanced over.

Alex stiffened instantly, then forced himself to look casual like a normal guy losing money to a stupid machine.

He tried again.

Lost again.

On the fourth attempt, his jaw clenched so hard I worried for his teeth.

“Alex,” I said gently, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he said, deadly serious. “It’s mocking me.”

“It’s a box.”

“It’s a challenge,” he corrected.

I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

Alex fed another token in.

This time, his hands moved faster—just a tiny blur of motion.

The claw dropped.

Grabbed the wolf plush.

Lifted.

Held.

And—

It didn’t drop.

It fell into the prize slot with a soft thump.

Alex straightened slowly.

Like he’d just won a war.

I clapped. “HE DID IT.”

Alex reached into the prize slot, pulled out the plush wolf, and held it out to me like an offering.

His eyes were dark, but there was a faint spark in them—something boyish, something proud.

“Here,” he said.

I took it, smiling. “Thank you.”

Alex watched my smile like it was the real prize.

Then he looked away quickly, like the attention made him uncomfortable.

“Air hockey,” I said, pointing. “Come on.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “That’s violent.”

“It’s a game,” I said.

Alex’s mouth twitched. “Exactly.”

We played anyway.

I was terrible.

Alex was… unfair.

He didn’t just win.

He dominated with the same villain-in-a-sports-movie energy he’d brought to basketball.

I pointed at him. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he asked calmly, scoring another point.

“Winning too hard!”

“It’s a competition,” he said.

“That’s not how dates work!”

Alex paused, genuinely confused. “Dates aren’t competitions?”

“Not usually,” I said.

Alex frowned like he’d been lied to by the entire concept of romance.

Then—shockingly—he let me score.

I blinked.

He let me score again.

I stared harder.

“Are you… letting me win?”

Alex’s jaw tightened, like kindness physically hurt. “Yes.”

“That’s worse,” I said, laughing.

Alex’s mouth twitched. “You said I was winning too hard.”

“I meant… be normal.”

“I am,” he said. “Normal people let their date win.”

I laughed again, and for a few minutes, we were just two idiots hitting a puck and stealing each other’s soda.

He didn’t look like an alpha then.

He looked like a boy who didn’t know what to do with laughter but wanted to keep it.

When we finished, I was breathless and grinning.

Alex leaned on the table, watching me, his gaze softer than I’d ever seen it in daylight.

My chest tightened.

“See?” I said quietly. “We can do normal.”

Alex didn’t answer right away.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo booth tokens.

I blinked. “Photo booth?”

Alex nodded. “It’s… a thing.”

I grinned. “You planned this.”

His mouth twitched. “Maybe.”

My heart fluttered like it was forgetting how to be careful.

We squeezed into the photo booth—too small, too close, the curtain closing us into a tiny private space that smelled like plastic and old perfume.

My knee brushed his.

Alex went still.

Then slowly relaxed, like he was forcing himself to be here without panicking.

The screen counted down.

3…

2…

1…

The flash went off.

I made a stupid face.

Alex stared, then—after a beat—made a stupid face too.

I gasped. “OH MY GOD.”

His mouth twitched. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I laughed. “Too late.”

Another countdown.

I leaned closer without thinking.

Alex’s breath caught.

His gaze flicked to my lips.

My heart slammed.

The flash went off mid-moment, capturing the almost.

The next photo, I couldn’t stop smiling, and Alex looked at me like he didn’t know how to survive joy.

The last photo, he did something that made my stomach flip—

He lifted his hand and gently tucked my hair behind my ear.

Not possessive.

Not guarded.

Just… soft.

The flash captured it.

The machine whirred.

Photo strips slid out.

I grabbed them, laughing. “Proof.”

Alex frowned. “Proof of what?”

“Proof you’re capable of being cute,” I said.

Alex looked like he wanted to argue.

Then his eyes dropped to the photo strip.

And his face went still.

Something in his expression tightened.

Not jealous.

Not amused.

Alert.

I frowned. “What?”

Alex took the photo strip gently from my hand.

He stared at it like it was speaking a language only he could hear.

“Alex,” I whispered, suddenly cold, “what is it?”

He didn’t answer.

He flipped the strip over.

There was writing on the back.

I hadn’t put it there.

I hadn’t even touched the back.

My blood turned cold.

The ink wasn’t black.

It was red.

Neat, deliberate handwriting.

Four words.

A HUMAN DOESN’T BELONG WITH AN ALPHA.

My breath caught.

I stared at the message.

My hands went numb.

Alex’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt.

He looked around the booth like he could see through the curtain.

His voice dropped, low and deadly calm.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

I swallowed hard, heart hammering. “Who did this?”

Alex’s eyes were storm-dark again, the softness gone like it had never existed.

“They were close,” he said.

My stomach twisted.

We shoved out of the booth.

The game room noise felt suddenly fake and far away.

Students laughed. Machines beeped. Someone yelled at a racing game.

And somewhere in that normal chaos… someone had written that message.

Someone watching us.

Tracking us.

Alex took my hand—tight this time, urgent—and pulled me through the crowd.

My pulse screamed.

I tried to look at faces, but every stranger felt suspicious now.

Every smile felt sharp.

We reached the exit, and the night air hit my face like a slap.

Alex stopped under the streetlight and looked at me like he was checking my soul for damage.

“You okay?” he asked.

I swallowed, voice shaky. “No.”

Alex’s jaw flexed. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For believing we could have an hour,” he said, voice tight. “For letting you relax.”

My chest tightened.

“I liked it,” I whispered.

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I know.”

His gaze flicked down to the photo strip still in his hand.

Then he handed it back to me like it was evidence.

I took it, fingers trembling.

“Come,” he said.

We walked fast back to the dorm.

The campus lights felt colder now.

The shadows deeper.

The forest line farther away but somehow still watching.

When we reached the suite door, Alex unlocked it, ushered me inside, and locked it again immediately.

Lina was sprawled on the couch with Bree, mid-movie, a bowl of popcorn between them.

They both looked up at our faces.

Lina’s smile dropped instantly. “Oh.”

Bree sat up, alarmed. “What happened?”

I held up the photo strip with shaking fingers.

Lina leaned in, read it, then went silent—actually silent—for the first time in her life.

Bree’s face went pale.

“A human doesn’t belong with an Alpha,” Bree whispered.

Alex stood behind me like a wall again.

His voice was low. “They’re getting bold.”

My stomach twisted. “Who?”

Alex didn’t answer.

Instead, he scanned the room—windows, doors, corners—like he expected the message to crawl out of the walls.

Then he looked at me.

His gaze softened for half a second.

“Go to your room,” he said quietly.

I swallowed. “No.”

Alex’s eyes tightened. “Please.”

The word hit me, and I hated that it worked.

I nodded once, numb.

I walked to my room, closing the door behind me.

My hands shook as I sat on the bed.

I stared at the photo strip again.

The red ink looked too bright.

Too deliberate.

Like blood pretending to be writing.

I flipped it over again—

And my stomach dropped even farther.

Because beneath the warning sentence, written in the same red ink, was my name.

Not my nickname.

Not “Sparrow.”

My real name.

Written neatly.

Like someone had practiced it.

Like someone wanted me to understand one thing clearly:

They didn’t just know Alex.

They knew me.