Trapped by my Alpha Mate

Fey That roar. That deafening roar that I will never forget, regardless of how hard I try, echoes through the woods. I am too aware of the rustle of the leaves as I flinch in my hiding spot in the bushes. I want to run. I should run. I need to run. But there’s this voice, this feeling, this urge to watch. To see what’s unfolding in front of me. It keeps me frozen here even as I beg my body to move. To evacuate. To escape. It ignores my pleas, forcing me to watch. Two wolves growl and roar as they circle each other. So large one might mistake them for a bear. One is covered in brown fur the other, black. They begin taking swipes at each other at what feels like random intervals. A whimper escapes my throat and the black wolf's golden eyes glance in my direction, locking eyes with me for a fraction of a second. That is all the brown wolf needs as he takes the moment of distraction to his advantage and lunges for the black wolf's neck. I squeeze my eyes shut as I know what happens next. The familiar sound of tearing flesh fills my ears and I open my eyes to see the brown wolf, my attacker from all those years ago, standing over the black wolf’s limp body with a chunk of throat in his mouth, his blood red eyes staring right into mine. My legs ache from crouching for so long but it’s not the ache that keeps me from moving as he spits out the lump of flesh in his mouth and locks eyes with me. It’s an indescribable fear. When the wolf snarls and sprints toward me at full speed I can do nothing but fall back on my butt, shut my eyes, and wait for my inescapable death. The screech of my alarm clock saves me from being ripped apart as my eyes shoot open to reveal my bedroom. Great. Another nightmare. I don’t wake up screaming or gasping or anything. Not anymore. Nightmares are more like a fact of life for me at this point. So instead of curling up into a ball and crying my eyes out I just take solace in the fact that I am awake and it is Monday. I slip on some black shorts and a t-shirt with some band’s logo on it before making my way downstairs. Mondays. Most people hate them, but I don’t mind them too much. While school is boring and full of dumb and aggressive teenagers, it’s preferable to this place. Plus, most students won’t really bully the orphans, they figure our lives are hard enough as it is. It’s nice to have “no parents” armor to assholes even if it means most people walk on eggshells around you. Teachers included. It makes it easy to invisibly slip into school, do my work, and slip out. No hassle, no teachers trying to make an example out of me, no friends to distract me. Although the no friends part is my fault. No one will even look my way after a boy at the orphanage told me, the way I ended up with no parents was lucky and I broke his nose. All of this is why I walk alone to the bus, hanging back from the group of other orphans who all stick together like they are stapled to each other’s asses. It’s why when I get on the bus, like every other day, there is a seat in the back that everyone avoids. My seat. It’s why I sit in the back corner of the class at the desk that is farthest away from every other. Personally, I think they inch their desks away from me every time I’m not looking but hey, I don’t mind. I will be graduating soon anyway. The final bell rings and I make my way to the only thing about Mondays that suck. My therapist's office is a quick five-minute walk from school so I’m there before most of the other orphans are on the school bus home. The bell rings as I push open the door to my therapy office and slip in. I hate that bell. It feels like a bi-weekly alarm to remind me that I am f****d up in the head. It also lets everybody passing by glance my way and pity me. Just for a moment. Just for a second. Until I am a forgotten part of their day. Until they forget I exist. Forget there is a large building full of orphans just up the road from them that nobody cares about. I exist in their mind only as a flutter of pity when they remember I exist. And I hate it. After signing in I only need to wait about forty seconds before Dr. Fletcher pops her head out and calls my name. I enter her small familiar office of clinical white walls and apposing black furniture and bypass the cliché therapy couch opting for the chair directly in front of her desk as she makes her way to the other side of it, sinking into her chair. Once settled, she pulls out a notepad and asks what she always asks at the start of every session. “So how are you doing?” And I respond with what I always respond with at the start of every session. “Same as every day.” And every day she writes something on her little notepad with a small frown on her face like she was expecting a different response. Like one day I will show up and shout I’m cured. I sigh. “Are you still having nightmares?” Of f*****g course I’m still having nightmares. “Yes.” “The same nightmare?” “No, the one last night was different. The same wolf was in it though.” “What was different about it?” “This time the wolf fought and killed another wolf before killing me.” She hums and jots down some more notes. “And have you had any improvement with your phobia? Any luck with the panic attacks? Did you try the breathing technique I taught you?” I completely ignore her other two questions. “Of course I haven’t got over my phobia. It’s normal to be scared of wolves. They are monsters-” “They aren’t mon-” She tries to cut me off. “They aren’t monsters?! We were hiking. We did nothing to provoke it. It ripped chunks out of my dad. Couldn’t even be bothered to kill him quickly. What else but a monster would let him live to see it rip my mother's limbs off.” I realize I am almost yelling but I can’t bring myself to care. Tears are dripping down my face as I relive this horror. “It didn’t even try to eat them. They bled out in excruciating pain. And it walked right up to me, chewed on my midsection, and licked my face like a puppy that had just been told he was good. That thing was a f*****g monster.” Once I finish my proclamation, I fall back into my seat, wiping my eyes. I hadn’t meant to blow up on her or start crying but it just pisses me off. She hands me a tissue, apologizing for provoking me. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like it is something you should just get over. I know it’s hard and I know therapy wasn’t your idea.” She’s right. This is court-ordered therapy after I broke Andrew’s nose. It was either therapy or juvie. So here I am. Still, as much as I hate being forced to come here, I shouldn’t have blown up on Dr. Fletcher. She may be a therapist but she is the only person in this entire town that doesn’t have a face full of pity every time she looks at me. “I am sorry too. I shouldn’t have exploded on you.” She smiles. “It’s okay Fey, it comes with the business. Why don’t we stop here today and pick it up on Wednesday?” I nod and toss a “thanks” over my shoulder on my way out before stopping in the bathroom to wash and dry my face trying to clean off any indication that I might have been crying. I don’t need to give people even more of a reason to pity me. I must have spent more time than I thought fixing my appearance because when I step out of the therapist’s office, the cool air of dusk slips across my body, cooling me down a little too much. s**t, I still have a crap load of homework to do. Instead of waiting for the bus, it will be quicker if I just walk home cutting through the park so I do just that. The park is extremely vacant at this time. It makes sense, given the fact that the park is almost exclusively used by parents and kids and it’s getting late. Normally, I would be worried about getting in past curfew, but the orphanage can’t really say anything if I was at court-ordered therapy. So, I have a free pass to dawdle. I don’t, because I have stuff to do, but it’s nice to know I could. I don’t really have to worry about muggers either because it’s a small town. Anyone in town would know that I’m an orphan and I don’t have anything worth stealing. It’s a nice thing to not have to worry about. I guess there are some perks to having no parents. I chuckle to myself just as hands come up around my waist and turn me before pushing me up against the nearest tree. I don’t even know what’s happening before the very large man is crowding me, his hands voyaging every inch of my body he can get to. A gasp escaped my lips as I feel millions of tiny explosions of pleasure in the wake of his touch. It feels like there are sparks every time he touches me. What the f**k? Before I have a chance to think too hard about what he’s doing, his head finds the crook of my neck, and he inhales like he is smelling the best food he has ever had. The tip of his nose slides down my neck as he continues sniffing like a feral animal and when he finally speaks it’s a gravelly whisper sound. “Mate,” he says matter-of-factly like somehow that random word will explain why he’s grabbed me and is feeling me up in the middle of a public park. “Mine.” It takes me a moment before I come to my senses and realize the situation I am in. You’d think after going through trauma I would be better with dangerous situations but I guess not. I’m still not moving. I’m not exactly frozen in place, more like I am still trying to figure out what is happening and why this stranger thinks I belong to him. He pulls back and I am taken aback by his appearance. He is handsome, not the usual type you would expect to assault or kidnap a random girl. He has a strong, defined jawline that’s home to a five o’clock shadow. His cheekbones are flushed, and his black thick wavy hair is about three inches long and looks crazed and messy like he just rolled out of bed. But that is not what gives me pause. What freaks me the f**k out, is that nestled under his dark, thick eyebrows, are golden eyes. He leans into me, and I realize he is about to kiss me. Oh, hell no. Finally, my survival instinct kicks in and in a panic, I bring my knee up as quickly as I can, ramming it right between his legs. He keels over and I take that moment to sprint away. I don’t dare look back into I am out of the park and back onto the street.