The Alpha's Eyes
1160 Words
Ava didn’t sleep the second night either.
The cabin creaked with every shift in the wind. The fireplace popped once, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d left the porch light on. It cut a dull yellow glow across the trees, but the fog was relentless, swallowing light like it fed on it. At one point, just past two in the morning, she swore she heard footsteps on the porch. Heavy ones. A pause near the window. A low breath.
When she finally passed out, her dreams were sharp. Teeth and heat. Hands that held too tight. Eyes that glowed in the dark. And a voice whispering things that made her shiver even after she woke.
The next day, she forced herself into routine. She swept the cabin. Opened the windows. Lit a scented candle like that would chase away whatever darkness had followed her here. She made coffee and convinced herself the man from last night had been nothing more than a local with no social grace.
The nerves didn’t really start until she tried to drive into town again.
The Jeep wouldn’t start.
She tried the key twice. Nothing but a strained cough and a click.
She popped the hood. Her fingers trembled as she lifted it, like she already knew what she’d find. She stared at the engine, pretending to understand what she was looking at. A belt looked chewed. As if something had bitten through it.
She stepped back.
That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t a mouse or a raccoon.
That was deliberate.
She grabbed her phone. Still no signal.
She almost laughed. It had all the makings of a cheap horror movie. Alone in the woods. Car mysteriously disabled. Locals acting like cult members. A hot stranger who smelled her blood.
Her skin prickled as she thought about him again. The memory was too clear. Those eyes. Not just gold but glowing. Not metaphorically. Literally. There was no way that was human.
Ava went back inside. Paced.
She needed help, and if the car wasn’t an option, she had legs. She could walk. According to the map, the nearest house was just down the ridge. A mile, maybe two. She threw on boots, a heavy jacket, and shoved a flashlight into her pocket just in case. It was early, but the fog never seemed to lift fully. The air clung to her like a second skin as she stepped into the trees.
The forest wasn’t quiet today. Birds chirped overhead. Branches rustled under light wind. For a moment, it even felt beautiful. Peaceful.
Until she hit the ridge.
The trees thickened. Light dimmed. And something shifted in the air. The birds went silent. The wind stopped. A scent drifted past her, musk and pine, sharp with something metallic. She froze.
That scent.
Her heart beat harder.
Behind her, a twig snapped.
She spun around, breath caught in her throat.
Nothing.
She kept walking. Faster.
The house appeared through the trees like a shadow rising. Larger than she expected. Wooden, old, but regal in its decay. Ivy crawled across stone steps. Black shutters framed windows she couldn’t see through.
As she approached, a low growl rumbled from somewhere nearby. Not a dog. Deeper. Thicker.
Ava stopped.
Another growl joined it.
The shadows shifted.
Wolves.
Three of them. Dark, massive, stepping from the trees like ghosts. Their eyes locked on her. One bared its teeth.
She backed away slowly, heart slamming against her ribs.
One of them lunged.
A voice split the air like a whip.
“Enough.”
The wolves halted mid-move. Their bodies dropped low. Ears back. They turned their heads in unison toward the house.
Ava followed their gaze.
Lucien stood on the porch, shirtless, barefoot, his eyes burning with that same golden fire. Muscles taut beneath his skin, his chest heaving like he’d been running. He looked like sin carved in stone. Danger and heat.
He stepped down from the porch. One step. Another. The wolves backed away, melting into the shadows like they were never there.
Ava didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every part of her screamed run, but something in his gaze held her in place.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
She looked down. Her ankle. A scratch from a thorn, shallow but enough to smear her sock.
“I didn’t notice,” she muttered.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“My car’s dead,” she said, voice shaking. “Belt’s chewed through. Figured someone nearby could help.”
He stopped a few feet away. Close enough for her to see the lines around his mouth. Close enough to smell him. Earth. Fire. Rain.
“Nothing happens in Black Hollow by accident,” he said.
Ava swallowed. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
His jaw flexed.
“You’re not like the others.”
She blinked. “What others?”
“Humans.”
The word hit her like a slap.
Her throat dried. “What did you just say?”
Lucien stepped closer. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there, then rose again. Fire. Fury. Hunger.
“I told myself I wouldn’t touch you,” he said, voice low. “I told myself I’d let you leave.”
Her pulse slammed so hard it hurt.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm. Callused. Gentle.
“You shouldn’t bleed here,” he said softly. “They’ll smell it. They’ll want it.”
“They?” she echoed.
He turned his face away, just slightly, like he couldn’t bear to keep looking at her. Or maybe like looking too long would break him.
“You should go home.”
“I just told you I can’t.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
His lips parted. “Lucien.”
She felt it when he said it. Not just in her ears but under her skin. Like the name had weight. Like it wanted to anchor itself inside her.
She took a step back. “Are you going to explain any of this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I do, you won’t leave. And I need you to leave.”
His eyes flicked to her neck again.
“No you don’t,” she said before she could stop herself.
He stilled.
Silence fell again.
Lucien stepped back. Then turned, sharp and sudden, and stalked toward the house.
The door opened for him before his hand even touched it.
Ava stood frozen in the trees, her breath fogging the air.
Something inside her had just been marked. Not physically. Not with claws or teeth.
But she felt it. Deep in her bones.
Lucien had looked at her like she belonged to him.
And God help her, a part of her wanted to.
- Writer
