The Alpha And Her Tinkerer

2_I Am Alive

Reeva POV

A black abyss of nothing surrounds me. I wreck my brain to figure out where I am, what day it is, but my memories are evading me. I want to open my eyes, but I cannot, nor can I move. I am frozen. Am I even alive?

I do not know if I am alive, but a bizarre heat radiates from my core, dispelling the cold from my body, and my stiff veins gradually soften. My heart pumps rhythmically again, and blood flows through my veins. The skin on the soles of my feet tingles, and the fine hairs on my ears feel the subtle vibrations of the air.

I open my eyes and sit up in bed and look at my unfamiliar surroundings. Sunlight streams in through the window, and I am sitting on a blue and white striped cotton sheet.

Okay, I am alive, but where the hell am I? More importantly, who the hell am I?

I push myself out of bed and look around at the unfamiliar cabin. I walk to a mirror on the wall and look at my face. My cheekbones are prominent, and my eyes are like green ice crystals, clear and sharp. My hair is nearly dark brown, and the skin around my nose is dotted with freckles.

I stroke my face, and, suddenly, my memories hit me like a tidal wave. Simon. Reese. My baby.

Frantically, I reach for my stomach, and a devastating pain rips my heart apart. It is so profound, so devastating that I cannot control the animalistic wail that erupts from my throat.

I double over, clutching my stomach, as if I can feel the sharp pain of the silver all over again. I lay on the floor, unable to control my crying and the pain pulsing through my veins. My baby! They took my baby.

I do not understand. Why am I alive? Why take an innocent life and spare mine? The people I love and trusted most in the world betrayed me. Goddess, I have lost everything. My child, my family, my love and my pack. Why did I survive? I have nothing to live for anymore; I do not want to be alive.

“It’s a blessing, child,” Dad’s voice resonates through my mind. “Your great-grandfather passed it on to his descendants, and now I’m passing it on to you, Reeva, but I hope you’ll never need it.”

Suddenly, things fall into place. Dad gave me the alpha mark before he died. I thought it was part of a ritual. A mere token of power and status, but I finally understand its purpose.

I am alive again. It was not a nightmare; it was real. My mate and my sister killed me. The alpha mark revived me. But my baby is gone. My mate and sister killed me. The Alpha Mark gave me a second chance at life, but it could not save my child.

"Harper," I call my wolf, but she does not respond, and fear tightens my throat.

Have I lost my wolf, too? Can it be that the Alpha Mark only resurrected me and not my wolf?

“Harper,” I try again, but I only met with silence.

Fresh sobs rip through me as I curl into a bundle on the floor. What is the use of being alive anymore?

Something soft and fluffy rubs against my legs, and my eyes fly open. A small white furball looks at me with its blackcurrant eyes. Its furry ears are perked up, and its wet tongue hangs out.

Surprised by its presence, I sit up and wipe my tears. The dog turns its head sideways, wagging its tail like a bell, and looks curiously at me.

I am still debating if I should pet or shoo the dog when a vehicle’s door slams shut. My intuition tells me it is the owner of the house, but that does not stop the panic from settling in my throat.

I have no idea who this person is or what their intentions are. My wolf is missing – or dead, I am unsure – and I am too weak to defend myself. I should get out of here before the person enters.

I stammer out of the bedroom and frantically look around. The cabin only has one bedroom, bathroom and a combined living room and kitchen. In the kitchen is a small dining table, and a refrigerator. In the opposite corner is a computer, a stereo and a set of weights. Everything is practical and there is no colour, flowers or an extra something to spruce up the place. Well, I think it is safe to assume a man lives here.

Footsteps are nearing the front door, and the dog runs to it, scratching excitedly at the wood. I look for a back door, but I do not see one, and I eagerly look at the window above the sink with the hope that I can fit through it.

“Pudding! Stop it,” a warm, strong male’s voice roars from the other side of the door, and the dog instantly stops its scratching. Not only does the dog obey, but I feel calmer. Surely, a man who calls his dog Pudding is not evil.

I hold my breath when the door opens, and the man enters. Pudding is immediately at his feet, excitedly wagging its tail. I take the moment to study the man intensely. He is clutching a supermarket bag, his arms taut with muscles. His short, curly black hair complements his sunny, rugged features and prominent nose.

My heart skips a beat, and my mouth goes dry when his grey-blue eyes meet mine. Dear Goddess, this man is gorgeous. The she-wolves from Fire Eclipse will drool over him as if he were the last éclair on a plate.

When he sees me, his eyes widen, and he softly sucks in his breath.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake,” he pulls himself together, sounding a little nervous and awkward. “I brought fresh doughnuts from town. Would you like one?”

Silently, I stare at him, unsure of what to do. I do not know this man from Adam, but I wake up in his house, and now he is offering me snacks. I have no idea how I got from dying in a hospital bed to this cabin. Food is the last thing on my mind right now.

Pudding runs from his owner to me and starts licking my toes. I jump back and, with a yelp, Pudding spins around and runs around the dining room table.

“Don’t mind her,” the man smiles warmly, placing the bag on the table. “Pudding is a passionate West Highland Terrier. She just loves you.”

Hearing her name, Pudding runs to the man, and he gently rubs behind her ears before she spins around and runs into the room.

“So, about the doughnut, would …” he stops midsentence when Pudding enters the room, proudly carrying his underwear between her teeth.

"Pudding. don't do that!" The man yells as the dog runs past him.

He chases the dog, knocks the paper bag off the table, lunges over, snatches the underwear from Pudding’s mouth, and hides it behind his back.

"Sorry about that,” he says with flushed cheeks. “She loves clean … uhm, clothes.”

I continue staring at him. I do not care if his dog eats dirty socks or his Sunday shoes. Honestly, I cannot understand what this man is doing. He makes a lot of unnecessary movements, and while they are not threatening, his attention seems fixated on me.

"Can I get you something to eat?" He asks, quickly tossing his underwear into the bedroom, and closing the door.

"Ouch!" He huffs, tripping over the shopping bag and falls to the floor.

Frowning, I stare at him. Is he always this clumsy? Or is he as uncomfortable as me?

He lays on the ground, groaning, rubbing his head. I hesitate for a second, then walk over and hold out my hand.

"Oh, thank you,” he smiles, placing his hand in mine, and looks at me with a burning gaze.

I pull him up and he dusts himself off before staring at me again with a strange glint in his eyes.

“Uhm, no offence,” he says cautiously, licking his lips. “But … do you have a speech impediment? I mean, are you mute?”

I am about to punch him out when I realise; I have not spoken a word.