Nightmares of the Alpha

ONE

Aria’s POV

What. The F***. Was. THAT?!

That was the only thought pulsing through my mind as my eyes shot open and I gasped, choking for air. Those dark eyes clouded my vision even as I fought to wake up. The mist of nightmares, not quite willing to let go of me yet, teased me with blurred images of that man all around me - staring. I shut my eyes tight against him, but of course he only became more clear in my mind’s eye.

My body was heavy against the mattress, my heart racing, my limbs paralyzed with sleep, but I knew better than to try moving so soon. I was used to this. I lay there, breathing deep to slow my racing heart. As my vision cleared, I willed my gaze to focus on the concrete objects around me. The closet. My favorite hoodie draped over a chair, probably still damp from yesterday’s rain. The curtains dancing lazily in the breeze, glowing from the faint streetlight below. I’m safe. It was just a dream. I’m all alone here. No one can hurt me. I repeated this mantra - first in my head, then as a defiant whisper. When the last of the haziness and heaviness dissipated, I rolled over to pull the chain on my bedside lamp. The room was bathed in yellow and I looked around, breathing a sigh of relief. It was just a nightmare. Just like every night.

I reached for my journal, lifting my phone to check the time first - 1:22 am. “Happy Birthday to me,” I muttered sarcastically, pulling myself to a seated position.

My eighteenth birthday. You’d think I’d be over this by now. You’d think that as I entered into my adult life I would finally be free of these nightly torments. But no, it was always the same. No matter where it started, the ending never changed: the woods, the lake, the howling and the fingers... I grimaced and smacked my lips, still tasting the memory of the witch’s vile blood. I mean, chewing fingers? Who does that?! I’ve never even seen something so disturbing in a horror movie, yet MY subconscious comes up with it? What’s wrong with me?! My mind was reeling as the nightmare tried to envelope me again. I threw my journal in frustration and it landed against my closet door with a weak thud. It wasn’t much, but the sound snapped me back to reality.

“My journal...” I started, remembering why I had grabbed it in the first place. I scurried off the bed, taking my blanket with me, and retrieved the old notebook from where it had landed. Anxiously I flipped through the pages. This time wasn’t the same, was it? That man... his eyes, the way my insides turned to ice when he looked at me. I didn’t need to reread the records of my nightly torments to know that I had never seen him before. There’s no way I would have forgotten him. Still, I turned the pages, looking for any indication that I might be wrong.

* *. * * * *

When my alarm went off at 6am, I was disorientated, still on the floor, clutching my book of nightmares. I stretched my arms above my head and groaned. My body ached from falling asleep like that, twisted up on the floor. For a minute I allowed myself to drift back into the haze of what brought me here - the man I’ve never dreamt before; the way he appeared out of nowhere, standing so still as the boat rocked beneath him; the way his eyes bore deep into my soul... Anyway, as my alarm droned on, I shook my head and untangled myself from the blankets. There was no time to engage in these morbid fantasies. It was time to go to work.

Luckily, I only had to go right down the stairs. I’ve been working at my aunts’ hybrid coffee and yarn shop in some capacity or other for years. I guess they felt like I needed something positive to do with my time... or maybe since they took me in when my parents died, they felt like I owed them or something. Whatever their reason, as soon as I was old enough to pile the bins with yarn, they put me to work at their pride and joy, The Stitch’s Brew. That’s where I spent most of my afternoons and weekends and so that’s where I was headed now, even though it was before dawn on a Saturday and my eighteenth birthday. I let out a huff of air I didn’t realize I was holding as I tied my apron and checked the clock. 6:45. Not bad.

I skipped down the stairs from our apartment and pulled my long black hair into a messy bun on top of my head. Before I even cracked the door I could smell the aroma of strong coffee in the air. Exactly what I needed after last night.

“Hey now,” I called out as I poured myself a steaming mug and added way too much cream and sugar, laughing because the aunts always said my sweet tooth was the cause of all of my sleepless nights.

“Good morning, dear” replied Aunt Teresa from across the room where she was knitting something red and fluffy. She was my favorite - older, rounder... and kinder, although neither of them were quick to smile. Aunt Eleanor, on the other hand, simply nodded her greeting without even looking up from her place at the sink.

The sun hadn’t even risen yet and already for the second time today I found myself muttering “Happy birthday to me” under my breath. With an eye roll and a shrug of my shoulders I downed my coffee in a single gulp and went to work cleaning tables before our customers arrived.

The beginning of the day passed as usual and without much fanfare: I made coffee, I served coffee, I taught a customer how to seed stitch. Okay, make that with absolutely no fanfare. Like I said, the aunts weren’t the type to celebrate much of anything. Especially not me.

It was towards the end of the afternoon rush when it happened. I was rearranging chairs in the yarn corner to prepare for the weekly “Sip n Knit” social hour for lonely grannies when I got that feeling like someone was watching me. A quick glance around the room reassured me that nothing was out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling.

Smoothing out my apron self-consciously, I joined my Aunt Eleanor behind the counter, my eyes darting between the sea of faces rushing in for a pick-me-up on the last minutes of their lunch breaks. I didn’t see him at first. It was that voice that stopped me in my tracks, turning my veins icy and raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

MINE. I felt it reverberate through my entire body. It thumped in my ears like a techno beat. Mine. Mine. Mine. But that was last night. And it wasn’t real. In reality, the customer had simply asked my aunt to skip the whipped cream on his latte. The voice, though, it was the same. I knew it the second he breathed his first word. How could it be?

Lost in thought, frozen in place by the voice from my nightmares, the coffee I was pouring missed the cup and soaked right through my tennis shoes. I screeched - for my scalded toes and in fear for my life. My scream broke the spell I was under and I as I grabbed a towel to clean up my mess, I shook my head at how childish I was. As if a nightmare could come to life and find you at your place of work. Ridiculous.

I was still shaking my head when i tossed the towel over my shoulder, laughing at myself, and glanced up to find two cold, stormy eyes watching me. And I swear that for just a second they flashed to black.