Hunting Her Alpha

Aldersey doesn’t know what’s more terrifying—the unrelenting howl of the wind outside or the petrified look plastered on her parents' faces as they silently communicate with their eyes, lips barely moving. Whatever they’re saying, it’s definitely not meant for her ears. That alone screams danger. Then comes the knock—or more like a violent as-sault—on the front door. The heavy mahogany shudders under the force of it. Her parents freeze. Her father’s eyes widen. Her mother’s lips tremble, and in a voice way too calm to be genuine, she says, “Alder, baby, go up to your room.” "Why?" she asks, already suspicious. “Just go, sweetie. I’ll explain later, okay?” Her mother offers her a weak smile, the kind that tells her she absolutely won’t be explaining *anything* later. Alder turns and locks eyes with her father, whose expression has shifted to *that* look. The one that says *if you don’t move now, I’ll personally carry you upstairs like you’re five years old again.* “Fine,” she groans dramatically, stomping up the stairs. “This is so stupid,” she mutters under her breath, slamming the door behind her. But obviously, *no one* actually listens when their parents tell them to stay put during a crisis. Alder tiptoes back to the door, opens it just enough to peek out, then creeps to the balcony, crouching low so she can see everything happening downstairs without being spotted. Another thunderous bang on the door. Her father hesitates, jaw tight, then finally opens it. And in walks a man. No—a mountain of a man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, bearded like a Viking warlord, and dragging in a whole storm with his presence. His long jet-black hair sways slightly as he strides in, completely uninvited, like he owns the damn house. Alder frowns. Who does this guy think he is—King Kong in leather boots? “Where is it?” the man growls, his voice low, dangerous. Her father doesn’t flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man’s eyes narrow. “Do not test my patience, Adrian,” he snaps, and the house actually trembles. Alder’s grip tightens on the railing. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her father repeats, voice steady. “Now get out. My daughter’s asleep and I don’t want her waking up to your tantrum.” Bold, Alder thinks. Also, Dad, I’m very much awake, thanks. The man steps forward, looming like a nightmare. “How dare you speak to me like that, Adrian? Who do you think you are?!” “My house. My rules.” Her dad folds his arms, the human version of a ‘try me’ sign. The man doesn’t like that. His eyes—*nope, definitely not normal human eyes*—flash red. Then, without warning, his hand shoots out, grabbing her father by the throat and lifting him like he weighs nothing. “I’ll ask you one last time,” the man hisses. “Where. Is. It?” “I told you…” Her father chokes out, every word a struggle. “I. Do. Not. Know. What. You’re talking about!” “Let my husband go!” her mother yells. Alder’s eyes snap to her—*when the hell did she pull a dagger out of her waistband? A real, shiny, I’m-about-to-kill-someone kind of dagger. The man turns to her, sneers. “Ryan!” he calls out. Another hulking man steps into the house, followed by two more. All of them are massive. Seriously—what are these people eating? The first man drops her father. He crashes to the floor, and Alder winces. Yikes. That’s going to bruise. “Get them!” the man barks. The three newcomers start moving forward. “Stay back!” her mother snarls, dagger raised. “I’m not afraid to use this, I swear—” The men crack their necks like they’re warming up for a workout. And then it starts. Bones snap. Limbs contort. Skin stretches and reshapes. Fur sprouts. And before Alder can even process what’s happening, three massive wolves now stand where the men once were—each a different color, each exuding raw, murderous power. A gasp escapes her lips. She immediately clamps her hand over her mouth, but it’s too late. The man looks up. And locks eyes with her. His lips curl into a dark smirk. “Finish them.” “NO!” she yells, stepping into full view. “Leave them alone!” But the wolves don’t hesitate. They leap. “RUN, ALDER! RUN!” her mother screams as a wolf lunges at her, fangs tearing into flesh. Another pounces on her father. “MOM!!” Alder’s voice breaks as she watches her mother’s blood pool onto the floor. Her father tries to fight, but it’s hopeless. The wolves rip and tear without mercy. When they finally stop, all that’s left is silence... and bodies. Alder stares. Willing them to move. Begging for one—just one—sign they’re alive. Nothing. She raises her head, shaking. The man is still watching her, completely unaffected. Like he just stepped on an ant. “Kill her,” he orders. The wolves turn. Eyes locked on her. Panic kicks in. She spins, bolts into her room, and slams the door just as one of them lunges. It crashes into the wood, snarling. Thinking fast, she drags her desk in front of the door, pushing with all her strength. *Come on, come on, hold…* Then she sprints to the window, flings it open, and looks down. Not a long drop—but still, not ideal. The door rattles violently. Something heavy slams into it again. She doesn’t wait. With a breath she doesn’t have time to finish, she jumps. The landing jolts her legs, but she’s up and moving within seconds. No time for pain. No time for grief. She spares one last glance at the house—the place she spent the last seven years of her life, now tainted with blood. Then she runs. Hair flying behind her like a raven’s wing caught in a storm. No shoes. No plan. Just fear. The Wolves crash through the door, splinters flying everywhere, their growls echoing through the house. They sprint to the window just in time to see Alder vanishing into the distance, running like hell is on her heels—which, in this case, it is. One of them prepares to leap after her. “I wouldn’t do that,” the man says, stopping him with a calm, steady hand. “She’s getting away,” the Wolf snarls. The man chuckles, low and amused. “Let her. She’ll come back. They always do… especially when revenge is involved.” Ryan shifts back into human form, completely naked and unfazed. He doesn’t bother to cover himself, because modesty is clearly not on his list of priorities. “And that’s exactly why we should kill her now,” he says, wiping blood from his mouth. “End it. Problem solved.” The man shakes his head slowly, the corners of his mouth lifting. “No. This is part of the plan. Let her stew in it. Let the hate fester. And when she comes back… hopefully, she brings it with her.” Ryan exhales and nods, although it’s clear he doesn’t like the idea. The other two Wolves shift back into their human forms, panting and smirking like rabid dogs who’ve just lost their favorite chew toy. The man watches her disappear into the night with a strange glint in his eyes—part intrigue, part anticipation. Meanwhile, Alder runs. And runs. And runs. Her lungs burn, her legs scream, and the adrenaline that carried her this far begins to drain out of her body like water through a sieve. She slows down, breath hitching, chest heaving. She drops to her knees in the mud, sobbing uncontrollably as the horror finally crashes down on her like a tsunami of grief. Her parents. Gone. Slaughtered. She’s alone. Utterly, miserably, soul-crushingly alone. “ARGHHHH!” Her scream tears through the sky, raw and broken. Rain begins to pour—not that she notices. She’s too far gone. When her voice gives out, she wipes her face with the back of her palm, eyes wild, body shaking. “They’ll pay,” she whispers through clenched teeth. “Every last one of them. Every stinking, flea-bitten Werewolf that breathes—I’ll hunt them to extinction.” She sees their faces—those four monsters burned into her memory. They won’t get the mercy of a quick death. No. They’ll suffer. She’ll make sure of it. “Mark my words,” she growls, eyes blazing. “I will hunt you down.” A car whizzes past, then slams on the brakes. A man steps out, umbrella in hand. “What are you doing out here in the rain, child? You’ll catch a cold,” he says, baffled. Rain? She blinks. Oh. Right. The water isn’t just from her tears. “Come on, you must be freezing.” She steps back warily. “Who are you?” He raises his hands slowly, then pulls out his badge. “I’m Officer Greg. See? Not a creep. Just a cop. Where are your parents?” Her chin trembles. “They’re... they’re dead,” she croaks. “They got attacked.” Greg’s expression softens instantly. “What’s your name? Where do you live?” “Aldersey Elwood. I live just up ahead. I can show you.” He nods, opens the passenger door, and gently helps her in before circling to the driver’s seat. They drive in silence, the tension in the car so thick it’s a miracle the windows don’t fog up with it. Five minutes later, they pull into her driveway. The sight of the house makes her stomach twist. Greg steps out and immediately draws his gun. “Stay here,” he instructs, voice clipped. He walks up to the porch, knocking loudly. “It’s the police!” No answer. He kicks the door open without hesitation. Gun raised, eyes scanning. “Police! Come out with your hands where I can see them!” The metallic stench of blood hits him like a brick wall. He grimaces, takes another cautious step… and then he sees them. Two torn, mangled bodies on the floor. “My God,” he breathes, lowering the weapon slightly. “They’re dead, aren’t they?” Alder’s voice behind him makes him spin on his heel, gun flying up—aimed directly at her head. “Jesus Christ, kid! I told you to stay back! I could’ve shot you!” She doesn’t flinch. Just starts crying again. Greg sighs and lowers his gun, crouching to her level. He wraps his arms around her, holding her gently against his chest as she sobs. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.” “Do you… do you know who did this?” he asks after a beat. She hesitates, then lies. “No. I just heard shouting while I was upstairs. My mom told me to run, so I jumped out the window. I didn’t see anything.” Because telling the truth—telling him that Werewolves killed her parents—would land her in a psych ward. Or worse. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll call for backup. We’ll find out who did this.” She nods silently. But deep down, she knows he won’t. They won’t find anything. Not even a footprint. Greg leads her outside, then walks a few paces away to make the call. A few minutes later, flashing lights and sirens fill the night. Police cars. Forensics. Crime scene tape. She stands there like a ghost, watching as her parents’ remains are zipped into black bags. The sound of the zippers is louder than the rain. “What are we going to do with her?” Greg whispers to a fellow officer. “I say foster care. You did your part, now let the system take over,” the man says before walking off. Greg sighs heavily, turns to her, and crouches again. “Hey, sweetie. I need to tell you something—” “You want to put me in foster care,” she cuts in, dryly. He raises an eyebrow. “I heard,” she adds flatly. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” “It’s all right. I don’t mind.” Greg blinks. “You don’t?” “I’m not unrealistic, Mr. Greg. I need a roof, a meal, maybe a warm bed. My house is a crime scene. I’m a minor. Foster care is the only logical option—unless you plan to adopt me tonight.” Greg chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Your parents raised a smart one. I’m sure they’re up there, looking down and smiling.” “Thank you,” she whispers. “Come on, let’s get you checked out—” She takes a step and then suddenly stumbles. Greg lunges forward, catching her just in time as she collapses in his arms, unconscious. He cradles her tightly as the rain pours harder.