Claimed By The Alpha I Shouldn't Love

POV: Julie Ferns The lock sticks again. Always does when it’s cold like this—f*****g thing. I twist harder, shoulder pressed to the frame. It finally gives with a stubborn clunk. “Night, Julie,” Margie calls from the front, voice muffled behind the security gate. I raise a hand. Don’t say anything back. Just not in the mood. Never am lately. The alley behind the bookstore is what it always is. Damp. Oil-slicked. It smells like wet cardboard and sour piss. There’s a puddle where the gutter overflows. Light from the street’s busted—flickers like it can’t decide if it wants to live or die. I stuff my hands in my coat pockets, keys still wrapped in my fist. Don’t even know why I’m holding them like that. Just feels better. Like a weapon, maybe. I take two steps out into the alley. Gravel crunches. Then I hear it. Low. Animal. Close. A snarl. Then a c***k. Wet. Sharp. It doesn’t sound like a bottle breaking. It sounds like… bone. I don’t move. Not yet. The sound came from deeper in the alley. Left side. Near the dumpsters. I should leave. Go back inside. Call someone. Do something that makes sense. But I don’t. Instead, I inch forward. Careful. Breath caught in my throat like it doesn’t know how to come out quiet. Another sound. Sharp. Something metal crashing. Trash bin. Loud as hell in the silence. My whole body jumps. But I don’t go back. There’s something about it. Not just fear. Not exactly. Something under it. Or next to it. I don’t know. I move closer. The flickering light hits something ahead. Something... moving. Big. Two shapes. Hunched. Low to the ground. Moving fast but weird—jagged, unnatural. They crash into each other, and it’s loud. Violent. One of them slams the other into the brick wall with enough force that dust explodes off it. Then claws. Not hands. Not knives. Claws raking through flesh like it’s paper. I should run. But I can’t look away. Because they aren’t men. They look like men. For a second. But then—no. Too fast. Too long in the limbs. Too wrong. Something howls. Deep. Low. It vibrates the ground. I feel it in my ribs. It’s not human. It’s not human. A hit lands—hard. I hear it before I understand it. Flesh tearing. Wet. Sloppy. Then blood. Spraying. It hits the wall, spatters across the concrete, soaks the ground like it’s thirsty. I cover my mouth. My stomach turns. It smells like copper and rot and something burnt. One of them stumbles. He’s shifting. Midway. Not all the way beast but not anything I can name either. Like skin doesn’t fit right. Bones cracking under skin. He twitches, jerks, like he’s stuck between shapes. It’s—horrible. Wrong. He drops to one knee. Breath coming in heaves. Blood pools under him. I take a step back. Just one. And my heel catches gravel. The scrape is soft. Barely anything. But he hears it. The other one. The one still standing. He turns toward me. Slow. Like he knew I was there the whole time. Like he was waiting. And now I can see him. All of him. Shirtless. Chest slick with blood—not all his, I don’t think. He’s breathing hard. Steam curling from his mouth into the cold air. His hands hang at his sides, dripping. His fists—knuckles raw and red. But his face. Human. Almost. His eyes, though. Too sharp. Too bright. Glowing, almost. Gold under the streetlight. And he’s just staring. Right at me. He doesn’t move. Just—watches me. His chest rising. Falling. Steam still curling from his mouth. That glowing stare pinned right into mine like he’s seeing something I can’t. Or maybe not seeing me at all. I can’t look away. Don’t want to. Everything in me says to run. Every. Single. Thing. But my feet won’t. They’re locked to the ground like I’ve grown into the concrete. And still he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. His eyes… they don’t blink. They’re not normal. Even in the dark I can see it—something inside them hums. Like static. Or heat. Or violence that isn’t done yet. Time does something weird. It slows. But also speeds up. My breath comes too fast. But the alley stretches out long, like it’ll never end. I feel small. Like a kid again. Like I’m back in the woods at seven years old, hearing something in the trees I’m not supposed to hear. But I did hear it. And it never left. His gaze holds me there. Not soft. Not cruel. Just… unreadable. Detached, but not dead. Like if I took one more step, he’d— The body behind him groans. Low. Ragged. Wet. It breaks whatever this is between us. My knees almost give out. I swallow air like it’s water. Like it’ll help. It doesn’t. He still hasn’t looked away. And I still haven’t moved. But I know—know—if I stay here another second, I won’t get to leave. Not whole. Not right. The body groans again. Louder this time. I see it shift. Twitch. One arm trying to crawl somewhere. It's barely human. Too much hair along the back. Claws not fingers. The face torn open down one side. Eyes cloudy. Maybe blind. Maybe worse. The victor doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t check if the other one's alive. He already knows. He just watches me. Still. Like he's memorizing. Or maybe judging. The silence feels alive now. Heavy. Full of all the things neither of us is saying. My stomach twists hard. I feel sick. I don’t move. Then—wind. Just a breeze, but sharp. Cold. Carries the smell right to me. Iron. Blood. Smoke. Something burnt. Or maybe rotting. It hits the back of my throat like acid. I flinch. That does it. That snaps the spell. I turn. Run. Don’t think. Don’t look back. Just run like hell. My shoes slip a little on the wet concrete. I almost fall. Don’t care. The air is burning my lungs. I push harder. I expect to hear him behind me. Chasing. Or just walking slow but catching up anyway. But—nothing. Not a single footstep. Only my own breath. And silence. Still silence. I hit the street. Past the alley mouth. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t— Only when I see my apartment building do I slow. Just enough to fumble for my keys. My hands won’t stop shaking. They rattle against the lock. Slipping. Slipping again. I curse. Whisper it, over and over, like it’ll calm me down. He’s not there. I know that. But I feel him. Right behind my ribs. Like I brought part of him with me. Like that stare’s still inside me. Like I’m still his, somehow.