Chapter 4 Something Is Wrong With Me
1325 Words
Leila
The motel room still smells like sweat and his cologne after he left.
I sit on the edge of the bed staring at the card he left behind.
No name.
Just a number.
My thumb runs across the smooth edge like it might suddenly explain the last twelve hours of my life.
It doesn’t.
Of course it doesn’t.
“Get a grip, Leila,” I mutter to myself.
I toss the card onto the table and stand, stretching my arms over my head. Every muscle in my body protests. My thighs ache. My neck aches.
Even my damn ribs feel sore.
I glance at the bed like it personally offended me.
“Yeah,” I say under my breath. “That was stupid.”
One reckless night.
That was the plan.
I needed to forget the eviction notice taped to my apartment door. Needed to forget my bank account that looked like it had been mugged by life.
Needed to forget that the world had been kicking me in the teeth since I was eighteen.
So I walked into a bar.
Like a genius.
And I met him.
Rowan.
The name slips through my head before I can stop it.
Victor…Victor.
Except something about the way he said that name felt… off.
Like I would soon come to regret it.
I shake the thought away and grab my jeans from the floor.
“Not My problem,” I tell the empty room.
I dress quickly, stuffing my hair into a messy bun and splashing cold water on my face in the tiny bathroom sink.
My reflection looks like someone who made terrible life choices.
My lips are swollen.
My eyes still look dazed.
I groan and grab a paper towel.
“Pull it together.”
Outside, the morning air is cool and sharp.
The parking lot is almost empty except for two dusty trucks and a rusted vending machine humming like it’s on life support.
No dangerous strangers leaning against cars with arrogant smiles.
Good.
Perfect.
Exactly how this was supposed to end.
I start walking toward the road.
And then it hits me.
Not a thought.
A feeling.
My stomach twists suddenly, sharp and violent.
“Whoa.”
I grab the hood of a car as nausea slams into me like a truck.
My vision blurs.
“What the hell…”
The feeling passes as quickly as it came, leaving me dizzy and irritated.
I stand there for a moment, breathing slowly.
“That’s new.”
Maybe it’s the cheap whiskey from last night.
Or the gas station tacos I ate at two in the morning.
Yeah.
That makes sense.
I straighten up and keep walking.
Still, something feels… off.
Like my body is running on a slightly different rhythm than yesterday.
My skin feels too warm.
My hearing feels sharper.
The sound of a semi truck miles down the road hums through the air like it’s right beside me.
I stop walking.
“…okay that’s weird.”
I’ve always had decent instincts.
But this?
This feels like someone turned the volume of the world.
A crow flaps from a telephone pole and the sound of its wings makes my head snap toward it.
My heart starts beating faster.
The air smells different too.
Sharper, Richer.
I inhale again slowly.
Oil from the highway.
Old rubber.
Something metallic.
And..
Leather.
My heart skips.
I spin around.
Nothing behind.
Just the empty motel parking lot behind me.
I laugh quietly.
“You’re losing it.”
Clearly I need coffee.
And maybe therapy.
I reach the small convenience store across the road and push the door open.
A tiny bell rings above me.
Inside smells like stale chips and burned coffee.
Perfect.
A middle-aged cashier barely glances up from a magazine.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
I grab the biggest coffee cup they have and fill it.
Then I add sugar.
And more sugar.
Then a little more because life is suffering.
As I lift the cup to my lips, something on the television above the counter catches my eye.
Local news.
A reporter stands outside a massive iron gate.
Behind her, motorcycles and a fleet of cars line a long gravel road leading toward a fortress of black stone buildings on a mountain in the forest.
My stomach drops.
The words on the screen read:
TIMBERWOLF PACK TERRITORY
The reporter continues talking.
“sources confirm that Alpha Elias Timberwolf will be appearing publicly tonight at the council gathering despite ongoing political pressure regarding the future of the Timberwolf bloodline.”
The camera cuts to a photo.
And suddenly the coffee in my hand feels like it weighs fifty pounds.
Because the man on the screen…
Is him.
The man from last night.
The dangerous stranger from the bar.
The one whose mouth still burns on my lips.
But the name under the photo isn’t Victor.
It reads:
ELIAS TIMBERWOLF
ALPHA OF THE TIMBERWOLF PACK
My pulse starts pounding in my ears.
“No way,” I whisper.
The reporter keeps talking.
“long rumored to be infertile after a medical complication years ago, Alpha Timberwolf has yet to produce an heir. Political analysts believe this could destabilise pack leadership”.
The cashier snorts.
“Guy’s scary as hell,” he mutters. “Nobody’s gonna challenge that psycho.”
I barely hear him.
My mind is spinning.
Alpha.
Pack.
Infertile.
The man I spent the night with is some kind of… what?
Wolf king?
Cult leader?
Crime boss?
What the hell is a pack?
I set the coffee down slowly.
My heart beats harder with every second.
Then the nausea hits again.
Harder this time.
I grab the counter.
“Oh god.”
“Bathroom’s back there,” the cashier says without looking up.
I rush toward the door and barely make it before my stomach revolts.
After a minute I rinse my mouth and stare at myself in the mirror again.
My face looks pale.
Shocked.
Confused.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Think.”
You slept with a man you don’t know.
Who apparently runs some biker s***h wolf empire.
And the news just said he’s sterile.
I splash water on my face again.
“This is insane.”
There’s no way last night mattered to someone like him.
Men like this Elias Timberwolf don’t remember girls like me.
They definitely don’t chase them.
Good.
That’s good.
Perfect actually.
Because I don’t need complicated.
I need rent money.
I need stability.
I need….
Another wave of dizziness rolls through me.
I grip the sink.
“What is wrong with me today?”
My body feels like something is buzzing under my skin.
Like electricity is hiding in my veins.
I press my palm against my stomach.
Something deep inside me twists faintly.
Not pain.
Just… something.
A strange warmth.
I shake my head.
“Enough.”
I grab my bag and walk out of the store.
Back onto the road.
Back toward my life.
I don’t look at the television again.
I don’t look at the motel behind me.
And I definitely don’t think about the man with the cold eyes and dangerous smile.
Because that night is over.
Finished.
Done.
I don’t belong in the world of Alphas, packs and politics.
I’m just Leila Marshall.
Broke.
Ordinary.
Invisible.
So I keep walking.
And I never notice the black SUV parked half a mile down the road.
Or the two men inside watching me carefully.
One of them lowers binoculars slowly.
His voice is quiet.
“That’s her.”
The driver exhales.
“You’re sure?”
The man nods.
“Positive.”
A long silence fills the car.
Then the driver pulls out a phone.
“Call Alpha Elias,” he says.
His tone turns grim.
“He needs to know about the woman from last night.”
Because neither of them knows yet…
That the impossible had finally become possible.
- Writer
