Alpha Steel: Kidnapped For Christmas

CH.5 – What slipped between breaths

Chapter Five – What slipped between breaths

Olivia’s Point of View

Morning didn’t arrive so much as seep in.

It slid through the thin motel curtains in colorless bands, settling on the ceiling like something undecided. The heater rattled, coughed, then fell silent again, leaving behind a quiet that pressed too close to my ears. I lay there staring upward, counting the cracks I’d memorized over the past few nights, waiting for my chest to loosen.

It didn’t.

My phone rested on the nightstand where I’d left it, screen dark, unmoving. Idris’s card lay beside it, pristine and white against the scarred wood. I hadn’t meant to keep it there—hadn’t meant to put it anywhere so close to me—but sometime in the night it must’ve ended up there anyway.

Like everything else lately.

I turned onto my side and dragged the blanket higher, the fabric scratchy and thin. The room smelled faintly of detergent and old air, like someone else’s life that had never quite moved out. I squeezed my eyes shut.

*Sleep, mate.*

The memory of his voice surfaced unbidden—low, controlled, wrapped in certainty. It tightened something deep in my chest, made my skin feel warm and exposed all at once. I hated that it still did that. Hated that it lingered in the quiet moments when I wasn’t actively trying to survive the next one.

I exhaled slowly and pushed myself upright.

The shower offered water that couldn’t decide what temperature it wanted to be, but I welcomed the sting anyway. I stood there longer than necessary, forehead pressed to cool tile, letting the sound of the spray drown out my thoughts. When I finally stepped out, my reflection stared back at me—eyes tired but sharper somehow, like they’d learned something even if I hadn’t yet.

I dressed carefully. Jeans. Boots. A thick sweater that made me feel less breakable. The elf costume stayed folded on the chair, bells silent, watching me like an accusation.

My phone buzzed as I reached for my bag.

Once.

Then again.

I froze.

Unknown number.

I didn’t need to open it to know who it was, but my thumb moved anyway. only i would text someone and not save their number.

*Good morning, little elf. I hope the night treated you kindly.*

My heart gave a traitorous little leap. I stared at the screen until the words blurred, then typed a reply and erased it. Typed another. Erased that too.

Me:

I survived.

The reply came almost instantly.

*Then the day is already winning.*

*May I steal ten minutes of your morning? Coffee. No pressure.*

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding before texting him back …

*I start work soon.*

*All the more reason,* he sent back. *I’m outside.*

My brows knit together. Outside where?

I crossed the room and pulled the curtain aside just enough to peek through.

He was leaning against a black SUV that looked far too polished for the motel lot, hands tucked into his coat pockets, posture relaxed but alert. Snow dusted the hood lightly, melting the moment it touched the warm metal. When his gaze lifted and met mine through the glass, his mouth curved—not into a grin, but something quieter. Something patient.

Something in my stomach dipped.

I locked the door behind me anyway.

The air outside was sharp, biting at my cheeks as I approached. Up close, Idris smelled faintly of clean wool and something woodsy beneath it. Cedar, maybe. He straightened as I stopped in front of him, eyes warm and steady.

“Morning,” he said.

“You don’t waste time,” I replied.

“I try not to,” he said. “Especially when it matters.”

The café was warm and cluttered, mismatched chairs crowded around small tables, Christmas garlands drooping like they’d given up days ago. Idris ordered before I could protest—coffee with cream and a single sugar—and slid it toward me across the table.

I stared at it. “You guessed.”

“I listened,” he said simply.

Steam curled upward, fogging the space between us. Outside, snow began to fall in earnest, soft and thick, the world blurring at the edges.

Conversation came easily. Too easily. He didn’t push when I grew quiet, didn’t pry when I deflected with humor. When I laughed, his eyes followed the sound like it mattered. When I paused, lost in thought, he waited without filling the silence.

“You look different today,” he said eventually.

“Different how?” I asked.

“Like someone who’s stopped apologizing for existing.”

I snorted softly. “That’s generous.”

“Accurate,” he corrected.

The word *accurate* settled into me, warm and unsettling all at once.

When he dropped me off at work, he didn’t linger. Just held the door open and said, “Be careful today.”

“I’ll try not to get trampled by holiday cheer,” I replied.

His smile softened. “I meant what I said.”

I felt his gaze follow me as I walked away.

The mall was loud and bright and relentless. Christmas music blared from hidden speakers, parents rushed, children squealed. I tied the bells back onto my costume and stepped into character, smiling until my cheeks ached. It was easy to pretend. It always had been.

But my thoughts wandered.

To green eyes that watched instead of consumed.

To steel-grey ones that lingered just beyond reach.

By the end of my shift, my feet throbbed and my smile felt stitched on. Snow coated the sidewalks outside in thick white layers, the city softened and muted beneath it. I pulled my coat tighter and checked my phone.

*I’m nearby,* Idris texted. *Let me take you home.*

I hesitated.

The rideshare app spun lazily on my screen, buffering like it was weighing my options right along with me.

I cancelled it.

Idris was waiting at the curb, engine idling. He stepped out to open the door, shielding me from the snow with his body as I climbed inside. The warmth hit immediately, the faint scent of cedar returning.

We drove in comfortable silence at first, city lights streaking past the windows.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a while.

“So are you.”

“Long day?”

I nodded. “Long week.”

His fingers tightened briefly on the steering wheel. “Those tend to reveal things.”

The motel slipped past on the right.

I blinked. “Idris—you missed the turn.”

“I know.”

My pulse quickened. “Then where are we going?”

He didn’t answer right away. The road narrowed, streetlights thinning until trees closed in on either side, their branches heavy with snow.

“I want to show you something,” he said finally. “Somewhere quieter.”

A knot formed low in my stomach. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“No,” he said gently. “But I think you’ll understand once you see it.”

I reached for the door handle.

It didn’t budge.

A soft click echoed through the car as the locks engaged.

My breath caught. “Idris.”

“You’re safe,” he said calmly. “I promise.”

“That’s not comforting,” I whispered.

The forest thickened, darkness pressing in. My phone showed no signal. Of course it didn’t.

Snow crunched beneath the tires as the car turned onto a private road. Iron gates emerged ahead, tall and imposing, their black surface dusted white. They began to open slowly, metal groaning like something waking from sleep.

My heart hammered against my ribs, every instinct screaming at once.

“Please,” I said, my voice thin. “Just take me back.”

He glanced at me then, really looked—and for a moment, something like regret flickered across his face.

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

The gates closed behind us with a final, echoing clang.

Steel and shadow swallowed the road ahead, and as the car moved deeper into the dark, one terrifying realization settled into my bones:

Whatever waited for me beyond this point, it had been approaching long before I ever noticed the teeth behind the tinsel.

The road beyond narrowed further, swallowed by towering trees and shadow. The headlights carved pale tunnels through the dark, but everything outside them felt thick—close—like the night was leaning in.

Then the air changed.

It wasn’t immediate. Not sharp. Just… different.

I inhaled and frowned, my chest tightening before I even understood why. The scent was soft, almost gentle—lavender, of all things. Clean. Familiar. Completely wrong.

My stomach rolled.

The smell grew heavier with every breath, curling into my lungs, clinging there. Warmth spread through my chest and down my arms, slow and invasive, like honey poured into my veins.

“Idris,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound like mine. It came out thin, frayed at the edges. “I— I feel strange.”

My fingers twitched in my lap. Then I trembled.

The world tilted.

My head swam as if the car had suddenly veered, though the road stayed steady. The trees outside blurred, their dark shapes stretching and smearing together. I swallowed hard, panic blooming sharp and instant in my chest.

Too fast.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I reached for the door handle again, yanking this time, desperation lending me strength for half a second—just long enough to feel it refuse me.

Locked.

My pulse spiked, hammering so hard it hurt. I sucked in another breath without thinking.

The lavender deepened.

It coated the inside of my mouth, my throat, my lungs. Each inhale felt thicker than the last, like breathing through silk soaked in something heavy and sweet.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no—”

My limbs went weak, the strength bleeding out of them all at once. My hands slipped uselessly from the door, falling back into my lap like they didn’t belong to me anymore. Pins and needles raced up my arms, then faded into numbness.

My heart was still racing—wild, frantic—but the rest of me was slowing, dragging, sinking.

Fight.

The word screamed through my head.

I dug my nails into my palm, hard enough that I knew I should feel pain. I barely did. The sensation was distant, dulled, like it was happening to someone else.

“Stop the car,” I tried to say.

It came out slurred.

Terror flooded me, hot and absolute. My breath hitched as I forced my eyes open wider, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on anything—dashboard lights, the curve of the windshield, the shape of Idris’s hands on the steering wheel.

They were steady.

Too steady.

My vision darkened at the edges, black creeping inward in slow, suffocating waves. I shook my head weakly, but it felt too heavy to lift properly, my neck refusing to cooperate.

Stay awake.

I tried to move again. My legs didn’t respond. My arms felt weighted, pinned, as if gravity had suddenly doubled just for me.

The lavender was everywhere now.

It filled my nose, my mouth, my thoughts. Wrapped around my panic until even that began to blur, stretching thin, slipping through my grasp.

My chest burned as I struggled for air that refused to feel real.

I fought.

God, I fought.

I tried to scream, to thrash, to *do something*—but my body betrayed me, muscles going slack one by one, my heartbeat the only thing still crashing wildly against the cage of my ribs.

Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes, hot and useless, sliding back toward my hairline as my head lolled against the seat.

The last thing I felt was the awful contradiction of it all—my mind screaming *run*, *fight*, *don’t let go*—while my body sank, heavy and obedient, into the darkness.

Lavender.

Then nothing.