Guarded by the Alpha

Chapter 2

(Elena’s POV)

I squinted down at the crumpled papers in my sweaty hands as I sat on the hot, plastic bench waiting for the bus. Mom is going to kill me; I couldn’t help but think as I scrutinized the items that I had stolen from the shoebox in my mother’s closet just the night before this trip.

In my hands, I saw the relics of her past: old Polaroid photos, journal entries in scribbled handwriting, and love letters written in a language I didn’t quite understand – Bulgarian, I assumed, knowing the little that I did about my father. All that my mother had ever told me about the father I have never known is that they had a passionate romance in the spring, 18 years ago, in Thessaloniki, after meeting at some beach hut. My mom was young, wild, and free – enjoying a solo trip after graduating college a few months early. Imagining my mom doing anything even remotely crazy was nearly impossible now, knowing how conservative she was with my parenting. I would never hold it against her, though – she gave me an amazing childhood for having been a single parent. I sighed, thinking about how my decisions would likely complicate our relationship forever.

I ran my fingers over a yellowed, old photo of the same beach bar I had heard about from my mother’s stories – or at least, I hoped it was the same beach bar. The messy handwriting on the back of the photo read “Angelochori Beach,” which was only 90 minutes away by bus, according to my extensive research.

As if on command, a bus slowly screeched to stop right before my eyes. I heard the air, hot and stale, hiss out of the tires as it parked. I stood up, embarrassingly aware of the fact that my thighs had stuck to the plastic of the hot chair and walked up the few steps and onto the bus. The bus driver gave me a strange look, clearly confused as to why I was boarding, but quickly went back to minding his own business. I chose a seat in the middle of the bus and finally took my hair out of the ball cap to cool down.

As I settled into my seat, I continued to review the articles of my mom’s past. The picture I continued to revisit was the one of my father. The resemblance between us was still so striking, I couldn’t help but be surprised every time I looked at it.

For all the fairness of my mother – with hair as white blonde as winter and skin that was as white as a new page, my father was her complete opposite. His hair was as black as ink, his skin was olive – the skin of someone who spent every moment outside. Most distinctive of all – his thoughtful, brown eyes, deep and rich. His teeth were strikingly white against his brown skin, and his smile was warm and inviting.

While I did have my mother’s blonde hair, it was a different kind of blonde. Not the typical California blonde, or the pixie-like blonde of my mother, but a darker, warmer blonde. Everything else of mine was my father’s, almost alien in comparison to the blonde hair. My skin was olive like my fathers, and we had the same eyes, and the same expression in photos.

These thoughts suddenly brought on a feeling of moroseness and dread. I truly have no idea what I am getting myself into. This man, who I already felt I knew, may not be at this beach bar. People may not know who he is, or where he came from. He may not be in this city, this country, or even this continent. Worst of all, he may not even be alive. The realization truly hits me: I’ve risked so much in my life, and it may not be worth it.

Well, now I’ve worked myself into a fine dark mood. I looked down at the photo in my lap, and I once again felt a strong impulse to the man in the photo. I know he’s there somewhere, and I know I’m going to find him.

And this beach hut is the first – and only – place to start. My mother had said she had met some girlfriends at the hostel she had been staying at, and one night, they decided to make their way to a tiny little beach bar, a bar that didn’t even have a name. It was virtually a hut made of sticks on the very eastern edge of the beach, past all the mainstream restaurants, bars, and clubs. From the picture, everyone at the beach bar seemed shockingly… attractive. I’m not sure if that’s a Greek thing, but the bar seemed to be packed with large, olive-skinned, tall, large, built men – just like my father. So, looks like all I have to do is venture the beach and find a hut full of large handsome men. Got it. Easy enough!

Suddenly, I felt the bus jolt to a stop. Wow – 90 minutes really goes fast when you’re having an anxiety spiral. I gathered my things and departed the bus. And just as quickly as the bus stopped, the bus was then on its way. I looked at my surroundings, and back down at my written instructions – directions on how to get to the very same hostel where my mom’s journey started. It was only a half a mile down the road, so off I went.

And just 10 minutes later, I was at the hostel. It certainly wasn’t anything special: just a small building with a handful of group rooms, enough for maybe 40 people total to stay at one time. The older woman behind the desk, old enough to be my grandmother, looked at me and immediately gasped like she had seen a ghost.

“Are you okay?” I asked, frightened for her. Was it someone behind me? I turned around, but I was the only other person in the small lobby. When I looked back at the woman, she immediately looked down at her computer, hands shaking.

“Yes, yes… here you go, room 3. Are you comfortable staying in a co-ed room? That’s all that has room, I’m afraid.” The old woman could not look me in the eye, and her hand was still shaking as she handed me a small key.

“That’s fine with me. Is there anything I can… help you with? You seem worried.” I asked again.

“No, no, dear… have a wonderful stay with us. How long will you be staying?” She added at the end, warily.

“I’m not sure yet, but at least for 3 days.” I responded. “Thank you for the key. I won’t be any trouble.” The woman just nodded as I walked away.

I slowly made my way to the third floor, taking the stairs. I looked for the room marked #3 and opened the room with the key once I found it. The room was modest, with 4 sets of bunk beds and a big window facing the west, which allowed for the beautiful sunset to shine through. I walked over, almost impulsively, not under my own control, to watch the sunset. I touched my fingers to the window, almost wanting to touch the beauty, to feel the warmth in my hand. And then, ruining the one moment of peace and bliss that I have had in the past 12 hours, someone cleared their throat.

I whipped around, surprised at myself for being so caught up in my momentary trance. Standing in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space, was an absolute god of a man. At least 6’3, and an unexpected head of light blonde hair and freckles against dark tanned skin. As my eyes traveled down his body, it was hard not to notice that he was shirtless. Immediately I focused my eyes back to his face. Damn, they don’t make them like this in San Diego, that’s for sure.

He smirked, clearly pleased with my assessment, and cleared his throat again.

“Like what you see?” Ugh, he’s arrogant – I automatically deducted a point from his score. But a 9/10 isn’t too bad, is it?

“I was actually enjoying the sunset, until you rudely interrupted,” I said, with more gusto than I thought I even had. As I spoke the words, I realized that this was really the first conversation I’ve ever had with a real-life boy. How pathetic.

“Riiiight. Okay. Are you my new roommate?”

I gulped. And then I heard the old woman’s voice again, “Are you comfortable staying in a co-ed room? That’s all that has room, I’m afraid.” Goddamn it. I had to share a room with Adonis himself?

“I guess so. Are there others?”

He gestured around the room, as if to say, “Do you see anyone else?” Without saying so. I did as he gestured and did indeed notice that there were no other bags, and no other people.

“Got it. No others. Which bed is yours?” I asked him. He took the liberty of striding across the room in 3 long, lithe steps, and proceeded to sit down on a bed on the left side of the room. As soon as he did so, I sat on a bed on the most opposite side of the room from him. From there, I opened up the little locker underneath the bed, placed my backpack inside, and closed it up for safekeeping. Not that there would be much to protect - just the clothes I wore on the airplane and a few measly dollars. All the valuables – the tokens of my mother’s past that would help me solve my mystery, were on my person.

“A little shy, there?” the handsome stranger asked.

“Nope, just trying to get something done. A little busy over here, you know?” I responded as brusquely as possible. There was something about this man that put me on edge, and it wasn’t his good looks. There was something about him that seemed a little… off. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Can I help you get that something done?” There goes that smirk again.

“It’s kind of a one-woman job. But thank you for the warm welcome, appreciate it.” And with that, I turned on my foot and walked out the door.

I found myself back in the lobby with the old woman at the front desk. I showed her the picture of the hut.

“Is this still around? Do you know where I might find it? Please, it’s very important.”

She looked me deep in the eye, very confused. Honestly, she seemed surprised I was asking her. 

“You… you don’t know? You’ve never been?”

“No. But I need to know. It is very important. Please? Does it still exist?”

“Yes, yes. Do you have a map?”

I handed her the map, and she very urgently took out her red Sharpie and drew out for me a path through the center of Angelochori Beach. “There is no real walking path,” she spoke to me under her breath, as if to keep this a secret, even though there was no one else around, “but if you follow your instincts, you should be able to find you way.”

Follow my instincts? What does that mean? I looked down at the map, and the woman’s route seemed to make enough sense, so before I lost too much daylight, I decided to just trust what was in front of me and head out. I snatched the map off the desk, thanked the woman briefly, and went on my way.

Since the hostel was just a block from the beach, it wasn’t long until my toes were sinking in sand. The map indicated I would only be about a 2-mile walk, so I should be at the beach hut in less than an hour. I looked pessimistically up at the sky, frowning at its gloomy appearance. Night would definitely be falling shortly; I definitely wouldn’t make it to the bar before then, but I could try to make as much ground as I could. I trekked on.

Not twenty minutes later did night officially fall. All I could see was black; there was nothing to help light the way. I knew the phone in my back pocket was dead, so I couldn’t use that flashlight. My eyes tried desperately to adjust to the light, but it was useless. How could it be so dark? I tried to turn around to walk back to the hostel; I could try again tomorrow. But it was nearly impossible to discern what direction I was going in. I picked up my pace, hoping to reach solid ground sooner, but all I could feel on my feet was now cold sand. All of a sudden, my foot hit a hidden root deep in the sand and I went down, hard.

Panic overtakes me.

(Mystery POV)

After hours of whining, Thor suddenly howls in the very front of my mind and demands to be let out. He is absolutely unrelenting, and neither is my human form. I urgently stand up out of my bar chair.

“Mate.” Thor said, frantically.

What?

And then Thor continues to howl devastatingly, and I realize that something must be wrong.

Is my mate in trouble? Is she hurt?

Thor did not answer. He continued to howl, and I moved with intention, not knowing what I would be faced with, but moving instinctively, nonetheless. Her smell starts to hit me, like a battering ram. She smells warm and rich, like vanilla and cinnamon. Like the sweetness and affection I’ve always needed. But it’s tinted with fear and anxiety. I push forward, propelled by the need of my wolf.

(Elena POV)

“You need a hand?” A familiar, somewhat smug voice called out. I immediately recognized it as the stranger’s from my room. I mean, I had only just spoken to him some 30 minutes ago.

“Is that who I think it is?”

A chuckle from the stranger. “Just accept the help, okay? You’re kind of a mess right now.”

Even in the dark, I pouted and crossed my arms over my chest. “Don’t rub it in, okay?” And then I reached my hand out, hoping he somehow would be able to see it. But for some reason, he had no problem finding it, as if the darkness wasn’t a problem. He was able to pull me up from under the root and onto my feet almost immediately. The pressure on my right foot was unbelievable; I had definitely twisted it badly.

“Ouch.” I muttered under my breath but pressed on. “OUCH!” I yelled. Again, almost magically, the man was on my right side, pulling my arm over his shoulders.

“Use me as a crutch. We’re not too far out.”

Although this guy still put me on edge, I couldn’t go without his help at this point. I steadied myself by putting my weight on him, and we carried on in silence. He was moving us very efficiently; we were back at the street in the half time it took me on the way to the beach. When I tried to disengage, he shook his finger at me, like he was scolding a toddler.

“Nuh-uh. Not ‘til you’re back to the room, safe and sound.”

This statement, which should have been reassuring, put my stomach into knots. But because his hand was placed firmly around my waist, there was no way I’d be able to avoid this. Hopefully I can make a break for it when we get back to the room, I thought to myself.

The woman at the front desk was not there when we got back to the hostel, so the man swept me up into his arms as we entered the lobby. I yelped out of surprise and was met with the widest grin yet from the man. I attempted to avoid eye contact for the rest of the trip up to the room, hands tensed and feet ready to spring once they touched the ground. I don’t feel good about this…

Finally, after what seems like forever, he kicks open the door for the room, takes a few steps in, and gently sets me down.

“Thank you,” I say as I slowly make my way to my corner of the bedroom and sit down on the bed. Instead of going to his bed, however, the stranger follows me and sits on the bed directly across from me, starting intently at my form, saying nothing in response. Just as slowly, I reach down to unlock my locker and grab my bag. The stranger’s eyes follow my every move. Once I have my bag in hand, I stand up and make my first step towards the door.

Like an apparition, he appears violently in a flash directly in front of me, noses only an inch away from each other. His breath is warm in my face.

“Where are you going, huh?” He sneers. In the same motion, he corners me into the far wall and slams both his hands on either side of my face against the bricks.

“Just… just…”

“You’re not going anywhere. I decided that when you first walked into the room. That smell…”

What?!

“You know what you are?” He continued; his eyes boring into mine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! Please, get away from me!” My fear spikes, adrenaline rushing through every pore in my body. It’s as if there is a second being in my trying to claw out, to defend myself. I wonder if it’s my fight or flight reflex; but neither of those options are available to me. This man is double my size, and he has me cornered.

“Who sent you here? Where is your pack? Where is your compound?” Is this guy on drugs? What is he talking about?

“Please, please let me go. I don’t understand!” I yelp, tears springing to my eyes.

He leans down and presses his nose into my collarbone, inhaling deeply, and then grazing his teeth up against a spot on my neck. “Well,” he says, “My wolf isn’t telling me anything, so I don’t think you’re… mine. But… I’m not sure I can resist the temptation.”

I close my eyes. The last thing I remember before it all goes black is a door busting down.