CHAPTER 22: CHAPTER 22

If there was an award for Most Sleep-Deprived Omega, I’d have it in my trembling little hands right now.

Last night’s "psycho Alpha in my bedroom at 3 a.m." special was still clawing at my nerves, and I’d decided that the only way to survive today was simple: avoid him at all costs. That meant no delivering breakfast, no brushing his coat, no standing within range of his terrifying voice outer or inner.

And so, I began The Great Avoidance Plan, step one: fake sickness. I sat up in my bed, rubbed my eyes for maximum red puffiness, and rehearsed my pitiful cough in the mirror.

"Haaack... huuuuhhhk... I think I’m dying..."

Yes. Perfect. Oscar-worthy.

The other omegas bought it instantly. By the time I dragged myself (slowly, dramatically) into the kitchen, clutching my stomach like I’d swallowed a brick, the gossip was already spreading.

"She’s sick!"

"She’s pale!"

"She’s paler than usual!"

Exactly as planned. I even added extra flair, letting my legs wobble and leaning dramatically on the counter.

"Oh no," I moaned loudly, "I guess I can’t... serve the Alpha today... so tragic..."

Step two: hide.

I slipped into the laundry room and wedged myself between two giant baskets of clean sheets. If I stayed quiet, no one would find me. The perfect white-sheet camouflage.

That lasted... about forty-five seconds. Before I heard it again

Inner Voice (close, too close): Playing dead, little toad? I can smell your pulse.

I froze. My mouth went dry.

NoNo, no, no, no, no—

With one swift kick the door creaked open. His shadow slid across the floor.

"Interesting hiding place," his outer voice said calmly. "Though I would’ve chosen somewhere less flammable.

"Imagine if the sheets caught fire. Would you run, or freeze? He said in his inner voice.

I shot out from between the baskets so fast I tripped over my own feet. "Just... checking laundry quality control!" I blurted. "All the sheets... very sheet-like. Good day!"

I bolted before he could say anything else.

Step three: the kitchens. Surely he wouldn’t follow me there too many people.

I crouched behind a tower of flour sacks, peeking out occasionally to make sure the coast was clear. My heart was still slamming from the laundry room ambush. The kitchen door swung open. Everyone went silent. The cooks parted like the Red Sea. He stepped inside.

"Found you again. He said in his inner voice. I could sense that he was amused. I bit my lip to stop from making a sound, but my pulse roared in my ears. He scanned the room, gaze sweeping lazily over the counters, the cooks, the shelves... then stopping exactly where I was hiding.

"Everyone else," he said aloud, "out."

The kitchen emptied in seconds. I was left crouching behind the flour sacks like a mouse that had just been noticed by a cat.

"Come out, Elie. Or I’ll drag you out.

I stood slowly, clutching a small sack of flour like it was a shield. "Just... baking something."

"Covered in flour?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yes. That’s how baking works," I said, voice squeaky.

" Next time you hide from me, I’ll make sure you can’t run at all. He said in his inner voice

The sack of flour slipped from my hands and burst on the floor. Mission failed again.

Step four: public hallway. If I stayed around other wolves, he couldn’t—

"Busy today?" His voice was right behind me.

I turned slowly. "Not really."

"Liar. You’ve been busy running from me since dawn. He said in his inner voice.

My laugh came out high-pitched. "Running? Noooo just... cardio for health purposes."

"Mm." His gaze swept over me, lingering just enough to make my skin crawl. "I’ll see you later."

Inner Voice (low, promising): Sooner than you think.

He walked away. My knees almost gave out. By late afternoon, I was convinced I’d finally shaken him. I darted through storage rooms, hid in the healer’s supply closet (accidentally inhaling too much herbal dust), and even pretended to be asleep in the stables.

No Alpha. No inner voice.

Relief washed over me when I reached my quarters. Finally. Safe.

I pushed the door open. My bed was exactly how I’d left it... except for the black leather glove sitting perfectly in the center of my pillow. Still warm.

"Took me longer than I like to get here. He said in his inner voice

I backed into the hallway, heart hammering so hard it hurt. If this was him being "patient," I wasn’t going to survive what came next.

The glove sat in the middle of my pillow like a warning.

Black leather, faintly creased, still warm as if it had been peeled from a hand just seconds ago. I stood frozen in the doorway, breathing too shallow, heart clawing up into my throat. I hadn’t heard the door open. I hadn’t smelled him. I hadn’t felt him. Yet he’d been here.

"Took me longer than I like to get here. He said in his inner voice he was sounding dangerously cold, like he was pleased with himself. My legs went cold, the sensation creeping upward until I had to grip the doorframe to keep from sinking to the floor. I didn’t answer. I didn’t dare answer.

"Not afraid of a glove, are you? He said in his inner voice teasingly.

I slammed the door shut. My hands shook so badly I fumbled the lock twice before it clicked into place. The room felt too small. The walls too close. I shoved the glove into the drawer of my nightstand, forcing the wood to rattle against its tracks, then sat on the bed, hugging my knees. I told myself I wouldn’t think about him. I wouldn’t give him space in my head. But of course, that was exactly what he wanted.

11:04 p.m.

I buried myself under the blanket, determined to ignore the restless shadows crawling across the walls. Sleep would make the hours pass faster. My eyelids were just starting to grow heavy when.

"Go on. Try to sleep. I’ll stay. He said in his inner voice.

"Oh God! I jolted upright, staring around the room.

No one there. Just me.

" At your door. At your window. At the foot of your bed. He said in his inner voice, now closer.

My chest rose and fell too fast.

"You’re not here," I whispered.

"Inner Voice (amused): Then why are you looking for me?

11:47 p.m.

Every time I started to drift, he spoke again. Short, deliberate sentences that burrowed under my skin.

"Inner Voice: You breathe too loudly when you sleep.

Inner Voice: That blanket won’t save you.

Inner Voice: I know exactly what you’re dreaming.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the timing. He waited until I was weightless in that first slide toward unconsciousness before cutting me open with a sentence. I tried earplugs. I pressed the pillow over my head until my ears ached. It didn’t matter. His voice wasn’t in the air. It was inside my skull.

12:32 a.m.

The first dream came. I was lying in bed, exactly as I had been, but the door was open. The glove sat on the pillow beside me, fingers curling on their own. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The glove slid toward me, leaving faint scorch marks on the sheet.

"Inner Voice (soft, almost coaxing): You’d be prettier if you didn’t fight so much.

I woke up choking, heart slamming so hard it made my ribs ache. My sheets were damp with sweat.

1:18 a.m.

He started playing with the line between dream and waking. I’d blink and the shadows on the wall would tilt, stretch into limbs, then vanish when I focused. Once, I felt fingers brush my ankle from under the blanket. I threw the covers off so fast I hit my knee on the bedframe. Nothing there.

"Inner Voice (mocking): You’re twitchy tonight.

I sat in the corner of the room, knees pulled to my chest, rocking slightly. My muscles felt like they’d been wired too tight.

2:04 a.m.

The dreams turned tactile.

I was in the forest, barefoot, moonlight silvering the ground. I could hear my own heartbeat echoing between the trees. He wasn’t visible. But I could feel him circling. Every time I turned, the rustle of leaves came from the opposite direction. When he finally spoke, it was so close to my ear that I felt the heat of his breath.

"Inner Voice (low): Run.

I did. My legs pumped, lungs burning. No matter how far I went, the sound of his footsteps stayed exactly two paces behind me.

Something sharp caught my wrist. The dream fractured into white heat and I woke up screaming.

3:12 a.m.

I tried counting backwards from a hundred. I tried thinking of the ocean.

Inner Voice: Blue water. Red water. Which do you prefer?

I covered my ears, muttering, "Not real, not real, not real," over and over.

Inner Voice (pleased): Then why do you flinch?

4:01 a.m.

At some point, my eyelids grew too heavy to fight.

I dreamed I was lying on my stomach, wrists pinned above my head, a heavy weight pressing into my back. I could feel the fabric of his coat against my bare arms, the scent of his skin so close it clogged my throat.

His hand slid over my neck not choking, not gentle either.

"Inner Voice (warm, dangerous): I could break you in a heartbeat.

The weight disappeared. I rolled over to see nothing but the ceiling of my own room, morning light leaking through the curtains.

6:00 a.m.

When I woke for real, my body felt hollow. Every bone ached. My skin crawled like something had been crawling under it all night. The glove was back on the pillow. This time, it wasn’t warm.

"Inner Voice (quiet, final): Sleep well, little toad.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat had closed up. Because I knew this wasn’t over. This crazy psycho is bent on making my life a living hell.