CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 34

By the time I made it to my room, my legs were jelly. My pulse thudded in my ears, drowning out every other sound, but I still kept glancing over my shoulder half-expecting to see him there, half-knowing I wouldn’t have time to scream if he was. The latch clicked down with a shaky little snap. The chair screeched across the floor as I shoved it up under the handle, the wood trembling in my grip. Then I just stood there, staring at the door, barely breathing. My fingers tingled from gripping the chair too hard. My whole body felt too small to contain my heartbeat.

His Inner Voice: (low, amused): There it is. The little ritual. Chair under the handle. Pulse in your throat.

I swallowed. "Not listening," I whispered to no one.

His Inner Voice: (silky): You’re always listening, Elie.

I forced myself into motion, pacing the small space like a caged animal. One, two, three... turn. One, two, three... turn. Every time my heel hit that one uneven floorboard, I imagined it creaking under someone else’s weight.

I flicked my gaze to the lamp. The pool of warm light was the only thing keeping my spine from locking up entirely. Darkness was his element and I refused to give him that advantage.

Hi Inner Voice: (mock concern): You think light will save you? Light just makes it easier for me to see your face when you break.

I turned the lamp down just a little. Not for him. For me. To make the corners dim enough that maybe he wouldn’t see me so clearly if No. Stop. Don’t finish that thought. I sat on the bed with my blanket pulled tight around my knees like a child again, hiding from the monster under the bed. Except my monster didn’t crawl. My monster walked straight through doors without knocking. I kept telling myself to stay awake. To keep counting my breaths. One, two, three... Somewhere between thirty and forty, my numbers started slipping. The blanket got heavier. My eyes dragged shut.

When I opened them again, I wasn’t in bed. Cold stone bit into my bare feet. My breath fogged in the air. The corridor stretched out in both directions, dim and endless. Behind me, my door stood open a crack, a thin stripe of yellow light spilling out onto the floor.

His Inner Voice: That’s better.

My stomach dropped. I turned slowly and there he was. The crazy psycho. He stood at the far end of the hall, a darker shadow inside the dark, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. I froze. My body locked in place, every nerve screaming don’t move. Then he started walking. Very slowly. Just... certain.

His Inner Voice: (predatory): Your pulse is stuttering. Makes it harder to run, little toad.

I forced my legs to back up, inching toward the light from my door. My heel touched the threshold. Safety was one step away The door slammed shut.

I flinched so hard my teeth clicked. "No..."

He kept coming, each step measured. Moonlight from the narrow windows washed over him in strips, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the cold glint in his eyes. I turned and ran. But It didn’t matter. Every corner I rounded, every hall I darted down, he was already there sometimes ahead of me, sometimes behind.

His Inner Voice: (low chuckle): Four runs tonight. Should we make it five?

I spun in place. "Leave me alone!"

Shouting didn’t wake me.

The air shifted behind me.

A hand closed around my wrist hot, unyielding, and so strong I felt my bones grind together. I gasped, twisting, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

His Inner Voice: (soft, dangerous): I warned you what happens when you run.

He yanked me forward so fast I slammed into his chest. My cheek hit leather. His scent dark, cold air over something raw filled my lungs until I couldn’t breathe anything else. His grip slid from my wrist to the back of my neck, fingers curling around the base of my skull. Steering me.

The corridor narrowed. The stones here were older, rougher, and smelled faintly of damp.

"You’re hurting me," I said, voice cracking.

He didn’t answer with words anyone else could hear.

Inner Voice: (dark, satisfied): Good. You’ll remember better if it hurts.

He stopped at a door I’d never seen before. Heavy wood. Iron bands. No handle on the outside. One push, and it swung inward without a sound.

The room beyond was... wrong. No windows. No lamps. Just the faint spill of hallway light over the threshold. The air was colder here, heavier. The walls seemed to lean in. He stepped inside first, still holding my neck, guiding me in like I was nothing more than a stray animal he’d decided to pen.

Hi Inner Voice: (soft, coaxing): In you go.

I shook my head. "No—" but He pushed me forward. Not hard enough to knock me down, but enough to make me stumble a few steps inside. The door shut behind us with a sound like finality.

I turned back to him. "What is this place?" But he didn’t answer. He just leaned back against the door, watching me with the kind of focus that made my skin feel too tight.

His Inner Voice (low, curling): Mine.

My mouth went dry. "You can’t—"

Three steps, and he was in front of me, tilting my face up with a firm grip under my chin.

His Inner Voice: (predatory amusement): Still fighting. Good.

My thoughts tangled panic knotted with something I didn’t want to name.

"I want to wake up," I whispered.

He leaned close enough for his words to graze my lips. "Who said you’re dreaming?"

Before I could answer, his other arm snaked around my waist, hauling me flush against him. My breath hitched.

Hi Inner Voice: (satisfied): Now you understand.

The air in the room thickened. My vision blurred at the edges. When it cleared, I was back in my bed. The lamp still burned. The chair was still against the door. But my blanket smelled faintly of leather. And my wrist where his fingers had gripped bore the red imprint of his hand.

I yanked the covers up to my chin, my whole body shaking.

His Inner Voice: (soft, lingering): I’m hungry.

"I–I will cook right away, Alpha," I heard myself say, even though my voice sounded like someone else’s. Thin. Brittle. The kind that would snap if he pushed too hard.

He looked at me with shock written all over his face.

Inner voice: how does she know that I’m hungry?"

But I didn’t wait for him to give permission. I moved. Not too fast too fast would make it look like I was running from him, and running never ended well. But not slow either, because that would mean I was making him wait. And waiting made him bored.

And boredom in psycho Alpha Zach was worse than anger.

"Look at her shuffle away like a little wind-up toy. I should wind her up more often. Maybe tighten her until she squeaks. In his inner voice.

His voice wasn’t in my headit was just him, talking without moving his lips. That strange, quiet murmur that always came from somewhere just behind me, too close to the back of my neck. I hated it. It crawled into my ears whether I wanted it to or not. I reached the kitchen, my hands already trembling before I even touched anything. The tiles under my feet felt too loud, every step echoing in the silence. I didn’t need to turn around to know he was there.

"Little omega thinks if she keeps her eyes down, I’ll forget she’s shaking. I see every twitch. Every breath. Every heartbeat trying to run away from me. He said in his inner voice.

My fingers fumbled with the cabinet door, and it banged too loudly against the frame. I froze, pulse stuttering. Behind me, his footsteps were soft. Too soft. Like a hunter walking through snow.

"What will you make?" he asked, not out loud. Just that smooth inner voice, a voice that could’ve been seductive if it didn’t sound like he was planning to eat me with the food.

"I swallowed. "S-soup, Alpha. And bread. Quickly."

"Quickly, she says. I like that word. I like when she tries so hard, thinking she’s saving herself a little pain. hehehe. But I have never tasted her soup, I hope it’s not flavorless like the one’s Elizabeth and the other stupid omegas cook or else I will break her hand, he said in his inner voice

The pot was heavier than I remembered. My wrists shook as I placed it on the stove. I could feel his gaze pressing between my shoulder blades, like he could see straight through my skin. I grabbed the knife, chopping the vegetables as fast as I could without slicing myself open.

"That knife’s bigger than her hands. Imagine if it slipped. Imagine the mess. I’d make her clean it up, of course. On her knees. She looks good on her knees. He said in his inner voice.

My stomach churned, but I kept chopping. Onion, carrot, potato. The blade clicked against the cutting board, and I flinched every time. A shadow fell over the cutting board. His arm came into view, braced against the counter beside me, caging me in without touching me. I could smell him sharp, like cedar and smoke, with that underlying heat of wolf musk that made my instincts curl in on themselves.

"Keep going, he said in his inner voice.

I couldn’t tell if my hands shook from the knife or from him. The water in the pot began to boil. I tipped the vegetables in, but a splash of scalding water hit my wrist. I bit down on a sound. If I cried out, he’d notice. And if he noticed I stirred the soup, watching the steam rise, trying to focus on anything except the warmth of his body just inches behind me.

"Do you want bread, Alpha?" I asked, because his silence felt like I was standing on thin ice.

"Bread. She wants to feed me like a peasant. Maybe I should make her taste it first. Make sure it’s safe. Make her chew it slow so I can watch her throat. He said in his inner voice.

My knees weakened.His words were half-mocking, half-menacing, this time like he enjoyed watching me suffer. Crazy psycho.

The bread knife was dull, but I cut through the loaf with desperate precision. The crust crumbled onto the counter. My hands wanted to brush the crumbs away, but that would mean taking too long. So I left them.

"Messy little omega. Maybe I should punish that. Or maybe I like it. Maybe I like her messy. He said in his inner voice.

The soup simmered. The bread sat ready. But he didn’t move. He stayed exactly where he was, his breath warm at the side of my neck.

"Plate it," his inner voice commanded, low and slow.

I obeyed. Two bowls. One for him, one for me though I knew I wouldn’t eat. Not unless he made me.

"She thinks she’s getting one. How sweet. Stupid toad, he said in his inner voice.

I placed his bowl on the table. My hands shook so badly I almost spilled it.

"She’s trying so hard not to spill. I almost want her to. Just to see her face when it happens. He said in his inner voice.

He finally sat down to eat but his eyes never left me. "Sit," his real voice said this time low, dangerous.

I sat immediately. He took a slow spoonful, his eyes on me the entire time. "Better," he said, though his tone made it impossible to tell if it was praise or a threat.

"If she keeps cooking like this, I might keep her. Or break her faster. Haven’t decided yet. But this is this best soup I have tasted in my life. He said in his inner voice

I forced my hands to rest in my lap, though every muscle screamed to run. The kitchen was too quiet. The only sounds were the scrape of his spoon and the pounding of my heart. And then, without looking up, his inner voice slid into me like a blade:

"Still hungry.

My stomach dropped. "I—I can make more, Alpha," I whispered immediately, the words tumbling over each other as my body trembled.

"Yes. Let’s see what else you can make. Let’s see how long you can keep those hands steady. He said in his inner voice

I stood, moving toward the pantry, already feeling his shadow following me.