Make Me Yours, Alpha

Dorian drove like a madman across the territory, his eyes locked onto the glowing red pulse of the tracker. For once, his paranoia over Alyssa’s safety paid off; he was grateful that he installed that tracker in her phone.

According to the GPS, Pilate had taken her deep into the outskirts of the Northern territory. He had been communicating with André through the phone until the connection suddenly dissolved into static.

Now, he was on his own, following the glowing red icon on his dashboard. It had gone completely stagnant minutes ago, remaining frozen in the same coordinates.

He refused to let his mind imagine the worst. He locked his thoughts down, rejecting the terrifying possibility that he was already too late.

He dialed André’s line over and over, but it rang incessantly before dropping straight to voicemail. Alyssa’s line was unreachable. The silence inside the vehicle was deafening, pushing him to the precipice of his sanity.

Then, out of the blue, a figure suddenly materialized in the middle of the road.

He slammed down on the brakes, the sharp smell of burning rubber and thick, acrid smoke filling the air as the SUV skidded to a halt inches away.

Standing dead center in the middle of the road was Alyssa.

She was a mess. Barefooted, her designer suit was shredded and soaked through with blood. Her posture was unnaturally rigid, and her eyes, hollow and vacant, stared blankly at nothing.

Dorian threw the door open and sprinted towards her, his face a mask of raw terror. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping tightly around her, though his beast violently recoiled at the strong smell of blood clinging to her skin.

”Alyssa!” he cried out, his voice cracking as his trembling hands cupped her face, desperately searching her eyes. ”Alyssa! Look at me. Are you okay? Talk to me.”

She didn’t blink. She stared through him as if he were a ghost. Her hands were coated in dark blood, thin spidery red tracks dried across her cheeks.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the fog in her eyes began to lift. She blinked hard, shaking her head as if breaking out of a trance, and focused on the man holding her.

”Dorian?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. ”Is... is it really you?”

”It’s me. I’m right here. I’ve got you,” Dorian breathed, pulling her into a crushing embrace. The relief flooded his veins, leaving him shaking as he buried his face in her hair, his mind racing to piece together the horror she had just survived.

He pulled back just enough to inspect her, his hands flying over her bruised arms. ”So much blood,” he choked out. ”Are you hurt? Where is it coming from?”

Alyssa shook her head slowly, still trapped in a dissociative daze. ”It’s... it’s not mine. It’s... Pilate’s.”

Dorian recoiled, his brow furrowing in confusion. ”Pilate? Where is he?”

”He’s dead. I...” She glanced down at her blood-soaked hands as they started to tremble, then lifted her gaze back to his. ”I... I killed him.”

Dorian went completely rigid. A cold, cynical disbelief flared in his chest. His Alyssa? A killer? It defied everything he knew about her. He assumed she was suffering from severe shock, that her mind was fabricating a defense mechanism while Pilate was still lurking in the shadows.

”What do you mean you killed him?” he asked gently. ”Where is André? Did he reach you in time?”

”André is dead,” she stated. Her tone was terrifyingly flat, devoid of emotion, as if she were casually discussing the weather.

What struck terror into Dorian wasn’t the death of his guard–though the grief hit him painfully–it was the absence of emotion in her voice. Weeks ago, when she had witnessed Freya’s execution, she had been shattered, nearly broken by the trauma of violence.

But this chilling indifference was strange. A prickle of dread crawled up his spine. He needed proof of who was standing in front of him.

”Alyssa,” he said tightly, watching her face. ”What was the name of the woman who took her life a few weeks ago?”

Alyssa blinked, her brow furrowing with exhaustion and confusion at the bizarre question. Still, she answered.

”Her name was Freya,” she murmured. ”She was the archer’s wife, the one who attempted to murder me during the Moon Ceremony.”

She lifted her chin, her glassy eyes staring right through him. ”You’re asking me because you think I might be Pilate, aren’t you?”

Dorian swallowed hard, unable to deny the suspicion that had gripped him. Then he nodded.

Alyssa let out a long, shuddering breath, her gaze dropping back to her stained hands.

”André is dead,” she repeated softly. ”Pilate ambushed him, drove a dagger straight through his throat. When I saw that... something inside me snapped. I blacked out. When I came to, Pilate was lying at my feet with his chest torn open.”

She raised her eyes, meeting Dorian’s gaze with an unsettling calm. ”His heart was in my hand. I... I ripped it out with my bare hands. My powers... they’ve awakened, Dorian. But I don’t remember doing it. My mind is muddled.”

The coldness in her tone sent a shiver straight to Dorian’s core. How badly had the incident messed with her mind?

”Where are they?” he asked quietly, his jaw tight.

She turned slightly, lifting a trembling arm to point toward the dense treeline. ”In there. After I gained control, I just started walking. I lost my phone, so I couldn’t call you. I didn’t even recognize you until you called my name.”

The more she spoke, the more Dorian realized the fragile, sweet woman he loved had been altered. She looked older, harder, as if the hours in the woods had aged her by a decade.

Yet, the fierce, protective instinct in his chest didn’t waver. She was alive. She had slaughtered the monster who hunted her.

His first priority was to take her back home. She needed medical care. Nina would be done with the antidotes back at the mansion, and the guards would come for André’s body.

Poor André. His mate was going to be completely distraught.

”As long as you’re safe,” he murmured, pulling her back against his chest. ”That’s all that matters. I didn’t lose you.”

He pressed a kiss into her disheveled hair, using his thumb to smear the dried blood on her cheeks. ”Come on. Let’s go home.”

”What about André?” she whispered.

”The guards will come for him. I promise,” he said softly. ”Right now, I’m more worried about you.”

Alyssa nodded, leaning her weight against him. As they took a step toward the SUV, her knees buckled beneath her. The adrenaline rush was finally wearing off.

Dorian caught her effortlessly, sweeping her up into his arms.

”I can walk,” she protested weakly against his chest.

”No, you can’t. Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

He settled her carefully into the backseat of the SUV before sliding back behind the wheel and executing a sharp U-turn. As he sped back toward the mansion, his eyes flicked repeatedly to the rearview mirror.

Alyssa sat curled up against the door, staring unblinkingly out the window. She was so still, so silent. Her ruined suit hung in tatters around her bruised limbs.

After miles of tense silence, her voice cut through the quiet.

”Dorian?”

”Yes, my love?” he answered instantly.

”Are you scared of me?”

The vulnerability of the question hit him square in the chest. He glanced up, locking eyes with her reflection in the mirror.

”Of course not,” he replied firmly, pouring every ounce of conviction he possessed into the words. ”Why would you ask me that?”

She shrugged, her gaze dropping. ”I don’t know. I can feel it. I saw it in your eyes back there.”

”I’m not scared of you, baby,” he lied smoothly, his heart aching. ”I’m just worried.”

”But I’m fine.”

”I know that. It doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

Another long silence settled over them before she spoke again, her voice barely audible.

”What if there’s something wrong with me? You said hybrids were vicious, violent creatures. What if I’m turning into one of them?”

Dorian gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned bone-white. ”There is nothing wrong with you, Alyssa. You’re still the woman I fell in love with, the woman who has my heart. And that will never change.”

A faint smile touched the corner of her lips as exhaustion finally dragged her under. Her eyelids drifted shut, her rigid shoulders finally surrendering their tension.

”I love you, Dorian,” she murmured, her voice fading. ”Promise me... promise you won’t hate me if I ever turn into a monster.”

Dorian’s eyes snapped up to the rearview mirror, his chest tightening with dread. He had no idea what prompted her to say those words, but deep down, in the darkest corners of his mind, he knew what she meant.

She was changing, and something else was waking up in her place.