Abductions and Alphas

POV: First Person.

The sharp crack of the slap echoes through the cramped confines of my small apartment, a sound so loud it makes my ears ring. My palm burns with fierce heat from the sheer force of the impact.

For a split second, time stands perfectly still. Then, Greg swears. The smug, bigoted sneer he wore just moments ago shatters, his face twisting into an ugly mask of pure rage. He pulls his arm back, raising a heavy hand toward me in clear retaliation. His eyes are wild, stripped of any civilized restraint. I brace for the inevitable impact, clenching my jaw and squeezing my eyes shut as I wait for the strike.

But it never connects.

Kaelen is a blur of motion. A rush of displaced air washes over me as he steps forward, intercepting the strike with terrifying, unnatural speed. He catches Greg's thick wrist in a punishing, iron grip before the man's hand can even come close to my face.

"Get out," Kaelen warns, his voice dropping to a low, deadly, animalistic register that vibrates right through the floorboards. "Never speak with Bria again."

Greg struggles, gasping as he tries to pull back, but Kaelen's hold is unbreakable. I can practically hear the bones in Greg's wrist grinding under the pressure. The tall Shifter doesn't shout, he doesn't need to. The lethal promise in his tone is enough to suck all the oxygen straight out of the room.

"I suggest you look into finding other accommodations," Kaelen continues, his golden eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, "since you are so against the presence of Magics."

Pale and panicked, Greg wrenches his arm free the absolute second Kaelen decides to loosen his grip. He stumbles backward, losing his footing. He backs away hurriedly, tripping over the threshold before he turns and flees down the stairs to his second-floor unit like a terrified prey animal.

The heavy silence crashes back into my living room, thick and suffocating. I release a shaky sigh, rubbing my temples as a vicious headache begins to pulse directly behind my eyes.

"I really shouldn't have done that," I grumble quietly to myself, wrapping my arms around my waist. "He didn't need to know my identity. Exposing myself as a Magic was stupid. Now Agnes is going to have to find another paying tenant for the second floor, and she relies on that rent money. She did warn me he didn't seem open-minded."

Suddenly, Kaelen's intense hostility evaporates. The rigid, defensive posture he held while facing down Greg softens dramatically. In a single heartbeat, he shifts from a lethal opponent ready to snap a man's neck into a fascinated ally. His broad shoulders drop, the predatory tension bleeding out of his frame as his golden eyes lock hungrily onto my freshly exposed mark.

"The guy deserved what he got," he murmurs, his voice distracted by the dark ink stark against my pale skin. He studies the lines of the Unknown symbol as if it holds all the secrets of the universe.

I yank my sleeve down to my wrist, glaring at him. None of this chaos would have happened if he hadn't been pounding on my door like a maniac in the first place. The burst of adrenaline is rapidly leaving my system, replaced by a cold, hollow crash. I am bone-deep exhausted. I have been awake for less than half an hour, and my normally quiet, under-the-radar life is already falling to pieces. I just want to crawl back under the covers and pretend today never happened.

"Was there anything else you needed?" I demand impatiently, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

Kaelen blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from my covered arm to look at my face. He is visibly confused by my abrupt shift in tone, clearly expecting gratitude or some sort of bonding moment. But I do not give him a single second to recover his footing.

"Because if there isn't anything else you need from me, I have things to do, and I would appreciate it if you just leave."

Despite the glaring red thread of fate supposedly linking our souls together, I am fundamentally unprepared to handle this level of emotional weight so early in the morning. I don't care if we are fated mates. I grab his arm, digging my fingers into his solid bicep, physically leading a bewildered Kaelen toward the front door. The size difference between us is comical, but he lets me drag him, too surprised to resist my manhandling.

"I think we're done here. I can't deal with you right now, so it is time for you to leave," I tell him firmly, pushing his broad shoulders right over the threshold into the hallway.

I step back inside my apartment. "I'm fated to be friends with your sister, so I'm sure I'll see you around. Have a nice day."

I shut the heavy door right in his stunned face.

I slide the deadbolt into place with a satisfying, metallic click. Ten seconds pass in blessed silence. Then, he is banging his massive fists on the solid wood. The doorframe visibly rattles under the sheer force of his knocking.

"Bria! Open the door, I'm not done talking to you," he shouts through the barrier.

"Well I AM done talking to you! Go away, Kaelen," I call back, refusing to step any closer to unlock the deadbolt.

A string of low curses filters through the wood. "We aren't done here. You will talk to me, and soon," he vows darkly, the alpha command weaving through his words.

I don't answer. Instead, I creep across the room to my third-floor window, pressing my cheek against the glass. A minute later, I spot him marching out of the building. I watch him storm down the street, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, until he turns a corner and disappears from view.

With a heavy groan, I drag my leaden feet across the floor and crawl exhaustedly back into my unmade bed. I pull the blankets over my head, desperate for the oblivion of sleep. But my attempted rest is thoroughly plagued by endless, vivid replays of him stepping protectively between Greg and me, the sheer power radiating from his body keeping my mind frustratingly awake.

Two agonizingly uneventful days pass before my fragile, peaceful bubble bursts yet again.

I am covering a chaotic, last-minute lunch shift at Meridian. I was originally scheduled for a rare, highly coveted day off, but my manager Marcus called me bright and early, practically begging for a favor because a coworker called in sick. I desperately need the extra cash, so I sucked it up and agreed. Now, I am deeply regretting that responsible decision.

The restaurant is packed to the brim with the midday rush. My bruised feet are screaming in agonizing protest against the company-mandated stiletto death-traps. I mentally curse whoever decided waitresses needed to navigate a slippery dining room floor in four-inch heels. I sincerely hope that person stubs their toes on every single piece of furniture for the rest of their miserable life.

Taking a deep breath to center myself, I paste on a wide, fake customer-service smile to greet a table of suited businessmen seated at table fifteen.

"Hi there, welcome to Meridian. My name is Bria and I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with any drinks?"

None of the three men bother to answer me. They don't even look at my face. Instead, they suddenly fall silent, their eyes stretching wide in poorly concealed alarm as they stare at something looming directly behind my back.

A cold prickle of awareness slides straight down my spine. Someone deliberately clears their throat—a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates heavily in the air.

I slowly turn around to find two massive, burly men effectively invading my personal space. They are built like solid brick walls, dressed casually in tight dark t-shirts and jeans that do absolutely nothing to hide their dangerous musculature.

"Bria Vale?" the larger one asks. He holds out a thick, heavily veined arm toward me. His tone is strictly formal, but his dark eyes broker no argument. "If you would please accompany us."

Panic immediately flares hot and bright in my chest. What the hell is going on? I frantically glance around the bustling dining room, desperately searching for Marcus or any sign of the restaurant's useless security staff. I spot another waitress across the floor, but instead of looking concerned, she just glares at me, clearly angry that I'm causing a disruption. I quickly realize I am completely on my own.

I absolutely refuse to quietly accept a daylight kidnapping in the middle of my shift.

I take a deliberate step back, refusing to touch his offered arm. "Who are you and why should I go with you?" I demand, fighting like hell to keep my voice steady.

The man's expression remains carefully, terrifyingly blank. "I apologise miss Vale. My name is Vance and this is Rhys. We are from the local feline Shifter pack," Vance says smoothly.

He takes a calculated step forward, moving so close that he breaches my personal space, practically boxing me in against the edge of table fifteen. The businessmen beside me shrink down into their leather booth, desperate to avoid making eye contact with the predators in the room.

"Our Alpha has requested your presence immediately," Vance adds, his voice leaving absolutely zero room for negotiation.

My mind races in a million different directions. A feline Alpha? I have zero ties to the local cats. The only Shifter I have dealt with is Kaelen, and he belongs to the wolves. Why on earth would the feline pack send two giant enforcers to drag me out of my workplace?

I am trapped in the middle of the restaurant without any security backup. I know I cannot physically fight off two giant Shifter enforcers, but I am also fiercely unwilling to cause a massive, job-ending scene by screaming for help.

Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat, I make one last, desperate verbal attempt to stall the inevitable.

"As you can see, I am working right now," I point out, gesturing vaguely toward my uniform and the silent customers trapped beside us. "If you could come back in a few hours, when my shift is over..."

I trail off, my feigned confidence faltering under the crushing weight of their combined, predatory stares.

The Shifters do not blink. They do not shift their weight. They do not move a single inch. They just stare down at me with cold, unyielding intent.