Page 18 of Alpha's Forbidden Fate

I will not have that on my conscience.

I already cost one person their life today; I am not adding another to my list.

I slowly make my way to my bedroom and bide my time, waiting for the morning.

Chapter 6

Selene

It is mid-morning when Annie’s alarm jolts me from my restless pacing. She’s up, getting dressed, and ready to face the day. I follow her into the kitchen, my stomach growling with hunger. A very different kind of hunger.

The clock says it’s barely ten a.m.

“Hey, Selene, how are you feeling?” Annie asks, pouring coffee into mugs.

“Okay, I guess. Just thinking of resting a bit before heading to school this afternoon,” I reply, trying to sound normal.

Annie gives me a concerned look. “Make sure to call out today if you’re not feeling up to it, okay? I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard.”

I nod. “Sure, Annie. I’ll let you know.”

As soon as Annie’s Honda pulls out of the driveway, I head straight to the shower. The water cascades over me, a feeble attempt to wash away the night’s struggles. I towel off, slipping into leggings, a hoodie, and running shoes.

Running is the plan – a desperate attempt to quell the gnawing hunger.

The park seems like a distant oasis. I need to feed, and hopefully, the park has a small squirrel or something to satisfy this relentless craving. As I step outside, the scent of humans hits me like a tidal wave.

The pulse of their hearts drums in my ears, each beat a temptation. I shake my head, trying to focus on one foot in front of the other.

I sprint towards the park, the rhythmic pounding of my feet drowning out the cacophony of human scents.

I reach the edge of the park, panting. The hunger intensifies, a desperate need that refuses to be ignored.

My eyes scan the surroundings, searching for any sign of prey. And there, a small hare, oblivious to the danger lurking. My instincts kick in, predatory and urgent. I crouch low, ready to pounce.

“Sorry, little one,” I mutter under my breath as I launch myself forward. The hare darts away, a burst of speed, but I’m faster. My hands close around it, and I feel exhilaration and guilt. The creature struggles, its heart pounding in fear.

“I have to do this,” I remind myself as I bite into its neck. The taste is iron-rich, the warmth of fresh blood filling my mouth. The hunger ebbs, replaced by a momentary satisfaction. I consume just enough, not wanting to take more than necessary.

I release the hare, watching it scamper away. Guilt claws at me, but survival outweighs morality in this twisted existence. I wipe my mouth, breathing heavily.

“Sorry, little friend,” I whisper to the disappearing hare. “But I needed it.”

The park is still, the early morning sunlight filtering through the trees. My mind clears, the fog of hunger lifting. I need to find a balance, a way to coexist with the humans around me without succumbing to the darkness within.

I start jogging, the rhythmic motion calming my restless thoughts. The park is a quiet sanctuary away from the chaotic city. I pass people walking their dogs, families enjoying the playground, and joggers with earphones plugged in.

As I run, I overhear snippets of conversations. “Did you catch the game last night?” “I need to grab groceries on the way home.” The mundane chatter of human life. It’s both comforting and haunting. I’m reminded of the life I once had and the simplicity of it.

The sun climbs higher in the sky, casting long shadows on the pavement. My legs carry me deeper into the park, away from the hum of human activity. I find a secluded spot, a quiet clearing surrounded by trees.

Leaning against a tree, I catch my breath. The world continues its relentless pace around me, but for a moment, I feel detached from it all. The hunger is still there, but it’s under control – for now.

I pull out my phone to check the time. It’s still early, and I have a few hours before I need to head to school. The park offers a temporary escape, a respite from my internal struggles.

A rustle in the bushes catches my attention. I tense, ready for whatever might emerge. A small squirrel scurries into view, eyeing me cautiously. I smile, realizing it’s not the prey I initially thought.

“Hey there, little guy. Just passing through,” I say, my voice soft. The squirrel chatters in response, seemingly unbothered by my presence, and I watch it disappear into the foliage.

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