Page 33 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

Am I dead?

The thought circles in my mind, sharp and panicked, as I start to move—or at least try to. My fingers twitch first, then my toes. I can feel them. That’s a good sign, right?

My eyes flutter open and I blink hard, once, twice, willing the world to come back into focus.

I’m not dead?

I brace myself for—what? A burst of unbearable pain? A crushing numbness signaling that I’m paralyzed? But none of it comes. Just a faint ache and the sound of my ragged breathing.

Relief washes over me, tentative but real. But it lasts only a moment until I turn my head.

The windshield is shattered, jagged edges glinting. But that’s not what makes my stomach drop. No. It’s the massive tree branch, sharp and unyielding, stabbing through what used to be the front of the car. The thick, splintered end juts forward, mere inches from where I am sitting.

And then my gaze tilts, and I scream.

“Alex!”

The word rips out of me in a raw yelp that pierces even my own ears, because he’s there, right in front of me—impaled. The branch hasn’t just pierced the windshield; it’s gone through him. Straight through his torso.

Alex is slumped right in front of me, his body eerily still. The sharp edge of the branch juts out from his back, a grotesque and undeniable proof of what just happened. Somehow, in the chaos,he must have launched himself from his seat—right in front of me.

My breath catches as the realization sinks in. He’s the only reason that branch didn’t go straight through my skull. Blood—there’s so much blood—dark and slick, staining his shirt and pooling on the mangled dashboard. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely unhook my seatbelt, fumbling with the latch before it finally clicks free.

I shove the door open with trembling arms and practically fall out of the car, the forest floor cold and damp beneath my hands.

“Help!” I scream, my voice cracking. “Somebody, please help!”

But the forest is silent. No cars passing on the road above, no rustling of animals in the underbrush. Just me, the wreck, and Alex.

I turn back to him, desperate. And then—

He moves.

It’s subtle at first, just a twitch of his fingers. Then his chest heaves, and he sucks in a ragged, gasping breath, like someone breaking the surface of water after nearly drowning. The sound is so sudden, so unexpected, it jolts me backward.

“Alex?”

I barely recognize my own voice, high-pitched and trembling, caught somewhere between disbelief and sheer terror.

His eyes snap open, wide and wild.

He’s alive. How is—

But then he reaches for the branch.

“Alex, no!” I cry, my voice breaking.

He doesn’t stop. His hands—bloodied and shaking—clutch the jagged wood, and he starts pulling. The sight is horrifying. The branch is massive, thick and rough, and as he drags it out of hisbody, blood gushes from the wound, soaking his already ruined shirt. His face twists in pain, teeth clenched so tightly I can hear the faint grinding.

I feel sick. The world tilts around me, nausea rolling through my stomach in waves, but I can’t look away.

But what happens next almost makes me lose consciousness.

His hands. The skin ripples, like something is moving beneath it, and suddenly it’s not just skin anymore. Dark fur sprouts, thick and coarse, covering his arms in an instant. His fingers stretch and twist, nails sharpening into claws.

I’m frozen, my mind blank.

With a final, guttural roar, Alex yanks the branch free like it’s nothing more than a brittle twig. The sound echoes through the forest. Blood spills from the gaping hole in his chest, a horrifying, mangled mess of torn flesh and crimson streaks.

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