The Alpha Next Door

I never expected my life to change over a box of waffles.

Not the good kind, either. The off-brand, freezer-burned kind you buy when your paycheck’s late and your fridge sounds like it’s dying in slow motion. I was tired, broke, and surviving off caffeine and spite—typical Tuesday. There was no lightning strike, no full moon, no warning.

Just a man in the trees, and a silence too deep to be normal.

That’s when everything changed.

It started like any other morning. I rolled out of bed late, tripped over my laundry basket, and cursed my landlord under my breath. Again. Mr. Delaney thought heat was a luxury and mold a design choice. My breath fogged in the kitchen as I cradled a chipped mug of lukewarm coffee, staring out at the frost-laced backyard behind my apartment.

Grey Hollow was already coated in winter’s first whisper, and I was behind on three papers, two bills, and one promise I made to myself—to leave this town before I turned twenty-two.

I had one more year.

“God, I hate Tuesdays,” I muttered, and then promptly burnt my toast.

The real reason I was late, though, was because of the walk. I always took the forest trail behind the community college. Everyone else stuck to sidewalks and bike lanes, but not me. I liked the quiet. The cold. The way the trees closed in and made the world feel smaller, like I could breathe again.

But that morning… something felt off.

The air had weight. Like it was watching me.

I tugged my scarf tighter and kept walking, phone clutched in one hand, earbuds in the other. Halfway through the trail, I paused, pulled one earbud out, and frowned. No birds. No wind. Not even the hum of distant traffic.

I wasn’t alone.

At first, I thought I imagined him. Just a figure at the edge of vision—tall, dark clothes, half-shadowed by the trees. But when I stopped walking, he didn’t disappear.

He stared right back.

I froze, heart kicking up in my chest. He was too still. Not like someone passing through. More like he’d been waiting.

I took a breath, then called out, “Hey, you okay over there?”

No answer.

A slow chill unfurled down my spine.

“Lost?” I tried again.

Still nothing. He just stood there, watching me. His face was obscured, but his eyes—gold. Not hazel, not amber. Gold. And glowing.

I took a step back.

He took a step forward.

That’s when I noticed something else—he wasn’t breathing. Or if he was, it didn’t fog the air the way mine did. My breath puffed out in visible clouds. His didn’t. The trees around him didn’t move. Not even a leaf stirred.

I swallowed hard and forced a laugh. “Okay… creepy guy in the woods, not exactly how I wanted to start my day. Later.”

I turned.

“Lena.”

I froze mid-step. His voice—it wasn’t loud. But it curled around me like smoke. Low. Rough. Familiar. Except I’d never seen him before in my life.

I whipped around. “How do you know my name?”

He took another step forward, out of the shadows this time. And I swear to every god that ever existed, my knees almost gave out.

He was beautiful in a way that hurt. Dark hair, tousled like he’d just run his hands through it. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, a scar cutting through one eyebrow like a slash of silver. But it was his eyes—those inhuman, glowing eyes—that made me forget how to speak.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He looked at me like he already knew the answer. “I’ve waited a long time for you.”

Panic exploded in my chest. Every instinct I had screamed to run.

So I did.

I didn’t stop running until I burst through the back gate of campus, heart pounding, lungs burning. My boots skidded on the icy pavement as I tried to catch my breath. A few students turned and stared. I must’ve looked insane.

But when I glanced behind me, the forest was still.

He hadn’t followed.

I told myself I imagined it. Stress, maybe. Sleep deprivation. Too much true crime before bed. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget his voice. Or the way he said my name like it belonged to him.

Work didn’t help. The café was packed—midterms, caffeine, and terrible weather made Sips a war zone. I slammed cups onto trays, poured espresso like my life depended on it, and tried to pretend my hands weren’t still shaking.

“Lena, your section’s falling behind,” my manager snapped.

“Yeah, because I’m one person, not a team of trained monkeys.”

He glared. I fake-smiled. The usual.

By the time my shift ended, it was after six and already dark. I hesitated by the edge of the trail. Normally, I’d cut back through the woods—it was faster, and I liked the quiet.

But tonight, I couldn’t make myself do it.

I took the long way home.

My apartment was a shoebox with questionable plumbing and a fridge older than I was. I kicked the door shut behind me and locked it twice. Paranoia? Maybe. But I swore I could still feel him.

I microwaved dinner. Burnt my mouth. Stared out the window like something might be watching. Then gave up and showered just to drown the noise in my head.

The dreams came anyway.

He was there.

Not standing this time. Moving. Walking toward me through fog and shadow, eyes burning like twin moons. His voice wrapped around me like a silk rope, soft and dark and wrong in all the ways that made my body tense.

“You’re not ready.”

“I don’t know you,” I whispered.

“But your blood remembers.”

He reached for me, and I woke up gasping.

I barely slept after that. The next morning, my phone buzzed with a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

Unknown: You shouldn’t have run.

I stared at it for a full minute before I threw my phone across the room.

It didn’t matter how many locks I turned, or how many blankets I wrapped around myself. I still felt it—that prickling awareness just under my skin. Like someone was watching. Waiting.

And the worst part?

I started to want him to come back.

Not because I liked danger. Or because I’d lost my mind. But because something inside me woke up when he looked at me. Something wild. Restless. Hungry.

I wasn’t like other people. I knew that. Ever since I was a kid, I’d felt different. Heard things others didn’t. Felt storms before they came. I could track people without meaning to. Smell lies. Taste emotions.

But I buried all of that.

Pretended it was nothing.

Now? Now I wasn’t so sure.

Because the man in the trees wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t human. And some part of me—deep, primal, terrifying—recognized him.

Like a part of me belonged to him.

On the third day, I saw him again.

Not in the woods.

Not in a dream.

In town. In broad daylight.

I was walking past the bookstore near Main Street when I felt it—that heat on the back of my neck. I turned, and there he was.

Leaning against a lamp post. Wearing a black coat. Watching me.

And this time, I didn’t run.

I walked straight up to him, ignoring the alarm bells going off in my head.

“What the hell do you want?” I asked, voice low.

His mouth curved—barely a smile, more like a warning. “You.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You followed me. You texted me. You show up in my dreams—”

“I don’t control the dreams,” he said softly. “That’s your wolf.”

“My what?”

His smile faded. His eyes darkened. “You don’t know yet.”

“Know what?”

“That you’re not human, Lena. Not fully. You never were.”

The streetlight above him flickered like it was trying to decide whether to burn or die, casting his face in half-shadow. His eyes still burned gold, but now there was something sharper in them—a warning.

“Not human.” The words echoed inside me, hitting like a blow. I laughed. Bitter and sharp. “You’re insane. There’s no such thing.”

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “You’ve lived a lie, Lena. Your blood, your soul… it belongs to the wolves. To us.”

I swallowed hard, searching his face for any sign of a joke. None came. Just that quiet hunger.

“I don’t want this,” I said. “I’m not one of… whatever you are.”

“But you are,” he said, stepping closer. “You can feel it, don’t you? The way your heart races. The way you hear things others don’t. The way your skin crawls when danger’s near. That’s the wolf inside you, screaming to be free.”

I stared at him, breathing shallow. Part of me wanted to run. Part o