The Alpha's Witch

CHAPTER 4

I move my hips and hands through the air as I dance to the pulsing music that reverberates through the club, the bass so heavy it feels like a second heartbeat inside my chest. I don't know how many drinks I've had—five, seven, nine?—but I think I can still walk straight. Mostly straight, anyway. The alcohol has numbed the worst of the pain, leaving only a pleasant buzz where the crushing grief used to be.

The beat takes on a deeper bass line, and I shake my ass in the air, not caring if it touches someone else—and it does. I smile at the contact, relishing the brief distraction, but the expression quickly dies on my face as a sudden chill runs down my spine, like icy fingers tracing each vertebra. I pause mid-movement, my body tensing as I scan the crowded club, eyes narrowing as they search through the sea of writhing bodies and flashing lights. Despite the sensation of being watched, I don't see anyone staring at me with particular interest.

"You're being paranoid," I mutter to myself, blaming it on the tequila and the lingering trauma. My hand unconsciously drifts to my stomach before I force it back to my side.

I ignore the unsettled feeling and head to the bar, shouldering my way through the packed dance floor, the scent of perfume, cologne, and sweat mingling in the air. My red dress clings to my body, damp with perspiration, as I slide onto a vacant barstool.

"Shots, please?" I order, my words slightly slurred at the edges. The bartender, Melissa, gives me a look that's equal parts concern and judgment, which I deliberately ignore. She's a human friend of mine and knows exactly why I've been haunting this club for the past week, drowning my sorrows and dancing with strangers until my feet ache. But I don't give two f***s about how she and Nate feel I should be "recovering" after what happened. This is how I wish to heal—through noise and bodies and alcohol—so they should just accept it.

"This is the last one," she says firmly, pushing the glass in front of me, her dark eyes holding mine with a silent plea to take care of myself.

I smile, the expression not quite reaching my eyes, and down the drink in one go. The tequila blazes a familiar trail of fire down my throat, momentarily chasing away the cold emptiness that's made its home in my chest since that night in the hospital.

"I love you," I vow dramatically, blowing her a kiss as I slide off the stool. I turn to head back to the dance floor but freeze as that same sensation of being watched crawls across my skin. Again, I check the crowd, scanning faces with more intensity this time, but there's no one paying any particular attention to me—at least, no one I can see.

I shake it off, attributing the paranoia to my increasingly inebriated state, and weave my way back to the dance floor. The music has shifted to something with a faster tempo, and I lose myself in it, trying my best to ignore the dull ache in my body that's a constant reminder of what I've lost. The physical pain has mostly faded, but the emotional wound remains raw and gaping.

I close my eyes tighter, move my body faster—anything to escape the memory of the hospital room.

I suddenly feel a warm hand slide around my waist and a solid chest press against my back. The contact is jarring after days of avoiding anything more than casual brushes in the crowd.

"Hey, beautiful," a deep voice moans in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. His hand boldly moves beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers splaying across my bare stomach, but I quickly pull it out as I spin around to face him, a flash of discomfort crossing my face at the unwanted touch on such a tender area—both physically and emotionally.

He's attractive in a conventional way—sandy blond hair, blue eyes, muscular build. Human, definitely. Safe. Uncomplicated. A perfect distraction from the complicated mess my life has become.

"I've been watching you all night," he continues as I begin to dance with him, holding his hand at a distance that's friendlier than I actually feel.

"And so have I," I lie with a practiced smile, the words so automatic they require no thought. I spin around, deliberately pressing my ass against him in a move designed to tease. The contact sends a spark through me, a flicker of something besides pain, and I grasp at it desperately.

And then I hear it—faint beneath the throbbing music but unmistakable to my ears, which have grown accustomed to supernatural sounds during my years among werewolves. A f*****g growl! Low, possessive, and dangerously close.

I quickly turn back to face my dance partner, heart hammering in my chest, but he looks unperturbed, clearly having heard nothing unusual over the music. That's weird because I definitely did, and the sound sends a conflicting rush of anxiety and curiosity through my veins.

"Want to get out of here?" he asks, leaning close so I can hear him over the music, his hand returning to my waist with practiced confidence.

I nod, suddenly desperate to leave the suffocating heat of the club and the phantom growl that might exist only in my imagination—or worse, might not.

"Let me clear my bill. I'll meet you outside," he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek before walking toward the bar while I head for the exit.

Once I step outside, I breathe in the fresh night air greedily, letting it cool my flushed skin. The street is relatively quiet compared to the chaos inside, with just a few smokers gathered near the entrance and the occasional passing car. The chill of the night seeps through my thin dress, a welcome relief after the sticky heat of the club. I kick idly at a discarded cigarette butt on the sidewalk, dancing slightly on my feet as the world spins pleasantly from the alcohol.

I hear footsteps behind me and turn with a smile, expecting to see my companion from the dance floor. "That was quick," I start to say, but the words die on my lips when I realize there's no one there. Just shadows and streetlights and the distant sounds of the city at night.

I frown, peering into the darkness. "Hello?" My voice seems unnaturally loud in the quiet street. Strange—I was certain I heard someone approaching.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, that feeling of being watched even stronger now that I'm alone. I spend another good ten minutes waiting, growing increasingly impatient, but the guy from the club doesn't emerge. I begin to wonder if he got cold feet, or if something—or someone—scared him off.

"Screw this," I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself as a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature runs through me. I decide to head home, suddenly eager for the protection of my own walls.

As I begin walking toward the corner to hail a taxi, I could swear I catch a glimpse of amber eyes watching me from the shadows across the street—gone so quickly I can't be sure they were ever there at all.

At home, it's a miracle I'm able to make it to my bed considering how tipsy I am, but I manage. I collapse onto the cool sheets, the room spinning slightly as I close my eyes. My mind recalls the amber eyes I thought I saw in the alley earlier—those unmistakable wolf eyes that I haven't seen since that night with him. I try my best not to think of Kyler, but the memory of those eyes triggers something darker, more painful. The alcohol pulls me under before I can fight off the memories I've been trying to drown.

Red stains spreading across white sheets. My hands trembling uncontrollably.

"No, no, no..." My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's too high, too broken.

A sharp cramping pain that doubles me over. Something precious slipping away that I can't hold onto no matter how desperately I try.

The deafening sound of my own heartbeat, too fast, too loud—while another heartbeat fades into silence.

Nate's voice from somewhere far away: "I've got you, Kat. Stay with me."

The walls of my home blur as the world tilts sideways. My magic crackles uselessly at my fingertips, unable to mend what’s breaking inside me.

A flash of amber eyes—watching. Then gone when I need them most.

KYLER

I stare at her, tears streaming down her face, and it takes every ounce of control not to f*****g strangle her. Why the hell did she let that bastard touch her? I knew she would hear the growl but I couldn't believe she still invited him over to her place. What the f**k?

It took everything tonight not to reveal myself. I shouldn't be here right now, but after what happened this wee,k I had to come. Make some decisions I know my wolf is happy about, even if the thought of it makes me want to rip something apart.

My eyes slowly move to her belly, and I see her hands around it, more tears streaming down her face now. f**k! She parties every day to make herself forget what happened, but we both know it's not helping.

She's a f*****g mess, and I need to do something before she ruins herself. Cain, my wolf, would have my head if I let that happen. The thought of having to deal with her again makes my skin crawl, but Cain won't shut up about it.

"Yeah, right, I'm the only one who cares about her health," Cain's voice filters into my mind, accusatory and demanding.

"Yes, I don't give two shits," I snap back internally, meaning every word. She's nothing to me but a complication I never wanted.

"Really? Then why the f**k did you stalk her the whole week since she lost our..." Cain is unable to finish his statement, the pain of what happened too much for him to bear.

"To make sure she doesn't drop dead because if she does, I know you'll make it my damn fault," I growl. The only reason I'm here is to keep my wolf from driving me insane with his constant whining about her.

"Yeah, right," he says and goes back into the back of my mind, still sulking.

I release a sigh of irritation. Being tethered to a wolf that's obsessed with a witch I despise is my own personal hell. I bend to her ear and whisper carefully, making sure my warning is clear.

"Tonight, I let him live. Next time, I won't," I say. Not because I care who she f***s, but because Cain's rage when he smelled that human on her was almost enough to make me lose control. One more second in that club watching his hands on her, and I might have done something we'd both regret.

I leave through the same window I crawled in through. Her security is practically non-existent. The sooner I figure out how to break whatever still connects us, the better.