ALPHA’S PREY

Miranda

I FEEL like glass about to shatter. Everything is strange and out-of-body. Waking up with Caleb. Eating breakfast. Putting my things in the back of the Subaru.

Everything this morning has turned to ash in my mouth.

I’m leaving. Saying goodbye and driving away from Pecos.

From Caleb.

And I want to make some kind of plan-give him my number and ask him to call. Or tell him to come visit me in Albuquerque, but we both know none of those things will happen.

He belongs up here and I have my own life. Besides, we’re not in a relationship. We had sex.

A lot.

We had a lot of sex.

That doesn’t mean we’re a couple. It doesn’t mean we made commitments or promises.

It doesn’t mean we have a future.

“Well.” I stand beside my car, the door open, Bear already inside, waiting with wagging tail.

“All right. Drive safe.” Caleb’s not looking me in the eye.

“Thanks for everything.” I try opening my arms, like we’re going to do a friendly hug.

Caleb doesn’t move. His dark gaze pins me in place, the glower on his face stops any more meaningless words from tumbling out of my mouth.

“I care about you, Miranda,” he says.

I stop breathing.

“I don’t like the idea of you being pushed around by those scientists.”

Oh.

We’re back here again. Where we started four days ago in his cabin.

“I can take care of myself,” I mutter, trying to shake off the disappointment.

“You’d better.” He says it like a warning. Grumpy mountain man is back in full force this morning.

“If you’re ever in Albuquerque-”

“I won’t be,” he cuts me off.

“Right. Okay. Well, I’m there. And, um, you’ll be here.” I don’t mention that I may have to come back for more research. It feels like it would be fishing for something that he doesn’t want to give me.

I step toward him and go onto my tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek.

He doesn’t move. Just stands like a statue. Like my kiss froze him.

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

Because it really is a goodbye. Not a see you later, or until we meet again.

He says nothing.

My stomach is as hard as stone, I get in the Subaru and start it up. I don’t start crying until I’ve turned the first bend.

And then I totally break down.

CalebCòntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

I WATCH Miranda’s Subaru disappear down the forest road and my bear roars in anguish.

Don’t let her go.

Do not let her go.

But I have to. What choice do I have? She doesn’t belong with me. I have nothing to offer that woman. I am a broken man, low on cash, lower on ambition. I’ve been broken by grief and my brain addled by my animal. Even without all that, I’m a shifter and she’s human. We shouldn’t mix.

I get into my truck and drive back to my cabin. All the while, my bear’s going nuts. Trying to take control. Roaring beneath my skin.

Let her go, bear. We can’t have her.

She’s not for us.

Miranda

IT DIDN’T MEAN ANYTHING. Or maybe it didn’t mean enough.

I wasn’t enough to distract Caleb from his grief.

From his loss.

And even though I made it all about sex, he wormed his way into my heart. Because I am driving away with that organ smashed to smithereens. Pieces of it left all over that mountain.

I’m just past the town of Pecos when a man steps out in front of the car, waving his arms like he needs help.

I brake and come to stop, then roll my window down. “Yes?”

Bear goes nuts, barking from the back seat, but before I can heed the warning, the guy’s hand shoots through the open window so fast I barely see it coming. He stabs my neck with something sharp.

I stare up at him, horror flushing out the grief.

Caleb was right all along. There was a killer stalking me as his prey.

And now he’s got me.

I slump over the steering wheel as everything goes black.

WHEN I WAKE UP, I’m in my panties and tank top in a cage. It’s a large, wire cage, like a big dog kennel in a dimly lit room that smells dank and earthy. Like we’re in a cellar. Fear shoots through me and brings me out of my drugged haze as I remember what happened. I try to sit up and bang my head on the top of my prison.

I groan and blink my eyes, trying to get my surroundings as my brain struggles to catch up.

That’s when I realize I’m not alone. There’s a cage beside mine and-oh my God-there’s another woman in it. She’s thin and pale. Her blonde hair’s a matted mess. She puts a finger to her lips in warning.

Fresh fear pumps through my veins, but my rational side is encouraged. I’m not alone. And if this woman’s here, too, that means immediate death is probably not in my future. Because I’m guessing she’s one of the missing hikers.

I peer into the dimly lit room and spy another cage, and another. Eight in total. Two more are occupied, also by young women. So these could be all three of the missing women.

And I just became number four.

That thought sinks like a stone, but then it’s followed by hope.

Caleb will find me.

I try to shove that Disney princess hope away, because Caleb isn’t looking for me. He thinks I drove away to Albuquerque, and even though I gave him my phone number before I left, we had no plans to communicate.

It’s not like he’ll call the cops if I don’t text I got home safely.

No one will.