Taken by the Rogue Alpha

3 | Intruder

I close up the bookstore and leave through the back door. It's a warm evening and I notice how the sun is starting to sink to the ground a little earlier each day. I find myself wishing there were some clouds; sunsets always look so much more brilliant with clouds. An explosion of color across the sky. Nature is an artist and I am always her happy witness, but some paintings are more mesmerizing than others. Not that I could do any better, of course.

It's only a seven minute drive home; we live in a neighborhood on the edge of town in a small and quaint house. It's a robin-egg blue color which is what drew us to it in the first place because it was just so cute. The walls inside were the same color but we painted over it with a light gray, decorating with various shades of blue to keep the theme. I find I am more of a sapphire blue person, and Jeremy is more a baby blue himself, but we have the same ornamental taste so compromising was easy. Life is so easy with him. He is gentle with me and always kind, even when we are arguing.

I pull up the driveway, lean back in my seat for a moment, and take a deep breath. There is a reluctance to go inside. I don't want to be alone in our house. That makes me nervous. Home is usually my favorite place to be. This whole fiasco has set me off balance and I don't like it. This is all ridiculous.

Shutting off the ignition I head inside, cradling the rest of the cake and my purse in my arms, clumsily locking the door behind me. I set the cake in the fridge, drop my purse to the ground, then open the living room window—it's hotter in here than it is outside—and turn on the ceiling fan. Considering having a small meal before I relax into a movie for the night, I decide against it. Appetite is not present. All I want to do is slip into my pajamas, wash my face and brush my teeth, and curl up on the couch as it starts to get dark.

I grab my headphones, playing Fleetwood Mac as I settle into the evening. It's hard to feel tense when listening to Stevie Nicks sing Rhiannon in that silvery, velvety voice of hers. I put it on repeat as I close myself in the bathroom, swaying as I brush my teeth and braid my hair, humming as I take off my makeup and carry out my skincare routine.

Neutrogena facewash and a thin layer of Vaseline—a beauty trick I've inherited from my mom. She looks ten years younger than she actually is. I have a fear of aging much faster than Jeremy despite us being the same age since his skin, hair, and body will not deteriorate as fast as mine...he will likely outlive me by a few decades, too. Sometimes I feel a spark of envy at his werewolf genes, reminded of how fallible the human body truly is. I'll be lucky if I get eighty years; there is no doubt he will get at least one-hundred.

He calls me and I let out a shriek, ringtone at full blast in my ears. I rip out my headphones and answer, heart racing.

"Hi," I laugh, breathless. "You scared me."

"Let me guess: listening to Fleetwood Mac again?"

"You know me too well," I laugh again. "Guess which song."

"Which album?"

"Self-titled."

"Rhiannon, obviously."

"Bingo," I smile. It's nice to hear his voice, and it relaxes me more than I expected. "You win."

"What do I win?" he asks cheekily.

"A conversation," I giggle, leaving the bathroom then heading into our bedroom. "How was your day?"

I lay on my belly on the bed, listening as he tells me about his day—conflict is at its crux right now, the hotel room is the size of a closet, the food there tastes like "ass," and the shower ran brown for two minutes before the water went clear. He tells me he might be there longer than two weeks since both parties are unwilling to negotiate a compromise. It is not dislike between them, but hatred.

"What caused this conflict in the first place?" I ask.

"These two families have hated each other since time immemorial. One family is now running the town and the other family is trying to flush them out. I don't even know where to begin. I don't know how to end a rivalry that has been ongoing since these families acquired their surnames."

"Get them to play a game of cards and whoever wins is the rightful leader," Jeremy laughs halfheartedly. "In all seriousness you are the most levelheaded person I know. I'm sure if you got them in the same room and mediated the conversation things would settle down."

"I don't even know if I can even get them to agree to be in the same room," he sighs. I imagine him running his hand down his face. "This is all feels so trivial, even though it isn't. I just want to be home with you. I miss you."

"I miss you too. Even though I wish you were home, what you are doing is necessary. You are an important person with an important job. I can wait."

My stomach does somersaults.

"What are your plans for the night?" he asks.

"I was just going to settle in for a movie, nothing exciting," I rub my lips together. "How about you?"

"Honestly, I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to sleep soon. I have an early morning tomorrow. I just wanted to hear your voice before I went to bed. If the goddess is feeling generous I will dream about you, Amelia."

We exchange soft sentiments and I love you's. It's hard to hang up the phone. As long as I hear his voice I am able to tell myself everything is going to be alright, but as soon as it's gone a very troublesome and very bleak feeling blows in like a gust of wind. I roll onto my back, blinking at the ceiling, cursing our decision to go to the bar two Friday nights ago. We were originally going to stay in but changed our minds last second since we hadn't gone out in a while. If only we had decided to go on Saturday instead. This conundrum wouldn't exist.

I change into my pajamas; a pair of sweat-shorts and one of Jeremy's shirts. It had been my secret for a while that when Jeremy was away I would wear his shirts to bed to feel closer to him, but one day I forgot to do laundry before he got home and he noticed his shirts in the hamper. He teased me about it relentlessly for a few weeks but I know he found it endearing. His shirts smell like him, and that's one of the things I miss the most about him when he's gone. He always smells good. He smells like comfort.

Leaving the bedroom, I mull over what movie to watch and mumble suggestions to myself. Stepping into the living room, I forget about movies altogether and scream at the sight of a man on the couch, backing myself into the kitchen counter, tossing my phone in a panic as I throw my hands over my mouth. I recognize the face and I don't know if that scares me more or less than a stranger's would.

Seth is here.

"Whoa," he smirks. "Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

I am too frightened to respond so I stand there speechless, suddenly aware that my legs are uncovered and I'm not wearing a bra. I cross my arms over my breasts, realizing I am drawing more attention to them, but feel far too vulnerable to posture myself differently. The blood drains from my face as he stands. I don't even know where my phone has landed.

"Your boyfriend is away for a few weeks I hear. You must miss him," he says.

"How did you get in here?"

"Most people make the mistake of hiding a spare key either under the door-rug or in a dormant flower pot. You were the latter. I've always wondered why people do that. Why not hide it somewhere further from the front door? Rookie mistake."

"Give me the key," I demand. He takes a step towards me. "Stop! Don't come any closer. Slide it to me."

He bends down slowly, sliding the key to me across the dark cherrywood floor. I scoop it up and set it on the counter behind me, crossing my arms over my chest again. We both stand tall but he is taller than I. Suddenly I become uncertain about my authority within my own home.

"You shouldn't be here," I hiss. "You should leave."

"You are privy to things, yes?" Seth inquires. Orange light casts across him, setting him on fire. "You know what Jeremy is? You know what I am?"

"Yes, I know what Jeremy is and I know what you are. I know about your congregation. Are you the leader?"

"Ah, so you've been chatting about me," he grins. "Yes, I am the leader. What do you make of that?"

"I think you and your group are a bunch of delinquents. I think you would be smart to migrate elsewhere. There is nothing for you here."

"There is you, Amelia."

"I want nothing to do with you," my voice shakes. I hate confrontation. It makes me anxious. This time is no exception—it's the most anxiety-inducing confrontation I've ever had and I feel it's only just begun. "I love Jeremy. He is my soulmate. I will never sacrifice that."

"Ugh, the domestication of pack-wolves never fails to disgust me," he rolls his eyes. "Did you know they used to be given mates just like us delinquents? Spent too much time around humans and now they can choose whoever they want. Say what you want about progress, but that's just tragic."

"What's tragic about that?"

"Who they choose is never rightfully theirs. Causes so much drama. You, Amelia, do not belong to him. You belong to me," he glances down at my neck. "Why haven't you let him mark you?"

"There's no reason for him to. He knows I am his just as I know he is mine. There's no need to claim ownership. We have an agreement."

"Oh, you women and your twenty-first century feminist bullshit. It's not ownership. It's an act of passion. It's the final act in securing the bond."

"Where do you get your information from?" I shake my head at him. "It does nothing to the bond. It just warns others the marked person is taken by someone. It's not an act of passion—it's an act of possession."

"Only if you are being marked by someone you don't belong to. If I placed my mark on you right now, you wouldn't think twice about abandoning Jeremy for me."

I blink and suddenly Seth is right in front of me. A scream hangs in my throat but he puts his hand over my mouth, walking us sideways until my back is against the hallway wall. A curl falls loose from my braid and sticks to my Vaseline-slathered face. He removes his hand from my mouth and tucks it behind my ear. I breathe heavy.

"Don't believe everything you are told; there are always two sides to a story, but often only one side that narrates it. It's not your fault. When you are told something is true you want to believe it is true. What you feel for Jeremy is more than you could feel for any human man, but it is nothing compared to what you can, and will, feel for me," he sets his hands on my waist, pressing himself close to me. "Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me you feel nothing for me, Amelia, but only if you mean it."

There are chills, sparks, butterflies skittering through every inch of my body. My knees go weak. I clench my eyes shut, hands shaking in the air. If I tell him I feel nothing I would by lying. I resent him for that; it borders hatred, but only because he has challenged everything I thought I knew and wanted.

"Nothing," I squeak. "I feel nothing."

He bends down, lips brushing my ear.

"I think you lie."

"Get out."

He releases my waist and steps away from me, looking at my neck. I am a moderately tall person but he still towers over me. It's terrifying. I get the feeling of looking up at a wave that is about to crash. My hands are still shaking so I hide them behind my back.

"I am giving you a chance now, Amelia, to come with me. This doesn't have to go the way it is going to go. There is nothing Jeremy can do to stop this from happening, and as much as you think you are able to you are wrong."

"Please, get out," I plead. My voice is shriller than I'd like it to be. "Just leave me—us—alone."

"Okay, I will leave," he dips his chin, smirking. Although he's leaving without much protest I know better than to claim victory. "But I will be back. I will give you one more chance."

"Don't bother."

"Take care of yourself, Amelia," he starts walking towards the front door, regarding me over his shoulder. His eyes are bright, playful. "I will see you soon."

Seth leaves and I instantly lock the door behind him, staring through the peephole. He's nowhere in sight. I look through the living room window and still, nothing. He's disappeared as if he was never here in the first place—as if he was a figment of my imagination. My mind is all scribbles and symbols, unable to string together a coherent thought. The shock floods in. He could have taken me if he wanted but he didn't. He's making it seem as if the ball is in my court. I know it is otherwise. Beneath all his ambiguous language hides threats. Subconsciously I still feel his presence.

I find my phone under the table, opening Jeremy's contact in preparation of calling him. My finger hovers over the button but I decide against it. I know it's a bad decision to do so. Jeremy would want to know what has happened, regardless if it's inconvenient. I should tell him everything but amidst all the fear and awe is shame and embarrassment, as if I have invited this upheaval. This is all so absurd. I pace numbly, completely beside myself with stupor.

I start cleaning, ready to scrub every inch of the house. I don't know what else to do. All I want to do is get rid of Seth's impression.

Get rid of the scent.

It doesn't matter that I don't smell it. I know it's there.