Alpha Santa

When Nightmares Come Alive

Zoe hums softly to herself, her back to me as she meticulously arranges my clothes in the spacious wardrobe as though every piece needs to be in just the right place. The faint scent of lavender and fresh linen fills the room, mingling with the subtle tension in the air.

Her hands pause for a moment as she looks over the space she’s created, leaving enough room for when she plans to shop for her own things. She’s been like this since morning—fidgety and paranoid, constantly glancing at the door as if Zack might burst in at any second. After last night, I can’t blame her.

She woke me up in the middle of the night, her face pale and drenched in sweat. She’d had a nightmare—one so vivid and terrifying that she’d begged me, on her knees, to stay in her new room with her. I didn’t even hesitate. I agreed, and by morning, she was already busy helping me pack my things and move them from my old room to hers.

Now, we’re in her new suite on the fifth floor, and I can admit it’s a huge upgrade. The hotel itself is massive, with eight or maybe ten floors, but her suite feels like a world of its own—spacious, modern, and far more comfortable than my old one. Most importantly, it gives Zoe a sense of safety she desperately needs.

She’s been determined to leave her old room and everything in it behind, too terrified of running into Zack. I offered to help her collect her things earlier, but she refused, insisting she’d buy new clothes with her remaining savings instead. She doesn’t want to go back there, not even for a second.

I glance at her as she adjusts one of my summer dresses on a hanger. “I just remembered—I forgot something in my old room. I’ll grab it and be back in no time.”

Zoe freezes mid-fold and turns to me, her sharp gaze laced with worry. “What did you forget? I’ll come with you.”

I shake my head quickly, waving her off. “It’s nothing important, just a painting I left by my bed. You keep arranging; I’ll be right back.”

Zoe hesitates, clearly not happy with the idea of me going alone. “Be fast, okay? And keep your phone on. We still need to have lunch, and I’m starving.”

I nod and hurry out, leaving the door open behind me. It’s just a short trip, I tell myself as I step into the elevator. The ride down to the second floor feels slower than it should, and when the doors slide open, I start to step out—only to freeze.

A man in black stands in front of the elevator, his entire body covered as though he’s trying to hide his identity. His head dips slightly, avoiding my eyes, but there’s something eerily familiar about him. His presence sends a shiver down my spine, but I quickly decide to mind my business. The last thing I need is to get caught up in something dangerous.

I step out into the hallway, throwing one last glance at the man before the doors close. My unease lingers, but I push it aside and make my way to my old room.

When I open the door stepping in, I am greeted by the emptiness of a room that no longer feels like mine. Most of my things are already upstairs, but the one item I left behind, the wolf painting, still leans against the wall beside the bed, its golden-eyed gaze catching the light.

I walk toward it, my footsteps muffled by the carpet. The painting has always drawn me in, like a magnetic force I can’t explain. Even now, I feel that same pull, a strange sense of familiarity that sends a chill down my spine.

The wolf’s eyes seem to shimmer, almost as if they’re alive. I blink, and for a moment, I swear they move, tracking my every step. I swallowed hard as I reach for it, but just as my fingers graze the canvas, the door behind me slams shut with a force that rattles the walls.

I jump, spinning around so fast I nearly lose my balance. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps as I stare at the now-closed door.

“Hello?” My voice sounds small and uncertain in the empty room.

Silence.

Turning back to the painting, I freeze. The wolf’s eyes are glowing now, their intensity burning into me. My pulse quickens as a low, raspy voice snakes through the room, curling around my name like smoke.

“Piper.”

I stumble back, nearly tripping over my own feet. My gaze darts around the room, searching for the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” My voice cracks, the fear lacing every syllable.

No answer—just the unrelenting golden gaze of the wolf. Then the voice comes again, softer this time, almost intimate.

“Your mate.”

The air is sucked from my lungs as the words sink in. The voice—it sounds like Elijah’s. My knees threaten to give out, but I shake my head, refusing to believe it.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head furiously. “This is insane.”

The room feels suffocating, the air thick with something I can’t explain. I whirl around, searching for any sign of someone else, but it’s just me and the painting.

When I look back, my knees nearly give out. I swear the wolf looks...different. Its snout is closer to the edge of the canvas, as though trying to break free.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, stumbling backward until my spine meets the wall. I press myself against it, my chest heaving, and the wolf’s gaze doesn’t falter.

The voice returns, this time so close it feels like it’s spoken directly into my ear, laced with cold finality.

“You can’t escape me.”

A scream tears from my throat as I bolt for the door, yanking it open and nearly falling into the hallway. I slam it shut behind me and lean against it, gasping for air.

I clutch my chest, trying to calm the erratic rhythm of my heart. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, and my legs feel like jelly beneath me.

I glance back at the door, half-expecting it to burst open or for the wolf to come charging through.

“Piper, get it together,” I mutter, forcing myself to stand upright. But as I hurry back toward the elevator, I can still feel those golden eyes on me, watching, waiting.

The elevator doors open, and my breath catches when the man from earlier steps out. This time, there’s something different. The air around him carries a metallic tang that makes my stomach churn. Blood. The scent is faint but unmistakable.

Entering , I hold my breath until the doors slide shut, releasing it only when the elevator begins its ascent. Relief is fleeting, though. As the doors open on the fifth floor, the air feels wrong. Heavy.

That’s when I hear it.

A faint sound, like someone crying. The soft whimpers echo down the hallway, growing louder with each step I take. My heart sinks.

The sound is coming from Zoe’s room.

My stomach twists into knots as the whimpers turn into muffled screams, her voice cracking with desperation.

“No,” I whisper, breaking into a run.

When I reach her door, it’s ajar. My blood turns to ice. I push it open, and the sight that greets me nearly makes me collapse.

The once pristine white rug is stained deep red, blood pooling like a gruesome painting splattered across the floor.

“Zoe!” I scream, rushing to her crumpled form near the couch.

Her trembling hands press weakly against her stomach, blood seeping between her fingers. Her pale face glistens with tears, and when her eyes meet mine, they’re filled with fear.

“Zack… he… did this,” she stammers,her voice breaking.

I drop to my knees beside her, my hands hovering, unsure where to touch without making it worse.

“I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I should’ve locked the door. I should’ve stayed!”

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head weakly. “I tried… to call you. But Zack… he destroyed my phone. He said... "Her breath hitches as more tears spill down her cheeks. “If he can’t have me, then no one can.”

A sob tears from my throat as I press my hands to hers, trying to stop the bleeding. “Zoe, stay with me. Please, just stay with me.”

The door bursts open behind me, slamming into the wall with a force that rattles the room. I whip my head around, my heart stopping when I see him.

The Director.

But this isn’t the calm, composed man I’ve come to know. His dull green eyes are glowing a fiery red, his face twisted in a rage so fierce it feels like the temperature in the room has dropped. He looks like a beast barely holding himself together.

I scramble out of his way as he crosses the room in two long strides. “Director—” I start, but the words die in my throat.

He drops to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as he gently lifts her into his arms. Zoe lets out a soft whimper, her head lolling against his chest. Her body, fragile and pale, instinctively curls closer to him, like he’s the only thing tethering her to life.

“Mate,” he whispers, his voice so low and raw it feels like a vow. “You’re safe now. I’ll never let you go again.”

I watch, frozen, as he presses his forehead to hers, his entire body trembling with an emotion I can’t even begin to understand. Zoe’s breathing slows, her hand weakly clutching his shirt as if she knows she’s exactly where she belongs.

And in that moment, I know.

Director isn’t just here for her. He’s hers. And no force on earth, not even Zack, will stand in his way.

For some reason, I doubted whether Zack still had any claim to his life.