Alpha Santa

Caught Between Wolves

Piper

I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. My body is running on nothing but nerves and guilt. Ever since the director carried Zoe out of that blood-soaked room, I foolishly stayed out of his way, assuming they needed privacy. But now… now, I have no idea where she is.

What was I thinking, trusting her safety to a man again? Even if he is the director of the hotel, there’s something off about him. The way his eyes burned red, the way his anger felt almost… feral. He reminds me of someone.

Elijah.

The thought of him claws its way into my mind, and suddenly I want to see him. His infuriating smirk, his cryptic remarks that always kept me guessing, even the way he always seemed to show up when I least expected him. Oddly enough, I miss him. And maybe… maybe he could help me. If anyone could figure out where the director is keeping Zoe, it would be Elijah since he works here.

But a chilling thought strikes me: I don’t know where he stays. I don’t know where he sleeps. I know nothing about the man I’m supposed to marry—even if it’s all for show. That can’t be good, can it?

With a deep breath, I head down to the lobby, hoping one of the staff can point me in the right direction. When I step into the lobby, I stop short. It’s empty. Not a single staff member behind the front desk, no bellhops, no guests milling about. The silence feels unnatural, oppressive, and it prickles at my nerves.

My stomach growls, loud and demanding, reminding me I haven’t eaten since yesterday.

With a sigh, I make my way to the dining hall. Maybe I’ll find someone there—staff or otherwise. Besides, I need food if I’m going to keep going.

As soon as I enter, the hum of conversation greets me. People are clustered in small groups, their voices low but paranoid. I grab a plate and start dishing out food, trying to ignore the tension that seems to hang in the air.

“Did you hear?” a woman whispers from a nearby table. “A dead body was found in the woods.”

I freeze, my hand hovering over a serving spoon.

“The poor man,” another voice replies. “They say he was eaten alive by a wild beast.”

“A wild beast? There’s no such thing around here,” someone else argues. “Maybe a bear?”

“No,” the first voice interjects, her tone firm. “I saw the photos. He was torn to shreds—no bear could’ve done that. It had to be something stronger. Something more… dangerous.”

My chest tightens, the spoon clattering against the edge of my plate as I move to the next table, straining to hear more.

“What are you saying?” another voice asks, hushed and almost fearful.

“I’m saying,” the woman says slowly, “it could’ve been a… werewolf.”

Werewolf? My plate slips from my hands and crashes to the floor, food scattering everywhere.

All heads turn toward me, their whispers halting.

“Sorry,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the pieces. My hands tremble as I gather the broken shards, heat crawling up my neck as their stares linger.

As they turn back to their conversation, I can’t unhear the word. Werewolf. My mind drifts to the painting in my room. I stand, gripping the edge of the table to steady myself.

“Werewolves don’t exist,” one man scoffs.

“Of course they don’t,” another agrees. “But whatever killed that man wasn’t normal.”

“Poor guy,” someone else adds. “I heard he’d just been dumped. His girlfriend rejected his proposal, and he ran into the woods to drink his sorrows away.”

The blood drains from my face. My mind races. Zack.

Could it be him? Did the director…? No. It couldn’t be.

I lose my appetite entirely and leave the dining hall, my legs moving on autopilot as I head for the elevator. I press the button for the highest floor with shaking hands. If the director isn’t there, the CEO must be. Someone will know where Zoe is. She needs to be safe, and also I f*****g hope Zack wasn't the person who was killed by a wild beast. Even though he was horrible, I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

The elevator dings, and as the doors open, I step out and gasp.

The top floor is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The walls are lined with paintings—wolves of every shape, size, and color. Their eyes seem to follow me, some yellow, some glowing red, others icy blue.

And then I see it.

The same wolf from the painting in my room, its golden eyes burning with a fierce intensity. Except here, it’s twice the size, dominating the space with its presence.

Why wolves? Why nothing else? My head spins with unspoken questions as I push forward, unsure what I’m even searching for. Shaking my head, I force myself to focus. Zoe. I need to find Zoe.

The floor feels endless. Every hallway I walk down leads to another that looks just like the last. It's like a labyrinth designed to confuse anyone who dares enter and my frustration grows with each turn. What am I even doing up here?

Just as I’m about to give up and head back down, a glimmer of hope catches my eye—a door, slightly ajar, at the far end of the corridor. My pulse quickens as I tiptoe closer, heart pounding louder with every step.

When I reach the door, I hesitate, pressing my ear against the crack. From this angle, I can’t see much—just a sliver of the room and the back of the director’s broad shoulders. His posture is rigid, his tension almost palpable.

Before I can make sense of it, a voice low and commanding cuts through the silence.

“Control your wolf. Let this mistake not happen again,” the voice growls. My breath catches in my throat. The tone is sharp, filled with authority yet familiar. “You are my Beta, but you’ve caused far too much chaos in this hotel.”

Beta?

The director’s voice is softer, but the guilt in it is unmistakable. “I apologise, Alpha. I will handle it. I’ll clean up the mess I made.”

Alpha? My mind spins, the words barely making sense. Beta? Alpha? What the hell are they talking about?

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and coming straight toward me. My chest tightens in panic. He’s coming.

I turn to run, but in my haste, I don’t see the massive vase standing by the wall. My hip clips it, and it teeters for a heart-stopping second before crashing to the floor in a spectacular explosion of ceramic and flowers.

The sound echoes like a gunshot through the silent hall.

“s**t,” I whisper, staring in horror at the shards scattered at my feet. Blood wells from a small cut on my palm, but the sting barely registers.

Behind me, the door creaks open fully. My head snaps up just in time to see the director’s tall, imposing figure emerging, his dull green eyes narrowing as they lock onto me. My survival instincts kick in, and I bolt down the hall, ignoring the pain in my hand.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I turn a corner, nearly slipping on the polished floor. Just as I’m about to round another corner, a figure steps into my path, blocking my escape.

“Are you okay, miss?” a calm, deep voice asks.

I skid to a stop, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I look up, my breath catches.

It’s him.

The man from the art exhibition—the one who’d bought the $100,000 painting. His piercing brown eyes meet mine, glinting with a hint of curiosity. His sharp, tailored suit fits him perfectly, exuding power and sophistication. Yet his aura, while commanding, doesn’t have the same intensity as the director’s or even Elijah’s.

“Y-Yes,” I stammer, my voice shaky.

His gaze drops to my hand, where blood is steadily dripping onto the floor. “You’re hurt.” His tone is unreadable as he reaches out slightly, as though to help.

I hesitate, unsure of what to do. The intensity of his presence makes my thoughts scatter. Is this the CEO? The man who sent me the dress and the painting? The way he carries himself… it wouldn’t surprise me.

“I—” My voice falters as the sound of the director’s footsteps grows louder behind me.

The man’s eyes flicker past me for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then his gaze returns to mine, softer now. “You shouldn’t be up here. This floor is restricted.”

“I-I was just looking for someone,” I whisper.

His lips curve into a faint, knowing smile, his tone laced with an almost disarming charm. “And did you find what you were looking for?”

Before I can answer, the director rounds the corner, his expression dark with restrained fury as his gaze shifts between me and the man in front of me.

“Mr. Calab,” the director greets tersely, his voice tight, almost strained. “You’re here.”

Mr. Calab. That’s the CEO’s name? For some reason, it doesn’t seem fitting for a man of his status, and the thought unsettles me.

It feels like they’re having a silent conversation—no words exchanged, just a charged exchange of glances. It’s almost as if they’re communicating telepathically.

Finally, Mr. Calab says smoothly. “I believe the Luna requires assistance. Let the Alpha know.”

Luna? Another strange name. What are they talking about? And why does it feel like this conversation is about more than just me?