5. Clara
Clara
There are men in my room. Alphas, from the height of them.
What the hell!
How did they even get in?
I think all this while I hurl everything within reach at them.
My crystals go first. Then my earbuds. Then the book I was reading before bed. Eventually I run out of ammo and end up standing on my bed, brandishing my phone like a sword.
“Don’t fucking come near me! I’m calling the cops!”
My hands are shaking so badly the phone won’t even register my face. When I try to punch in the passcode, my mind blanks. I know there’s a way to make an emergency call, but in blind panic I can’t figure it out.
A bang downstairs makes every man in the room whip toward the door.
“Police!” Deputy Henry and Sheriff Corbin’s voices thunder up from below.
The alphas glance at each other.
“She hasn’t even called,” says the one who spoke first. His gaze pins me. “What are you, telepathic or some shit?” He’s slim, sharp-edged, in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. His voice is dry, amused, and beneath it lingers the faintest trace of warm spice.
“Police!” Henry roars again.
“Here!” I shout.
I s nap my gaze back to the alphas, gripping my phone tighter. “You’d better put your hands up.” My voice doesn’t shake. If anything, I sound almost confident.
They lift their hands just as the Sheriff and Henry appear behind them.