Alpha Alden

~Kezi

Being roused from sleep at an ungodly hour is perhaps the worst feeling to ever experience. A sharp yell and a tight grip bring me back to the surface, expelling the last remnants of a blissful dream. All I see is darkness, but I hear frantic movement and distressed breathing.

“Kezzi, get up!” a voice yells in my ear, yanking me from my bed.

“What’s going on?” I groan. It’s Avia, my caregiver, my teacher, my friend. She never allows a situation to be out of her control, so hearing this evokes instant fear within me. This is serious.

I can faintly see her red hair through a fringe of darkness, her vice like grip on my wrist allows her to lead me through my own room, stumbling over boxes I had just unpacked clothes from.

“Is this another test?” I question, as she leads me to my own window. I hear the scrape of it as she shoves it open. The bite of the ice tinted wind follows after. “I’m starting to get sick of these.”

“Quiet,” Avia breathes. She sticks her head out the window, then back in again. “They will hear you.”

My blood runs cold. “They?”

She doesn’t respond, clambering out the window. She does it swiftly and adeptly, her feet landing in the snow. She’s good at this. She is trained for this. It’s why she is my protector, why they hired her. When she reaches through, I hesitate.

“Can I pack something?” I ask warily. Leaving without any belongings seems despicable. I’ve done it before, and it’s like tearing myself from my home.

A home that doesn’t exist.

“Not today Kezi,” Avia insists, motioning for me to follow her through the window. “They are inside the house.”

The sound of that has me following her instantly, sliding over the slick window sill. I land in the snow, feet bare. I’m still in my night clothes, which billow in the wind as we duck down. My feet burn, and my skin shivers, but Avia doesn’t move. I realise why when I hear my bedroom door open.

“Search the room,” an unfamiliar voice says gruffly. It’s masculine and rough, which sounds like it belongs to the kind of person who could tear me apart. Someone else is in there too, kicking through the boxes, muttering obscenities under their breath.

I hear things being torn apart. Have they noticed the open window? When I glance up, Avia had managed close it slightly, leaving a small sliver for us to hear through. When had she done that?

“She’s not in the bed,” another voice says, slightly tighter and more anxious than the other one.

“Keep looking.”

Glancing at Avia, I notice her motion to keep crawling along the side of the house. I do. This isn’t my first experience in a tight situation like this one. This is what my life is like. We only survived three days in this place. And to think, I had hope.

“Cross the road,” Avia whispers, as we pull away from the house exterior, stalking across the front yard.

Darkness conceals us, but it doesn’t help my heart rate. At least it distracts from the burning pain in my feet and arms, which bare the brunt of the wind and the snow on the ground. Typical Love Pack weather. We slide across the road, hurrying as much as possible. Avia is constantly looking over her shoulder to ensure they aren’t following.

I know what she plans the moment she pops our neighbours gate opens, ushering me inside. She’s stealing their car.

Waiting outside while she does so, I shiver, and cast one last longing gaze at the house we hardly had time to stay in. This is my life. No use being upset about it.