THE ALPHA’S ADDICTION

The pounding on her door penetrated the deep layers of sleep. Freya fought the thick fog forcing her eyes closed, making her body heavy. Alarm spread. It was as if she had been drugged. Her gaze found the small alarm clock on the bedside table. Three o’clock in the afternoon. She had slept two hours away. She sat up slowly, feeling as if she was wading through quicksand. The pounding on her door began again.

The sound echoed in her head, thundered at her temples.

“What’?” She forced her voice to be calm, although her heart was slamming against her chest. She was in trouble. She needed to pack quickly, run. She knew how futile it could be. Wasn’t she the one who had tracked four serial killers following the mental path of their thoughts’? And this man was a thousand times more powerful than she. The truth was, she was intrigued by him. She had never met anyone like him before. She wanted to stay and learn from him, but he was far too dangerous in his casual use of power. She would have to put distance, perhaps an ocean, between them to be truly safe.

Although, she had a feeling that even that was possible.

And wasn’t he the reason why she had come back in the first place?

“Freta, are you all right’?” The male voice was filled with concern.

She knew it was Kyran.

Kyran. She had met him during her highschool days. They had become friends. But when she had found out that he had been placed by her mother to keep an eye on her, to spy on her, she had doubted his friendship, and they had begun to grow apart ever since then.

When she had come in this afternoon with Yodah, she had seen and found amusing his jealousy which weren’t hidden from his grey eyes. She had thought that he had gotten rid of his feelings for her.

She might have been tempted to return it, seeing as he had filled out in the right places, but for the man from her dreams.

She had to talk with Yodah.

“I’m fine, Kyran, just a touch of tiredness, I think,” She assured him, feeling far from fine. She shoved a shaky hand through her hair. “I’m just so tired. I came here to rest.”

“Aren’t we having dinner lunch?” He sounded plaintive, and that annoyed her. She didn’t want any demands on her, and the last thing she needed was to be in a crowded dining room surrounded by a lot of people.

“I’m sorry. Another time, maybe.” She didn’t have time to be polite. How could she have made such a mistake as she had last night? She was always so cautious, avoiding all contact, never touching another being, never getting close. It was just that the stranger had been broadcasting so much pain, so much loneliness. She had known instinctively that he had telepathic powers, that his isolation far exceeded hers, that his pain was so great, he was considering ending his life. She knew what isolation was. How it felt to be different. She had been unable to keep her mouth shut; she had to help him if she could. Freya rubbed her temples in an attempt to relieve the pain pounding in her head. It always hurt after using her telepathic powers.

She only hoped that he was the man from her dreams, or else… she didn’t want to think of the outcome.

Pushing herself up, she moved slowly to the bathroom. He was controlling her without contact. The thought terrified her. No one should be that powerful. She turned the shower on full force, wanting the steady stream of water to clear the cobwebs.

She pulled on faded jeans and a crocheted sweater in defiance. She had sensed he was Old World and would frown on her American clothes.

She heard male laughter, low, amused, mocking.

“You would try to defy me, little one.” He said.

Freya sank down onto the bed, her heart beginning to pound. His voice was black velvet, a weapon in itself.

“Don ‘t flatter yourself. I love the dressing.” She replied.

She forced her mind to be calm even as she felt the brush of his fingers on her face. How did he do that? It was the lightest caress, but she felt it down to her toes.

“And where were you thinking of going?”

He was stretching lazily, his body refreshed from his sleep, his mind once more alive with feeling. He was enjoying sparring with her.

“Lunch.” She stated simply.

“Do you play chess?” He asked.

She blinked at the strange question.

“Chess?” She echoed.

Male amusement could be very annoying.

“Chess” She repeated.

“Yes. Do you?” He asked.

“Of course.” She replied.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

“Play with me.” He intoned.

“Now?” She asked.

She began to braid her heavy mass of hair. There was something captivating in his voice, mesmerizing. It tugged at her heartstrings, put terror in her mind.

“I must feed first. And you are hungry. I can feel your headache. Go down to lunch and we will meet at eleven tonight. Say hi to your mama for me.” He said with a laugh.

“No way. I won’t meet with you.” She decided stubbornly, refusing to point out that her mother might not accept him as her bride. The older woman had stared at Yodah so strongly that the latter had squirmed for the first time since she had known him. The former hadn’t spoken to him either, except when she had asked for his name.

She knew that they would be having a mother to daughter discussion soon. She wondered if she should tell her about thee man of her dreams.

She didn’t even know his name.

“You are afraid.” She heard him say.

It was a clear taunt.

She laughed at him, the sound wrapping his body in flames.

“I may do foolish things occasionally, but I am never a fool.”

“Tell me your name.” She intoned.

It was a command, and Aiden felt compelled to obey it.

Did witches also have this sort of compelling power?

“Aiden.” He replied.

She loved his name.

“Tell me your mother’s name. I’m curious.” He asked.

She forced her mind to go blank, to be a slate wiped clean. It hurt, sent darts of pain through her head, made her stomach clench. He was not going to take what she would have given freely.

“Why do you fight me when you know I am the stronger? You hurt yourself, wear yourself out, and in the end I will win anyway. I feel the toll that this way of communicating takes on you. And I am capable of commanding your obedience on a much different level.” He stated.

“Why do you force what I would have given, had you simply asked?”

She could feel his puzzlement.

“I am sorry, little one. I am used to getting my way with the least amount of effort.” He replied.

“Even at the expense of simple courtesy?” She inquired.

“Sometimes it is more expedient.” He answered.

She punched the pillow.

“You need to work on your arrogance. Simply because you possess power does not mean you have to flaunt it.” She said.

“You forget, most humans and beings cannot detect a mental push.” He pinpointed.

“That isn’t an excuse to take away free will. And you don’t use a push anyway; you issue a command and demand compliance. That’s worse, because it makes people sheep. Isn’t that closer to the truth?” She asked, feeling annoyed.

“You reprimand me.”

There was an edge to his thoughts this time, as if all that male mockery was wearing thin.

“Don’t try to force me.” She stated simply.

“I would not try, little one. Be assured I can force your compliance.”

This time there was menace, a quiet danger lurking in his voice.

His tone was silky and ruthless. Even as he remembered that only one person had escaped his compulsion. Emma.

“You’re like a spoiled child wanting your own way.” She said.

She stood up, hugging the pillow to her protesting stomach.

“I’m going downstairs to have lunch. My head is beginning, to pound. You can go soak your head in a bucket and cool off.”

She wasn’t lying; the effort to fight him on his level was making her sick. She edged cautiously toward the door, afraid he would stop her. She would feel safer if she was among her people.

“Her name, please, little one.”

It was asked with grave courtesy.

Freya found herself smiling in spite of everything.

“Her name is Leonarya.” She replied.