Althea lay in her bed, listening to the rain fall on her house. Her phone screen lit up, and she picked it up, expecting another message from Anthony. It was an emergency broadcast, much to her chagrin. The broadcast call began to ring her phone, and the town sirens began to sound.
She frowned as she clicked on the notification. "What was so important this late at night?" she wondered, almost forgetting about her mate.
"Mass murderer Allan has escaped from the high-security prison and is on a killing spree; keep your family together in a single room with food and water."
Her mouth dropped open when she realized she was correct: that was Allan on top of the prison building.
He didn't escape; he was let out, and she was aware of this. The sheriff was acting suspiciously.
She got out of bed and positioned her dresser in front of her bedroom door and her desk in front of the window. The bathroom was adequate in and of itself. There were no windows or a back door. She must defend herself. Her mother was on vacation with Anthony's parents, so she was staying alone in her house.
"F*ck, I'm too scared to go outside; maybe I should call Anthony," she muttered. Her heart was racing as she sat back on her bed, debating what to do.
She wasn't sure if Allan would pursue her, but he'd be stronger and heal faster if she was with him. She'd be like a power boost, and he'd be able to kill nonstop.
She shivers at the thought of him killing faster if she is still alive. She bites her fingernail, and she may be responsible for people's deaths.
"Sh*t, Anthony, where are you? I need you right now," she mumbled, terrified.
She reached into her back pocket and pulled out Anthony's stolen shaver. It's for his benefit and the benefit of others. She inhaled deeply as she lifted her sleeve.
Others would perish if she did not commit suicide now.
She did this about twenty times before bringing the shaver down to her skin and sinking it deep into it. She screamed but kept going as blood dripped down her arm and tears streamed down her cheek.
She made a two-inch-long but very deep cut. The odor of her blood filled the room.
She stood up and double-checked the window to ensure it was shut. Thankfully, it was, and she sat down again. Her carpet was stained with blood.
"I'm sorry, mom and dad," she says quietly, inserting the shaver blade once more. Because she didn't scream this time, it didn't mean it didn't hurt, because it did.
When she heard an ear-piercing growl outside, she came to a halt. It was terrifying, but someone could have died. Wait, that means he's nearby. She had forgotten he could feel her pain, so that growl could have been him.
She ripped the blade out with her teeth. Blood rushed out of her arm, and she began to feel dizzy. She knew her arm wouldn't suffice, so she positioned the blade above her stomach. She couldn't go for her heart because her body wouldn't let her, even though she was already attempting suicide.
The blade in her window shattered before she could sink it, and her desk was knocked over, spilling her schoolwork everywhere. Allan was only a few feet away. She sank the blade into her stomach quickly, letting out a small cry. She was not going to allow herself to live.
He approached her, stood tall in front of her, and pushed her back onto the bed without saying anything. She attempted to move, but her muscles were too weak to cooperate. He was on top of her when he grabbed her arm and started licking the blood off of it.
Her breathing changed as she stared at him.
paces away from the blood loss and terror Her stomach was still bleeding profusely, and she could feel her shirt becoming soaked as a result. It wasn't like it would make a difference; she could still die.
When she returned her gaze to her arm, she noticed that the cuts had stopped bleeding. Her eyes widen, as if she was not expecting this.
Allan set down her arm softly and lifted her shirt above her bra, having heard of mates who could do strange things. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she didn't feel him draw the knife. She screamed as more blood poured out of her wound.
It came to a halt when Allan began to lick her stomach slowly. His tongue was rough, like that of a cat.
He stood up and looked down at her once she felt him finish. She appeared either stupid or vulnerable, both of which were true.
"Before I throw this out," Allan said as he moved to the left side of the bed.
She couldn't move because she had lost too much blood. Everything was hazy, but her defense system wouldn't let her pass out with him around.
She kept her eyes on him as he brought the blade down to her thigh. She moved it with her limited strength. He grabbed her leg and stabbed her with the blade, causing her to scream. She closed her eyes as he moved the blade around.
She was panting and shaking after he finished. "Allan's mate," she said, holding her leg up. The blood had been wiped clean, and she could see what he had done. He left a scar on her skin as proof of his ownership.
He notices a tear rolling down her cheek and smiles.
"Time to go home," he said as he picked her up in bridal style. "No, I'm not going with you," she said quietly.
But Allan simply ignores her. He hopped out of her window, and she groaned as she came to a halt. Nothing was said as he carried her in his arms and walked to who knows where.
They drove past many houses in her town that had been suddenly boarded up. Because of this one person, the town felt deserted. There was one person she couldn't get away from. Her mate.