Brewing Storms
Alexander's POV
"Fucking hell!" The snarl ripped from his throat as Alexander slammed his fist down on the desk, the polished wood shuddering under the force. Papers scattered, pens clattering to the floor, but he didn't give a shit. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard it felt like his skull would fucking crack.
Who the fuck was she?
That girl. That Elena fucking Winters. He'd seen her for a split second. Just a goddamn glimpse as she stepped into the elevator, and everything in him had froze. Like he'd been hit by a bolt of lightning, every nerve ending on fire, senses screaming at him to pay attention. And that wasn't fucking normal.
He stalked around the room like a caged beast, muscles tense, fury simmering beneath his skin. His office—a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city—felt too goddamn small, like the walls were closing in on him. The sleek furniture and spotless decor mocked him, a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside.
His wolf was clawing at him, restless, pissed. It wanted something. Needed something. But what? That girl… she'd felt wrong. Not in the mate sense—no, that was a fucking lie. Mates were a myth. A bullshit story his pack liked to tell themselves to make their cursed lives feel a little less empty.
But her? Elena? She was a fucking problem. A fucking threat. His instincts screamed that much. She was dangerous, like a blade held just out of sight, waiting to strike. And he had no fucking clue why.
"Boss?"
The voice grated on his nerves, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing at the man standing in the doorway. Rhett, his beta and second-in-command, raised his hands in mock surrender, a wary smile on his lips.
"Whoa, calm down, Alex," Rhett said cautiously. "What the hell's got you so worked up?"
"That fucking girl," Alexander growled, voice low and lethal. "The one I saw earlier. The interviewee."
Rhett blinked, brows furrowing in confusion. "Elena Winters? The—what's got you riled up about her? She's just… a candidate."
Alexander let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Just a candidate? Just a fucking candidate?" He stalked closer, eyes blazing. "There's something off about her, Rhett. Something I can't fucking explain. And I'm not letting it go."
Rhett watched him warily, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. "Okay, man, I hear you. But… what exactly are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I want every fucking detail on her. Everything. Where she's from, who she's talked to, what she's hiding." He spat the words like venom, fists clenching at his sides. "Because I swear to God, Rhett, there's something wrong. And I need to know what."
Rhett hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll have our people look into her. But… Alex, don't you think you're overreacting a bit? I mean, it's just—"
"Don't fucking question me!" The snarl erupted from him before he could stop it, his wolf surging to the surface, a dangerous growl rumbling in his chest. Rhett took a step back, eyes wide, but Alexander forced himself to breathe. To calm the fuck down before he tore his office apart.
"Just… do it," he bit out through gritted teeth, each word like a shard of glass. "I want answers. Now."
Rhett nodded quickly, ducking out of the room without another word. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Alexander alone with his rage. Alone with that fucking feeling. Like he was on the edge of something huge, something that could either save him… or destroy him completely.
He turned back to the window, glaring out at the city below. It stretched out before him in a sea of lights and steel, every inch of it his territory. His to control, to protect. But her? Elena Winters?
She was a fucking wildcard. And he didn't do wildcards.
"I'll find you," he whispered, voice a low, dangerous promise. "And when I do… I'll fucking destroy you."
Elena's POV
The subway was packed, the train car a chaotic mix of bodies and noise. Elena clutched her bag tightly to her chest, her knuckles white, trying to keep herself from shaking. The interview… It had been a fucking nightmare. She'd barely been able to get her words out, her brain scrambling to keep up under the weight of those stares.
But she'd done it. She'd survived. And now… now she just had to wait.
"Just… breathe," she whispered under her breath, the words drowned out by the rumble of the train. "Breathe, damn it."
The lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the grimy floor. It was almost comforting, in a fucked-up way. The noise, the chaos—it was familiar. It grounded her. Reminded her that she wasn't back in that conference room, with those icy eyes boring into her like she was nothing. Like she didn't belong.
She shook her head fiercely, forcing the memories back. No. She couldn't think like that. She had to be strong. Had to keep going, no matter what.
The train screeched to a halt, and she stumbled out onto the platform, her legs trembling. The city buzzed around her, lights flashing, people shouting, horns blaring. She ducked her head, slipping through the crowd like a ghost, her bag clutched tight to her chest.
She didn't have a plan. Not really. But she had a chance. And she was going to grab onto it with both fucking hands and never let go.
"Hey, lady, watch it!" A voice snapped as she bumped into a burly man, his glare making her shrink back. "Fucking idiot."
Sorry," she muttered, ducking her head. She kept moving, heart pounding, fear clawing at her throat. Goddamn it, Elena. Pull yourself together.
She made it to her apartment—a tiny, rundown place with peeling wallpaper and a sink that leaked if you turned it the wrong way. But it was hers. Her sanctuary. Her fucking refuge from the chaos outside.
She locked the door behind her, pressing her back against it, and let out a shaky breath.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd know if she'd made it. If she'd gotten the job. And if she did… If she fucking did…
It would change everything.
But as she curled up on her sagging couch, exhaustion weighing heavy on her bones, a sense of dread settled in her gut. Something felt wrong. Off. Like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void she couldn't see the bottom of.
And then the dreams came.
Dark. Twisted. Shadows curling around her, voices whispering in her ear. She saw fire. Blood. A man with eyes like ice, staring down at her with a hunger that made her skin crawl. He reached for her, his lips curling into a cruel smile—
"No!" She jolted awake, a scream tearing from her throat. Her heart pounded, her skin slick with sweat.
"Fuck…" she gasped, trembling. "What the fuck…?"
But there was no one there. No shadows, no whispers. Just the empty darkness of her shitty apartment.
And the echo of that smile.