Page 31 of My Unhinged Alphas
“Oh, that’s comforting,” I reply.
He watches me like I’m a puzzle he didn’t expect. “You’re not afraid enough,” he says quietly.
“That’s not true,” I shoot back. “I’m terrified. I’m just trying not to look like it. There’s a difference.”
Silence stretches between us.
I tilt my head slightly. “Are you going to keep the mask on the whole time?” I ask. “Because I have to tell you, it’s giving me ‘cult initiation’ vibes, and I did not RSVP.”
He doesn’t react the way the laughing one would. Instead, he studies me. “You’re stalling,” he says.
“Correct. Self-preservation. I’d recommend it.”
He takes another small step forward. Close enough now that I can see the exact shade of his eyes through the mask’s cutouts. Blue. Clear. Intense in a way that makes my stomach flip for reasons I would rather not unpack right now.
“You don’t think I’ll hurt you,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“I think,” I say carefully, “that if you were going to, you would’ve done it while I was unconscious. Which feels like poor villain planning, by the way.”
Something shifts in his posture.
Not offense. Something else.
I push a little further, because talking is safer than silence. “Also, if this is some elaborate hostage situation, I’d appreciate knowing the dress code. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for industrial chic.”
That does it. The faintest change in his breathing. Almost a suppressed reaction.
There’s something about him that doesn’t feel like the others. The one who laughed in the basement. The one who gave orders.
This one feels?—
Conflicted.
And for reasons I don’t understand, that makes my fear shift into something more complicated.
“I’m Lena,” I say suddenly.
He hesitates a beat too long, but doesn’t say his name.
I nod slowly.
“Okay, strange man with no name. Here’s what I need. My phone. A not-ominous explanation. And maybe slightly less intensity. It’s doing things to my nervous system.”
That earns the faintest tilt of his head. “Like what?”
“Like I can’t decide if you’re my captor or my… very intense bodyguard.” The words slip out before I can filter them.
His eyes darken just slightly. “I’m not your captor,” he says.
“Good,” I reply softly. “Because I’d really like to believe that.”
And the worst part? I do. Even with the mask on. Even in this strange room with the metal cross on the wall. Even knowing I should be more afraid than this. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that feels less like ownership?—
And more like… protection.
Which is insane, right?
