The Alpha's Breeder

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Thirty One : Out

(First Person P.O.V)




It was almost two in the afternoon when the doorbell suddenly went off repeatedly in the span of 2 seconds.

I was terrified to even look through the peephole, but the loud banging on the door and the sound of a certain someone’s voice spurred me into action.

Why am I not surprised that she would show up?

“Emira! I know you are in there! You owe me money!” the old woman shouted loudly as if the entire neighborhood couldn’t hear her already.

My eye twitched in irritation at this extremely dramatic woman.

The bowl of dry cereal in my hand was slowly dropped onto the counter when I dragged myself to the front door, glancing at her senile and annoyed face from the peephole while contemplating if I should open it or not.

The van was still parked in the front, closely watching Lou’s interaction with my front door.

Truthfully, I have been holed in my house for almost 3 days now. I was scared to leave because I knew that I could easily get snatched up into that van if I’m not careful.

I would rather take my chances of starvation in the house. But, nowadays, ordering food over the internet wasn’t hard. As long as I have enough money on my card to cover all my expenses, I can buy anything over the internet. But my savings will probably go into my stomach before long.

Well, there goes my retirement.

Other than food, I had no way to contact anyone. I was without a phone since my cellphone was in my bag at my workplace. I’m sure it didn’t make it through the fire like most of the people that worked there.

But then again, who would I call for help when my enemy was the law and authority?

That’s right.

No one.

Well, except for Eros but I, unfortunately, don’t know if he even has a phone.

This is one important course of action that I completely overlooked. If you are dating someone, it’s obvious you would need some form of contact.

Although, I am kind of confused at our relationship status.

What does being mated to someone mean in human terms?

Like a committed marriage that is inseparable even in death?

I don’t know.

But anyways, everyone in his pack was, obviously, into the whole mind-linking thing. Why pay for crappy phone service when you have the gift of magically contacting everyone with a single thought?

I wonder if Breeders also have this magical benefit.

If so, sign me up!

I’m all in for that because the phone bill was a portion of my paycheck already.

My grandmother used to have phone service but I turned it off due to the bills and the strange calls from all sorts of people, male and female, who had hooked up with my grandma in the past.

She had a pretty wide variety of relationships after my grandfather passed away, possibly because she wanted to piss him off for dying before she did.

She had also gotten married to almost 6 other men and women, and divorced them thereafter from relationship complications and screaming another man’s name in bed, mainly my grandfather’s.

Don’t ask me how I know this.

She was bitter and distraught about his sudden death for years and never really got over it.

And I bet my grandfather probably wanted to raise up from his grave and choke her at the absurdity of her grudge.

I would have done the same if I was him.

Finally, in annoyance of my abused doorbell, I opened the front door and peeked my head out to keep from exposing myself to the person in the van parked out front.

“Is Emira home?” Lou, my next door neighbor, asked with this rather calm and composed voice. She scanned me from head to toe as if she wasn’t the one banging on my front door while shouting like a banshee.

Then I was suddenly reminded that I looked nothing like ‘Emira’ to her.

Her sudden change in attitude was probably because of my current features.

“Emira’s not here.” I cleared my throat before continuing with a slightly softer high pitched voice, “She’s been out of the country for a while.”

She scrutinized my words and my facial expressions for almost 2 minutes before finally saying, “Yea, well, she had me mail her passport off to some crazy country and I need my money back.”

“How much is it? I can go ahead and pay for her,” I slowly said, noticing her slight smirk at my words. I have a feeling she’s going to try and pull a fast one on me.

“That’s going to be $500, honey,” she said after this slightly prolonged pause until she could calculate how much she was going to charge me.

What the hell?!

Five hundred dollars to mail an envelope?

What kind of blasphemy is this?

My lip twitched and I was tempted to just slam the door in her face. But instead, I kept my mouth shut and gave her this incredulous look with my arms crossed over my chest, and brows furrowed together in disbelief.

Is she trying to rob me under the pretense of ‘charitable help’?

“The shipping was expensive, sweetie,” she continued to explain after one look at my rather irritated expression.

Don’t call me ‘sweetie’ and ask for five hundred dollars you senile old woman!

“Just one minute. Let me go call the post office and see how much it really costs to mail an envelope to Kyrgyzstan,” I said nonchalantly.

“Wait! Silly me, I meant $100,” she smiled stiffly.

I knew that wasn’t right either but that was better than $500.

“Let me go get it.” My eyes narrowed and I proceeded to shut the door in her face, leaning against the cold wood to take a deep breath before I exploded into her face and ruined by whole fake identity as someone else.

With slow and heavy footsteps, I got back into my room and found my stash of cash hidden underneath the mattress.

With an exasperated sigh, I went back to the front and opened the door, quickly handing her the money before I could snatch it back and close the door in her face again.

As if she knew my intentions, Lou had swiftly put the money into her bra before I could even take it back, almost like a squirrel stuffing nuts into its mouth to keep anyone else from getting to it.

I was tempted to ask her for a receipt so that I could write it off on my taxes or as proof that my ‘debt’ has been paid but had to refrain.

Since she was the only one who picked up and helped me, I’ll just let it go.

“I’m Auntie Lou. What’s your name, sweetie?” She tried to start a conversation now with a wide smile on her face, smug that she had managed to swindle money out of me.

“Arime,” I said, giving her this slightly impatient look to hurry along so I can get back inside as if I had something very important to do.

Which I don’t.

But the lady didn’t take the hint, as expected.

“Arime? I’ve never heard Emira talk about you and I’ve known her for over 35 years now,” she said.


She’s been living next to us for 15 years and I’m sure that she exaggerated because I’m currently only 30 years old.

“I’m a distant distant distant relative from Ohio,” I said, putting plenty of emphasis on ‘distant’.

“Is that so? What are you doing here in this ratchet town?” she asked with this curiosity that she always has when new neighbors move in.

And did she just say ratchet?

“I’m on the phone right now so...” I completely ignored her question and tried to give another hint that she was not getting.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” The lady just continued talking as if she didn’t hear my words.

She was probably asking for her forty-two-year-old son who had been in three previous marriages that only visits her at Christmas.

I don’t even know why she tries.

“I have to go.” I didn’t give her any time to respond and slammed the door in her face again without remorse this time.

As I walked away, I could hear her screeching at how ‘rude’ and ‘ill-mannered’ I was.

I don’t care.

I’m not Emira anyways.

I have been stalking the black van as much as it has been stalking me.

The male in the van stayed there almost all of the day, rarely leaving his post at the front of my house.

Someone always brings him food and takes away his trash and pee bottles around noon time. If he ever did leave, someone would replace his station for the night until they swapped out again in the morning.

I just couldn’t understand why they are even stalking me so closely like this. Was it because I might be the only one returned after being captured by the werewolves?

Perhaps, they thought that I was involved with the werewolves. I don’t know but it’s driving me nuts from being holed inside of my house for these last 6-7 days. I couldn’t come up with a single logical reason as to why they were keeping such a tight watch on me.

It was nerve-wracking not to know the unknown.

I was literally a sitting duck waiting to be plucked and cook. And I am not going to let myself get captured that easily without putting up a fight.

With a swift kick at the covers on the bed, I took out all of my hidden cash underneath the mattress and stuffed it into a small bag. Along with the cash, I also placed some spare keys, pepper spray, and a packet of gum in there too.

Traveling light was a must in this case because lugging around a heavy suitcase was not going to be any help, especially if I am trying to escape.

It was almost 3 in the morning when I looked out the front window and checked the back alley. Nothing was amiss.

I opened the back door and sneakily closed it in order not to make any unnecessary noise that might attract their attention.

My heart was beating like a drum in my chest, blood rushing to my face and roaring in my ears. I didn’t even realize that I was shaking when I quickly tried to travel to the back gate and towards the dumpster.

My eyes swiveled around when I noticed a grey car, parked further away down the alley, had a person in it. From my house, I never noticed the vehicle.

And when I did, it was too late.

The person in the car saw me.

He looked to be in his mid-forties and was pretty skinny when I saw him say something into his phone and open the car door.


My heart stuttered a beat. I could feel sweat drip down the back of my neck when my jaw clenched hard in realization.

By now, I was already halfway to the back gate when I managed to swallow down a scream and tried to quickly retreat back into the house.

But the man was a marathon runner. He jumped over my gate like an Olympic athlete and was headed straight for me at an extremely fast pace.

Hell, I almost pissed myself when I turned and saw the other familiar male, who was stalking me in the black van, approach the side of my house.

My hands shakily dug through the bag in search of pepper spray and the key because I, stupidly, locked the door on my way out.

By now, I was trembling so much, completely stressed as I fumbled around in search of the items until something cold touches my fingers.

I found the stupid key but not the pepper spray because of my anxiety.

With a grimace, I hurriedly hiked up the porch when this stinging pain in my scalp jerked me backward. The key fell from my grasp and chimed when it hit the ground.

I didn’t even have the time to scream for help when a hand closed around my mouth.

The door was easily opened with the key that I dropped and I was dragged into my own house by the hair, kicking and struggling with everything I had.

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