Mated To The Cursed Alpha

My fingers dig into my pocket to feel the small can of pepper spray there.

I'm not feeling afraid, not exactly, even though everything feels off. But the hairs on my neck are standing up.

It's instinct. My body knows something isn't right, even without my conscious mind trying to make sense of it. Maybe it's the exhaustion, the long hours of work catching up to me.

I try to shake it off. Just get home, Elena.

Then I hear something.

A sound cuts through the fog.

Low, but desperate. Whatever it is, it's deeply pained.

It comes again, but lower.

It doesn't sound human.

I freeze, my heart thudding immediately, feeling like it's about to burst from my chest. My ears strain for the sound again, listening very closely and carefully. My mind already sorts through memory and instinct.

It's an animal. A pained animal.

I know that immediately. The cry is too raw, too broken. Years working as a vet have trained me to recognize animal sounds.

It comes again. Another whimper, but it sounds closer now.

I move toward the sound, trying to locate it. It happens involuntarily, even before I can think properly about what to do.

My mind races, thinking about how whatever's hurt might be somewhere around, but that's not enough to stop me.

I look directly in front of me. My eyes scan everywhere, even though nothing is visible through the haze. My hand shakes as my fingers quickly search my bag for the flashlight, my thumb finding the switch.

I turn it on.

The beam slices through the fog in front of me, guiding my legs as I take one step, then the next.

And then, I see it.

A massive black dog lying helplessly on the roadside. Its fur is soaked with blood. The sight hits me like a punch.

Its body jolts hopefully as its silver eyes catch the light.

They lock on mine.

In that moment, everything in me goes still.

It's not just the size. The animal is huge. Obviously bigger than any stray I've ever seen.

But somehow, I know there's something more. Something I can neither comprehend nor explain.

It's too aware. Too calm. Its breath comes in shallow, uneven pants. Its blood is dark and fresh beneath it, surrounding it like a pool.

I look carefully for the wounds. They are deep and fresh, cut intentionally. Deep gashes along the flank.

It's not the work of another animal.

Someone did this.

I swallow the saliva forming in my throat and bend down slowly, keeping my light steady, and observing.

"Hey, there," I say softly, the exact way I talk to every other scared animal I've dealt with. I keep my voice calm, but my nerves are tense, wired with adrenaline.

The dog doesn't move. Doesn't growl. It's just watching.

I open the zipper of my bag and pull out my emergency kit. Gauze. Antiseptic. Gloves. I can't stitch him up here, not in an alley, but I need to stop the bleeding.

"You're not gonna hurt me, are you?" I ask under my breath, mostly to myself. It's more like a question I ask to make myself more confident.

I put on my gloves and press the gauze gently to the worst wound, bracing for a reaction.

He doesn't twitch. Doesn't even flinch.

He just stares.

Its silver eyes are unsettling. Too observing. Like he's not just seeing me, but reading me. Studying me.

My pulse thuds hard in my ears as I work. I focus on the familiar rhythm of cleaning wounds, applying pressure, keeping calm. That's something I can control.

The bleeding slows, but these cuts need real care.

Stitches. Antibiotics. Rest.

If I leave him out here, he'll die.

The clinic is too far, and I can't carry something this heavy on my own. My apartment is just a few blocks away. It's not ideal. But it's the only option.

"I'm gonna take you with me," I whisper. "We'll figure this out."

I pull back, half-expecting him to resist. But when I stand and pat my thigh, he moves. It's a struggle. Slow. Shaky. But he does try to get himself together.

My breath catches as I watch him rise.

Blood drips from his flanks, leaving a red trail behind us as we walk. The fog closes in again, muffling our footsteps as we make our way out of the alley.

He stays close, his massive frame just a step behind me. I keep glancing at him, uneasy and strangely comforted at the same time. It should be the other way around. I'm the one helping him. But somehow, walking beside him, it feels like he's protecting me.

The night gets darker, but the warmth of his presence comforts me. I grip the flashlight tighter. My chest is heavy with questions I can't answer, and even though he might be able to, he can't talk.

Where did he come from?

What did this to him?

And why does he feel so familiar?

The thought makes my stomach twist. I push it down. Focus on what I can fix.

I'm a veterinarian. I deal in biology, medicine, and logic. I don't have time for gut feelings and eerie stares.

We reach the edge of the alley, and the fog lifts just enough to see the faint outline of my apartment building down the block. I walk faster, my heart pounding heavily. The dog limps beside me without a sound, never slowing.

My mind goes in all directions, searching for answers that it cannot get.

The wounds. The eyes. The silence. Every part of this is wrong.

And yet... I didn't leave him behind.

I couldn't.

The city disappears around us as we move. It's just the two of us. The only company in my home after a very long time.

I don't know how he got into the situation I found him in.

But there's one thing I know.

Something is definitely wrong.