When The Alpha Chooses A Human

I snapped the car door shut, a smile tugging at my lips.

My grandmother knew my weakness for sugar all too well; it was a running joke between us.

As I handed her the coffee cup, I gave her a look that was half conspiracy, half irony. She laughed, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

"I love candy," I said, popping another Twizzler into my mouth.

"You won't be so glad when your teeth start falling out," she replied, pressing the accelerator. "We'll see about that in a month."

I didn't answer. I didn't want to upset her. Not now. She went on, as if she had guessed what I was thinking.

"I know this isn't easy for you. You weren't thrilled about moving, but I'm convinced you'll end up loving this place. All I want is for you to try."

I took a slow breath. Yes, I was going to try. I was going to pretend I believed her, to give her that chance. But that didn't mean it would be easy. Changing your life, changing your habits—it was like jumping into an abyss.

"I'll try," I said finally. "But promise me you won't push me."

As the car slowed, I leaned forward to look out the window. The landscape had dissolved into a stretch of dense greenery. Trees as far as the eye could see. Nothing else.

"Are we moving into a forest?" I said flatly.

My grandmother laughed softly and placed a reassuring hand on my knee. "No, it's just the road," she said. "Wait for it."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, buildings began to appear, scattered along a narrow street.

I thought of the guys we'd seen at the gas station on the way here. Four of them, staring at our car like they owned the road. The memory of their intense stares lingered, leaving a vague unease in its wake.

"So, tell me," my grandmother said, keeping her eyes on the road. "How do you really feel, deep down, about all of this?"

I bit my lip. I knew she was hoping for a sincere answer.

The truth was, I hated the idea of starting over from scratch, but I also wanted to show her I was making an effort. "I think this is what's best for us," I said finally. "So I'll try to get used to it."

The neighborhood unfolding before us did have a quiet charm. I tried to focus on that. Texas had its advantages, that much was undeniable. The people seemed open, and I wanted to believe we could fit in. But the thought of starting over from nothing was still a crushing weight.

"Great, we live in the middle of nowhere," I muttered. Not having a car would make it even worse. How was I supposed to get around? Were there even any buses that came through this remote part of town?

The car stopped in front of a large, old house. I ran a hand over my face and finally looked up at it. In spite of myself, a smile stretched my lips. The facade had charm—a little worn, sure—but one window opened onto a small balcony. Just like my room in Florida.

My eyes were glued to it.

From the outside, the house looked great, even if it seemed like it had been abandoned for years. With a little care and work, it could be beautiful again. Maybe living here wouldn't be so terrible after all.

"It needs some repairs," my grandmother admitted, "but I already fell in love with it. I couldn't resist."

Inside, my excitement dropped a notch. The worn carpets, the dated furniture, the musty smell—the whole place felt like it was stuck in a bygone era.

"Workers will come in a few days," she explained quickly, reading my grimace. "And look at the garden. With a little attention, it'll be gorgeous. We can decorate it however we want, make this place a real home."

I let her talk. She had every right to be happy, and who was I to take that away from her? My mood could wait. What mattered was seeing her smile.

"Quiet neighborhood, huh?" I added after a pause. "Hey, how far is the nearest beach?"

She laughed. "Already feeling nostalgic?"

"Always," I answered with a shrug. "But I can wait. Do you want me to start unloading the car?"

She nodded. My job was to get the essentials out; the rest would follow. As for where she was getting the money for all of this, I didn't dare ask.

"Yes, and I'm going to check if the heat works," she said.

The heat? That didn't sound good.

I rolled my eyes and headed back outside. It couldn't get any worse, right? Just as I was leaning into the car, a voice behind me made me jump.

"Need a hand?"

I straightened up so fast my head spun. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"Isla?"

She strolled over, the picture of nonchalance. "So you're the one moving in here? This is your house?"

A knot formed in my stomach. Her tone was light, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Closing the car door with a kick, I stared at her in silence. This girl had a strange energy I couldn't quite place.

"Is there a problem?" I demanded abruptly.

"Not at all," she answered with a smile. "The house has been empty for a long time, that's all. I live a little farther down, but I mostly spend my time at my brother's."

"Why didn't anyone buy it before?"

She shrugged. "No idea. Want me to help you?"

Without waiting for my answer, she grabbed a box from the trunk and headed up the driveway.

I wasn't sure I wanted to be her friend. Something about her put me on guard.

"Maya, can you bring me—" My grandmother stepped out, stopping short. "Oh, who's this?" She took the box from Isla's hands.

"Isla. She lives down the street," I explained. "She says the house has been empty for a long time. Are you sure this was a good idea?" I didn't want her to waste her money on a lost cause.

"Maya," my grandmother said firmly.

That was enough to make me shut up. Once she made a decision, there was no point in arguing.

"Go finish unloading," she said, her tone softening. "I'm making us hot chocolate."

"She's sweet," Isla whispered with a smile before picking up another box.

Yes, my grandmother was sweet, but that was deceptive. She could be immovable when she needed to be.

"Thanks, I've got it," I said, taking the box from her. I couldn't figure this girl out. Was she genuinely nice, or was she after something?

"It doesn't bother me," she said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'd rather be here. My brother has friends over and I don't feel like hanging out with them."

"How old is your brother?" I asked, intrigued.

"Twenty-four, but he acts like he's fifty," she answered with a smile. "And sometimes he's insufferable."

"Insufferable how?"

"You'll see when you meet him. What about you, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, only child," I replied.

I walked up the driveway, a box in my arms. But my foot caught on a loose stone and I lost my balance. The box tumbled from my grasp, and I fell hard, my knees scraping against the gravel.

"Shit!" I groaned, rolling up my jeans to dig a sharp little stone out of my skin.

"Are you okay?" Isla asked, leaning toward me.