The Alpha King's Lost Princess

Hezzlie

Wispy clouds pass across the full moon, the silver globe bringing the forest to life around me. I tilt my face to the sky and close my eyes, feeling a surge of power rush through my body. Every hair stands on end, and my muscles tighten.

I take a deep breath and fight to control the electricity that clings to me, making my clothing crinkle with every brush of the breeze.

Beneath my bare feet, the velvety grass spreads out like a blanket, like a carpet inviting me to move forward, to take solace in the expanse of trees that lift their twisted branches to the heavens. They, too, are reaching for the sky, for the glowing orb that invigorates everything her light touches.

Moving forward, I feel the wind brush through my hair, lifting the black strands off my shoulders as I glide between the trees. Deep in the recesses of this forest lies a secret, one I’ve yet to uncover. But I have a feeling tonight is the night. If I can find out what it is the moon is trying to reveal to me, I’ll finally be free of my burdens from the past.

As I pick up speed, that ball of energy I’ve felt deep inside unleashes, sending sparks of electricity shooting through my limbs. I can’t control it now, and with that burst of power, I feel my bones begin to snap, to shift around, and my pale skin is replaced by fur as dark as night, just like my ebony locks. With four paws on the ground, I can move even faster. Dodging around trees, leaping over fallen limbs, and careening over rocks, I push on toward the heart of the forest and the secret that calls to me.

But the shifting scene around me tells me something isn’t right. The trees grow darker, their roots beginning to protrude from the ground, their branches more gnarled. A deep breath reveals the fresh scent of florals and crisp fall air has been replaced with the pungent smell of decay. It’s as if death lurks within every shadow, beneath every crooked branch.

“This is all wrong,” I whisper, spinning around to try to run back the way I came, but that path looks just as ominous. I turn again. All around me, the forest has become a menacing, deathly place, and when I raise my eyes to the heavens–the moon is gone.

Gasping, I try to suck in a deep breath, but my lungs are restricted. I remind myself that something is wrong–that I have to remember what it is. My body begins to shift again, but rather than taking on my human form, I am some sort of a twisted mockery–half wolf, half human–covered in ugly tufts of fur with twisted bones and deformities.

“No, none of this is right!” I hold up one of my hands to look at it. A patch of black fur falls away revealing a long, jagged cut that winds up to my elbow. Blood drips onto the forest floor, and pain grips me even further, not allowing me to move

I close my eyes and will myself to remember. What’s happening? Why am I here? What’s going on?

A faint beeping sound grows louder as the forest melts away. I haven’t opened my eyes again, but I can feel my arm is no longer in front of my face. I try to raise it, but I can’t. Struggling, I try to take a step, but my feet are concreted to the ground.

Voices flutter by. At first, I can’t make them out, but then I begin to recognize them. “Two more milligrams of lorazepam,” I hear a gentle male voice say. “She seems to be coming out of it now.”

“Good thing you had her restrained or else she would’ve broken another window.” This voice, a female one, is gruffer, angry, I think.

Angry at me.

“She’s restrained to keep her from hurting herself,” the man says. I don’t open my eyes, but the world is slowly coming back to me. I recognize his voice well enough that a face begins to take shape behind my eyelids.

“She already did that,” the woman says. “Two more squirts of booty juice, comin’ up.”

I hear him sigh in disgust. “Please don’t call it that. And please use the port, Nurse Roberts.”

“Yes, Dr. Bolton.” I hear a bite to her voice as Nurse Roberts is admonished. I almost laugh, but I’m still too out of it to do so, and in a moment, I’ll be out of it even more. Part of me is frightened, afraid I’ll end up in that wicked forest again, but I know I only have one weird dream each night, and this one has passed. I can go to sleep now. I can rest.

Nurse Roberts’ sneakers squeak as she crosses the linoleum on her way out of the room. I hear the subtle brush of a pencil on paper as Dr. Bolton finishes writing on my chart. Despite my exhaustion, I manage to open my eyes slightly. I see his form at the foot of the bed, and tranquility washes over me.

I’ve been at Peripheral Behavioral Hospital for two months, one week, and five days. Tomorrow will make two months, one week, and six days. I absolutely hate everything about this hellhole. More than anything in the world, I want to go home. Dr. Turner, the man who runs the place, is the devil, but three days ago, Dr. Bolton took over as my primary doctor, and for the first time since they rolled me in, screaming, in the back of an ambulance, I feel like things just might be okay.

“Go back to sleep, Hezzlie,” he says, as if he can sense me trying to look at him through my eyelashes. “The dreams are over for tonight. You can rest now.” He squeezes my leg, and I do as I am told, hoping that the next time I fall asleep, instead of dreaming that I am a wolf, I will dream of my mother.

I long to see my mother’s face more than anything in this world. For now, the only place I can see her kind brown eyes is in my dreams. So I let myself fade away and reach for her.

James

Hezzlie’s breathing evens out, and I know that she’s asleep again. I finish taking down the details of her movement and the few words she was muttering on her chart. I also mark down that she was given another sedative. Then, satisfied that she'll be fine for the rest of the night, I head to my office.

The hallways are quiet as I pass by rooms of patients I’ve never met and never will. I was called in to evaluate Hezzlie Stone, and she is my one and only responsibility while I’m at Peripheral–which won’t be for much longer.

That’s a good thing because Dr. Turner’s staff is horrible. I wish I could call the state and get this awful place shut down, but unfortunately, every hospital I’ve visited over the past six months has been exactly the same. No one cares about the patients. They’re just here to collect a check and push some pills.

I sit down at my desk and open Hezzlie’s file on my laptop. A smiling girl of seventeen looks back at me. The picture was taken in May, right before she graduated from high school. That’s about the same time the dreams started, or so her file reads.

I glance over the notes from Dr. Turner and others. Her mother called the ambulance after she found her in the woods outside their home, slashes from the broken window cutting up her arms and legs to the point the poor woman was afraid she’d bleed to death. Ms. Stone was caught off guard when the emergency room transferred her daughter to Peripheral saying she was a danger to herself and others.

Most parents have no idea how easy it is to lose their child, in the blink of an eye, to a government entity looking in from a distance. These places don’t need the whole story. They don’t want it. Places like Peripheral will take anyone who can pay.

Though, in Ms. Stone’s case, I hear it’s taken every penny she has because her insurance didn’t cover it, and Hezzlie can’t be released as long as she still thinks she’s a werewolf.

I let out a deep breath and pick up my phone. It’s answered on the first ring despite the late hour. “It’s her,” I tell my Alpha.

He doesn’t question whether or not I’m sure. “Bring her.”

“Tomorrow,” I tell him. “What about her mother?”

“I don’t need her,” he says dismissively.

Taking a breath, I prepare to argue with a man only a fool would confront. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Fine.” The line clicks dead, and I hang up.

“Tomorrow.”