The Mate of A Monster

Gasping for air like a fish out of water, Dianne fell from sleep into pain. Her widely open and locked on the ceiling beams above her. She struggled for air. An invisible force pressed down against her ribs, the unseen weight of a full-grown horse crouching on her.

With lips as dry as the grand canyon , with eyes closed she counted to ten, and musterd the will to force her lungs to expand, contract, and expand again. Next, she worked to uncurl her cramping fingers—knowing it wouldn't be long before they grew twisted, muscles twisting tight until each digit locked into place.

Waking in such misery could only signify one thing.

She didn't have much time.

Dianne had to hide. She had to get out of her bed, ignore the spreading fire shooting through each nerve, and find a place to suffer alone before they found her.

The horrors that haunted her dreams every eve of their arrival were nothing. The pain clawing through muscles and bones the closer they came was nothing. The feeling of being hunted, of hairs rising on the back of her neck, didn't matter.

The deep-seated shame of what would happen should the hated ones find her… mattered greatly.

Dianne would rather die. She could never accept their eyes on her, their hands.

Alphas...

Alphas approached. Close enough now that she couldn't waste a precious second.