Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 181: Stalker

Chapter 181: Stalker

Liam’s P.O.V.

I tapped the tip of my pencil against my sketchpad, the faint sound the only thing breaking the stillness of the lake. The reflection of the sky on the water blurred as the wind sent ripples across its surface. Like I had said countless times, this was my haven, the one place where I could think without feeling like the walls were closing in.

Then, I heard it again, just like last night: a faint rustle of leaves.

I glanced around, heart pounding.

"Who’s there?" I called out, but nobody answered, just like yesterday.

This part of the forest was supposed to be deserted, that was why I loved coming here.

At first, I thought it might be a squirrel or a bird, but then I caught a flash of movement. My stomach sank. Every part of my body was already preparing for flight when a figure slowly stepped into view. There was no mistaking it now, it was her,

Mai Blackwood.

Her unnatural silver eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the world tilted. Those eyes—sharp and all-knowing—always unsettled me, even when we were kids.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.

She tilted her head, her curly light-brown hair falling softly down her shoulders. "I could ask you the same thing."

"This is my spot," I muttered, closing my sketchpad and tucking it under my arm.

Her lips twitched, almost like she was holding back a smirk. "Yours? I didn’t see your name on it."

"Fine. Take it. I’m leaving."

I stood up and brushed off my jeans, but as I moved to walk past her, she moved, stepping into my path.

"Relax, Rivers. I’m not here to bother you."

I snorted. "That’s new."

Her expression faltered—just for a second—but it was long enough to make me pause. Mai didn’t show weakness. Ever. But that flicker of something—regret? guilt?—was unmistakable.

"I just... needed some air," she said finally.

I studied her for a moment. She wasn’t sneering or glaring, and her tone wasn’t laced with its usual venom. If anything, she seemed... unsure. It was unnerving.

"Fine. Stay. Whatever," I muttered, stepping around her and heading for the trail.

"Wait."

Her voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned, narrowing my eyes. "What?"

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her jacket. "I... never mind."

"Seriously?" I threw up my hands. "You stop me just to say ’never mind’? What do you want, Mai?"

Her eyes darted away, and for a moment, she looked almost... human. Vulnerable, even. But then she straightened, her usual confidence snapping back into place.

"Nothing," she said, brushing past me and taking a seat by the water.

I stood there for a moment, torn between leaving and staying. Eventually, I shook my head and walked away, the weight of her presence lingering long after I was out of sight.

*********

The next few weeks were... weird. No, scratch that—downright scary.

Everywhere I went, she was there. Like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

At first, I told myself it was just coincidence. Nothing to panic about. High school wasn’t exactly a sprawling city, and random run-ins happened. But then it kept happening.

She took the seat right behind me in class, so close I could feel the weight of her stare drilling into the back of my skull. I tried to ignore it, focusing on my notes, my pen, literally anything but her. But every time I shifted slightly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught her watching. Silent. Unblinking.

Then there were the hallways. No matter which route I took, she’d somehow be there, leaning against a locker, arms crossed like she owned the damn place. Well technically she did. Anyways, If I cut through the courtyard instead? There she was, sitting on the edge of a stone bench, absently twirling a strand of her hair, looking straight at me.

The cafeteria? Same thing. She always seemed to be at the table closest to mine, even though I knew she never sat there before.

It got worse when I saw her outside of school.

The first time was at the bookstore downtown, my usual spot after school. I was flipping through a graphic novel when I felt it—that same, familiar prickling sensation down my spine.

I turned, and there she was.

Standing at the end of the aisle, running her fingers along the spines of books like she actually cared about them.

Yeah, right.

I frowned and turned back to my book, but I couldn’t concentrate.

"Are you following me?" I finally asked, keeping my voice low but sharp enough to make my point.

From my peripheral vision, I saw her tilt her head, as if the idea amused her.

"If I were, wouldn’t you think I’d be better at it?" she said smoothly, stepping closer.

I clenched my jaw. "No, because you’re terrible at it. You’re not even trying to be subtle."

She gave a small, almost lazy smirk. "Maybe I don’t need to be."

That answer didn’t sit right with me. I stared at her, trying to figure out what game she was playing.

"Mai," I said flatly, "what do you want?"

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected me to ask outright.

"Nothing," she said, and for a second—just a second—there was something softer in her tone. But then she tilted her head, her smirk returning. "Why? Am I making you nervous?"

Yes.

"No," I lied, gripping my book tighter.

She hummed, looking me up and down like she was dissecting me.

"Good," she murmured before turning away and walking off, like she hadn’t just made my skin crawl.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

What the hell was she doing?

*******

One afternoon, I was sitting in the library, flipping through an art history book, when a shadow fell across the table. I glanced up, and there she was, sliding into the seat across from me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hi," she said, her tone casual.

I blinked. "Uh... hi?"

She leaned back, her piercing gaze scanning the book in my hands. "Art history, huh? Didn’t know you were into that."

I shrugged, unsure how to respond.

"You any good at drawing?" she asked.

"Why do you care?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just making conversation, Rivers. Relax."

I studied her, searching for any trace of the malice that had defined our childhood interactions. But she seemed... genuine.

"I’m decent," I said cautiously.

"Decent, huh? Maybe I’ll commission you to draw me sometime."

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Why not?" She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "You could make me look even more dangerous than I already do."

"Pretty sure that’s not possible," I muttered under my breath.

Her lips curved into a sly smile. "You’d be surprised."

As the days went on, I couldn’t ignore the changes happening around me.

For years, my belongings had been the target of pranks and vandalism. My notebooks would go missing, my sketches would be torn to shreds, and my locker would be trashed on a regular basis. But lately, everything had stopped.

In fact, things were better than ever.

The book I thought I’d lost turned up in my locker, perfectly intact. The jacket I’d left behind in the art room was draped over my chair the next morning. Even my favorite pencil—a gift from my dad—reappeared after weeks of being missing.

It didn’t make sense.

And then there were the notes.

They started small—just a few words scribbled on scraps of paper tucked into my locker or my sketchpad.

"You’re stronger than you think."

"Keep going. You’re not alone."

"You matter."

At first, I thought they were some kind of joke. But the handwriting was neat and careful, and the messages felt... sincere.

I didn’t know who was leaving them, but I couldn’t deny that they brightened my day.

One afternoon, as I was walking to my next class, I caught sight of Mai lingering by my locker. She didn’t notice me at first, her attention focused on something in her hand.

A scrap of paper.

My stomach twisted.

No. It couldn’t be.

I hesitated, then cleared my throat. "Mai."

She jumped, quickly shoving the paper into her pocket. "Rivers. What do you want?"

I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. "You tell me. You’ve been following me around for weeks, showing up everywhere I go. And now I catch you... what? Writing notes to yourself?"

Her eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite place. "What are you talking about?"

"The notes," I said, my voice rising. "The ones I’ve been finding in my locker. Is it you?"

She didn’t answer, but the way her jaw tightened gave her away.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why are you doing this? Is this some kind of joke to you?"

Her expression hardened. "It’s not a joke."

"Then what is it?"

She looked away, her hands clenching into fists. "I don’t know," she muttered.

"Bullshit."

"Fine!" she snapped, her voice trembling. "I just... I wanted to help, okay? I know I’ve been a terrible person to you. I know I hurt you. But I—" She broke off, her breathing uneven.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Finally, she met my gaze, her eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, Liam. I just... I want to make things right."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.