Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 59: Surprise Helper

Chapter 59: Surprise Helper

TERESA’S P.O.V.

It had been two years since my world flipped itself over, shook me by the ankles, and left me dangling. Two years of pretending I didn’t know Adrian and his friends weren’t exactly running on good old human DNA. Two years of keeping my head down, raising my twins, and trying to figure out how the heck to break out of this gilded cage.

Well, maybe gilded is underselling it. Try

gold-plated with diamond trim, haunted by the faint smell of despair, and—oh yeah—occasionally blood-dripping-from-the-walls. Fancy, right?

At first, it wasn’t all that terrible. Adrian was...charming as usual. The kind of charming that felt like stepping into warm sunlight after a cold storm. His smile? Deadly. His voice? Like liquid velvet. And his eyes? Sharp enough to cut glass. Add that to his distinctive scent—a combination of rain-soaked forests and something I couldn’t quite name—and it was no wonder people fell for him. Hard.

But me? I wasn’t buying it. Not for a micro second. Sure, he bought the twins and me everything we could possibly need. He was a saint with the babies—singing to them, rocking them, changing diapers without so much as a grimace. And the twins? They adored him, giggling whenever he so much as raised an eyebrow, and infuriatingly calling him Papa.

Oh, please. Nobody’s that perfect without some kind of catch. Trust me, I found out the hard way. And let’s not forget—we’re not even talking about a regular human here! At least Lucian can play the "I’m just a normal, non-blood-drinking dude" card. But Adrian? Oh, hell no!

One night, as the twins slept and the mansion was drenched in an unsettling quiet, Adrian decided to drop the "you’re too stressed" speech on me. There he was, casually swirling a glass of red liquid that absolutely wasn’t wine, leaning against the shelf above the fireplace in the living room like some kind of vampire James Bond.

"Teresa," he began, his voice smooth enough to butter toast. "You’ve been through so much. Stressing over how you’re going to raise the twins on your own, working so hard. It’s admirable. But I’m here now, perhaps... it’s time to let go of all that stress. Focus on yourself and the children. Forget about working for now."

I stared at him, mouth half-open, trying to decide between "Thanks, but no thanks" and "Are you serious right now?" But then Adrian looked at me. Not just any look. That look. The kind that made you feel like he already knew what you were about to say and thought it was adorable of you to think you could win an argument with him.

So, I folded faster than a cheap umbrella. "Of course," I murmured. "That makes sense." He smiled, and I swear, it was like I’d handed him the moon.

From that day on, he became full-time Mr. Perfect. He’d spend hours in the nursery, cradling the twins like they were made of spun sugar. Sometimes, he’d hum these haunting lullabies that sent chills down my spine—not in a bad way, but in a "Why does this feel like an ancient curse?" kind of way.

One night, I couldn’t help myself. "Where did you learn that song?" I asked, half-hoping he’d say YouTube.

"Europe," he said smoothly, his lips curling into one of his maddeningly mysterious smiles. "A long time ago."

Europe. A long time ago. Oh, sure, Adrian. Totally a normal thing for someone to say. Nothing suspicious there at all.

But here’s the kicker—every time I thought about calling him out, about asking him point-blank what he really was, I’d remember that scary night and the sight of that poor woman he was drinking... and I’d decide to let it slide. For now.

*********

The first two months after I’d given birth, it hit me—I was being watched. Not the "Oh, we’re just concerned for your safety" kind of watching, either. No, this was "We will notice if you so much as blink in the wrong direction" surveillance.

Harry and his now crew of eight were always there. They were like glorified babysitters who didn’t actually like kids—or me, for that matter. Step outside for air? Boom. There’s Harry, lurking in the corner like a grumpy gargoyle. Think about sneaking out? Poof. Harry materializes, arms crossed, eyes rolling, radiating that "you really thought you were slick?" energy.

I actually thought about complaining to Adrian, but when I brought it up, he just shrugged and told me to "put up with the inconvenience" for his peace of mind. Apparently, he could only focus at work—doing who-knows-what—if he wasn’t stressing about me and was certain I was safe at home. And, like always, I didn’t bother arguing, a simple, "Yes, Adrian," was all I had to say.

One afternoon, I decided to test my luck. I packed a small bag—just the essentials. My certificates, diapers, wipes, snacks, and my overwhelming desperation to breathe air not tinged with vampire drama. I waited for what I thought was the perfect moment: the house was quiet, the twins were napping, and I was sure everyone was distracted.

As soon as I stepped outside, though, the vibe shifted. You know that moment in a horror movie when the music drops and you know the monster’s coming? Yeah. That.

From the shadows emerged a group of men and women, their eyes glowing red, fangs that looked like they were sharpened by the dentist, bared, and looking at me like I’d wandered into a buffet wearing a "freshly grilled" sign. My heart stopped.

"Going somewhere, little bird?" one of them, a woman, hissed, her voice oozing menace.

I clutched the twins like my arms were made of steel. "Please—please don’t hurt us—" I stammered, my voice cracking somewhere between terror and the realization that I was definitely not cut out for this supernatural nonsense.

Before I could process what was happening, Harry and his squad were suddenly there, moving so fast it made my head spin. One second I was staring down a group of fanged nightmares; the next, Harry was barking orders like an angry drill sergeant.

"Stand down!" he snapped, his voice like a thunderclap. "Control your urges, or I’ll do it for you."

The attackers hesitated—just for a moment—before lunging anyway. And then all hell broke loose. There were fists, claws, snarls, and fangs everywhere. Harry fought like a man possessed, and his crew followed suit. Within minutes, the attackers were subdued and dragged off, leaving behind a very confused, very shaken me.

When it was over, Harry turned to me, his face a mask of fury and exhaustion. "And just where," he demanded, his tone dangerously low, "did you think you were going with that bag?"

I scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, but my brain was still in "fight or flight" mode. "Uh...uh...a picnic?"

Harry blinked. "A picnic?" His disbelief was so thick you could’ve cut it with a butter knife.

"Yeah," I said, nodding way too quickly. "Fresh air. For the babies. I, uh... packed snacks?"

Harry stared at me, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and the universal "I am so done" look of every tired babysitter. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out the most defeated sigh I’d ever heard. "Because of you," he muttered, "things around here are falling apart."

I wanted to ask what he meant—what things? Who were those people? Why did they look at me like I was a walking Happy Meal? But before I could get a word out, Harry cut me off with a sharp glare.

"Get back inside," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And if you know what’s good for you and your babies, don’t breathe a word of this to Adrian."

I nodded so fast I was pretty sure I’d given myself whiplash. "Got it. Loud and clear."

And just like that, my brilliant escape plan ended with me slinking back into the house, my dignity left behind somewhere in the dust.

*******

After two long years, by now, I was a professional pretender. Seriously, I deserved an Oscar. I’d mastered the delicate art of acting like I didn’t notice Adrian’s unnervingly smooth movements, the way he could glide into a room without so much as a creak in the floorboards. Or the fact that he sometimes just... disappeared mid-conversation. Normal human behavior? Definitely not.

Then there were the whispers—feeding schedules, they said. Yeah, I pretended not to hear those too, because acknowledging them would send me spiraling into a panic I wasn’t ready to deal with. Instead, I focused on pretending I wasn’t plotting my next great escape like some sort of suburban Houdini.

This time, though? This plan was the plan. Foolproof, airtight, gold star material. I approached Harry with my sweetest smile, stroller at the ready. "I’m just heading to Mr. Ben’s bookshop and then to Mrs. Flora’s diner," I said in a voice so sugary it could’ve given my stepmother a run for her money. "I need some fresh air—it’s been ages since I went into town."

Harry’s gaze fixed on me, those steely eyes narrowing in a way that screamed lie detector engaged.

"You’re lying," he said flatly.

My stomach flipped. "What? No, I’m not—"

"Yes, you are," he interrupted, crossing his arms like the overworked babysitter of my nightmares. Then he dropped the bombshell. "Stop the pretence, I know you know what we are, don’t you?"

Panic shot through me like caffeine on an empty stomach. My mouth opened, closed, then opened again, making me look like a fish flopping out of water. "I—what? That’s... that’s crazy—"

"Save it," he cut me off, his tone sharper than my wit in a crisis. "I’m not going to stop you."

Wait, what? I blinked at him, sure I’d misheard. "What?"

"I said I’m not stopping you," he repeated, his voice icy enough to freeze the Sahara. "Adrian hasn’t been himself since you came into his life. I had suggested we kill you but he is stubbornly obsessed with you. If you leave, maybe things will go back to normal."

For a moment, I just stood there, too stunned to process what was happening. Kill me? Shit! This was worse than I thought. Realizing I wasn’t about to get tackled or dragged back inside, I nodded like my life depended on it—which, let’s face it, it definitely did. "Thank you," I whispered, grabbing onto this unexpected lifeline with both hands.

Harry didn’t reply. He just walked me to the gate, his steps unnaturally quiet, his face carved out of stone. It was the most awkward escort of my life.

We reached Mr. Ben’s bookshop, where I’d left my car back when I first came to town. Ben had been kind enough to keep it in shape, servicing it every now and then. I greeted him with a warm smile, and he looked shocked to see me after two years. I didn’t bother explaining my disappearance. Instead, I told him I needed the car for an errand and would return soon. He handed me the keys, I gave a quick thanks, and I was out of there in a flash.

As I drove away with my twins in the backseat, my heart thudding in my chest, I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting Harry to sprint after me like some sort of vampire terminator claiming he had a change of mind.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, a grim shadow watching me drive off.

**********

Now here I was, a few hours later, hurtling down a winding road like I’d just escaped from a heist, except my loot was two peacefully snoozing babies in the backseat and a diaper bag stuffed with my wrinkled certificates, snacks, wipes, and desperation. The road ahead was dark and curvy, the kind of route that would look cinematic in a thriller but feels a lot less glamorous when you’re the one behind the wheel. My heart? Oh, it was still pounding so hard that I’m pretty sure it was auditioning to be a drummer in some rock band.

Freedom was... well, terrifying. Like being shoved into the deep end of a pool when you’re not sure if you can swim. Every shadow felt like it was hiding something, every distant set of headlights made me grip the steering wheel tighter. My overactive imagination was already drafting up scenarios where Adrian or Harry swooped in to snatch us back.

But there was something else mixed in with the fear—something I hadn’t felt in so long that I almost didn’t recognize it. It was quiet and cautious, like a baby bird testing its wings.

It was hope.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t looking at freedom and safety through a barred window. I was feeling it. Breathing it. It was raw and messy, but it was real.

I didn’t know where the road was taking us, but I knew one thing: I was never turning back.