THE ALPHA'S ACCIDENTAL ASSASSIN

ALRIA

I rolled out of bed and rubbed my face, feeling the familiar ache in my lower back from yesterday’s double shift.

I looked at the clock and groaned because I only had twenty minutes to get ready for my shift at the courier service.

I walked over to the counter and reached for the small plastic jar sitting next to my sink which was labeled "Moon Salt," the gray, bitter stuff my grandmother sent me from the village every month.

She was obsessed with it and told me I had to eat a spoonful every single morning or I’d get sick.

I hated the taste as it made the back of my throat itch, but I didn't want to argue with her. She had raised me alone, and if she thought this weird salt kept me healthy, I would just swallow it and move on.

I scooped out a heap, shoved it into my mouth, and winced as the bitterness hit my tongue. I chased it down with a glass of tap water and grabbed my hoodie from the back of the chair. It was three sizes too big, which was exactly how I liked it.

People in Veridia City looked at you differently when they could see how small you were, and I preferred to blend in that way. I tied my messy brown hair into a tight bun, pulled the hood over my head, and headed out the door.

I walked the six blocks to the high-end courier office and when I finally got to the office, as expected, my boss, a sweaty man named Miller, was already waiting for me at the front desk. He didn't even look up from his clipboard as I walked in.

"You're late, Ryan," Miller said, sliding a antique chest toward me.

"The trains were slow," I lied, even though I walked to work.

"I don't care. This needs to go to Ashbourne Tower, penthouse level. It’s a priority delivery for the CEO himself. Do not drop it, do not lose it, and do not be late, or it's your job."

I looked at the chest. "Ashbourne Tower? As in Edward Ashbourne?"

"Yes, now get moving," Miller barked.

I tucked the chest under my arm and headed back out.

Everyone in the city knew about Edward Ashbourne. He was the billionaire who basically owned the North District, but nobody ever actually saw him.

I didn't care much for billionaires, but the tips for these deliveries were usually enough to cover my groceries for a week, so I started walking out.

"Delivery for Mr. Ashbourne," I said, holding up the packing slip.

They didn't say a word. One of them pointed toward a high-tech scanner. I walked through it, and it hummed as red lights moved over my body. Then I had to walk through another one, and another. My boots squeaked on the marble floor, and I felt out of place in my oversized hoodie and faded jeans.

Finally, a woman led me to a private elevator.

"The Alpha…I mean, Mr. Ashbourne, is expecting the package," she said, her voice sounding tight and nervous.

The elevator ride was fast.

My ears popped as we shot up to the top floor, and when the doors opened, I stepped out into an office that was very much bigger.

It was cold inside, and the walls were nothing but glass, showing the whole city stretching out below.

A man was standing by the window with his back to me. He was wearing a black suit that fit him perfectly, and he was tall, much taller than I expected or heard.

"I have your delivery, Mr. Ashbourne," I said, my voice echoing in the quiet room.

He turned around slowly, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

His hair was as black, his eyes were a piercing, dark color, and they felt like they were looking right through me.

He was handsome, but he looked dangerous and arrogant. He didn't smile or greet me; he just stared at me with a cold expression that made me want to turn around and leave.

"Bring it here," he said. His voice was deep and smooth.

I humped silently. I hated when people talked to me like I was a servant.

I started walking toward his massive mahogany desk, keeping my eyes on the rug so I wouldn't have to look at him. I just wanted to drop this off, get my signature, and get out.

But then, my boot caught on the raised edge of the plush fabric, and I lost my balance.

I felt myself pitching forward, and my heart jumped into my throat. The wooden chest flew out of my arms and hit the floor with a loud, sickening crack.

The wood split, and the lid popped wide open. Something bright and shiny slid across floor, spinning. It was a silver dagger.

Edward Ashbourne moved faster as he reached out his hand, maybe trying to catch the chest or maybe trying to stop me from stumbling. But as he lunged forward, the silver blade sliced right across his forearm.

The cut wasn't even deep, but the reaction was terrifying.

Edward didn't yell or hiss. He gasped, a wet, choking sound, and his knees buckled.

He crashed to the floor, his hands clawing at the desk as he tried to stay upright. I watched in horror as his skin began to change right before my eyes. He went from looking healthy to a sickly, pale gray color in a matter of seconds. His eyes rolled back, and sweat started pouring down his face.

"Mr. Ashbourne?" I shouted, reaching out to help him.

"Stay back!" he choked out, but his voice was weak.

Before I could move, the doors of the office burst open.

I heard the thud of boots on the floor and the clicking of guns. I looked up and saw five security guards rushing into the room. They didn't go to Edward first. They pointed their guns directly at my head.