Something About Him

Zenith’s POV

The storm has come in full. Rain lashes the windows, steady but unrelenting. The wind moans low through the eaves, like the house itself is trying to say something it cannot quite form into words.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. I brought a complete stranger home tonight. Who does that? No. Scratch that. Who brings home a man that grabbed them from behind and sniffed their neck? Me, apparently.

And that is the weird part. I should be freaking out. I should be curled into a ball, texting emergency contacts, hiding a kitchen knife under my pillow. But I’m not. I feel calm. No, not calm. I feel… right.

I close my eyes and see him again, his eyes, dark hair plastered by the wind, the way he said "Mate" like it meant everything and nothing all at once. Alejandro. Even his name sits strangely well on my tongue. Like I have said it before. In another lifetime. In another language. Maybe in a dream I forgot when I was twelve.

God. What is happening to me? I roll over and stare out the window. Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating the room in a flash of blue-white. The thunder follows, soft and distant, like it’s not ready to argue yet. I know why I brought him here. Compassion. That was the first layer.

He looked lost. Raw. Like a person carrying a thousand invisible bruises. And I have seen that look before, in kids who flinched too hard at slammed doors, in the mirror on nights I felt like I did not belong anywhere. He looked like no one had ever protected him.

So yeah, maybe I overreacted. Maybe I leaned too far into kindness and let it override caution. But that is not the whole truth. The truth is… I feel something when he is near. Something that crackles beneath my skin. Something that feels clearer than logic.

It is more than mere attraction. It is more than adrenaline. It feels like every part of me already knows him. The curve of his shoulder. The way he tilts his head slightly when I speak. The gentle way he held my painting like it was sacred.

It does not make sense. We have just met. Yet when I look at him, I feel like… I have been waiting. Like some part of my soul stood in line for him, and now it’s finally my turn. God, what does that even mean?

My rational brain tries to step in, trauma bonding, psychological projection, daddy issues, something textbook and clinical. But my body is not listening. Neither is my heart. I roll onto my back again and let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

He is sleeping on the couch. Just on the other side of the wall. Quiet. Still. A shadow in my house, and somehow, I already feel like the space fits around him. I wonder what he is dreaming about. I wonder if he dreams in color. If he is even capable of sleep after whatever life carved those haunted silences into him.

And the strangest thing? I do not want him to leave. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Not ever. It is terrifying, this sudden, magnetic pull. I do not even know his story. He is barely spoken ten words. I should be cautious. I should set boundaries. But all I can think is: what if I never meet someone like him again?

I hug my pillow tighter and close my eyes. There’s no logic here. No checklist. No plan.

Just this feeling. That I have found someone I did not even know I was missing.

I must have drifted off. I do not remember when it happened, only that one moment I was blinking into the dark… and the next, I was somewhere else. Not just dreaming. Inside something.

The scent of pine trees is everywhere. It feels more like a memory that a dream. I’m standing on the edge of a clearing beneath a white oak tree, the leaves trembling like they are listening to something I cannot hear.

There, two figures sit on the ground, side by side. The moonlight casts an ethereal glow over them. I know one of them instantly. Alejandro. His hair is shorter, his shoulders narrower. He is younger and vulnerable.

The woman beside him is tall, and elegant. Her features are soft but drawn tight with grief. She touches his hand with trembling fingers. “I don’t know if it’s scientifically possible to have twins with different fathers,” she whispers, voice cracking. “But it happened. And it happened to us.”

My breath hitches. This is… real. Not fantasy. Not imagination. A memory? She speaks faster, and her emotions make her voice break. “He, Xavier, he never forgave me for you. Your eyes. Your hair. Everything about you reminded him that you were never truly his. And he punished you for it.”

Alejandro says nothing. Just listens. Stoic. Barely breathing. “I should have protected you better,” she murmurs, holding out a glowing bracelet, blue like the sea, glowing faintly under the moonlight. “Take this. Go as far as you can. If you can… find your father. I hope he’s not the monster I feared.” And then everything shifts... A time skip, like a chapter turning in the dark.

Alejandro is older now, in his early twenties. He is arriving in a small town surrounded by the dense forests of Oregon. The trees are taller than any I have seen, their canopies thick like a ceiling. He moves into a modest cabin on the edge of the woods, alone but determined.

I hear his thoughts, feel them like whispers in my own mind. "This is where she worked. Before him. Maybe someone remembers… Maybe someone knows where he is." The dream fractures again, another skip. It is night.

Alejandro is running barefoot through the woods, his breath ragged, with blood splattered on his chest. Arrows whistle past his head. Silver-tipped. Behind him, I see them, hunters. Dressed in black, their faces masked, and their weapons gleaming.

Then more shadows emerge, and they are not human. Spellcasters. I feel their power like static on my skin. And vampires, at least five of them, fangs bared, eyes glowing. They all want one thing. The bracelet.

It glows brighter on his wrist now, pulsing like a heartbeat. The whole area feels eerie because of the spells, shouts, snarls. I want to run to him. To help. But I cannot move. I’m just watching. Suddenly, a roar, deep, and primal, rips through the forest.

Alejandro stops, falls to his knees, and his body shifts. Bones crack. Muscles stretch. Fur bursts from his skin. In seconds, where once knelt a man now stands a creature out of legend. A massive black wolf, eyes like burning sapphire. Even in the dream, I gasp.

He lunges. Rips through vampires like paper. Beheads a witch mid-incantation. Spins, dodges, claws, howls. Rage and grace made flesh. He moves like he has been doing this for centuries. The hunters scream and run,I can tell that he lets them go. They drop their weapons in the dirt. The rest? Gone. Slaughtered.

And then.... The wolf stumbles. He shifts back. Naked, human, bleeding from too many wounds. Blood pools around him. He reaches for the bracelet… and collapses. I scream his name. “Alejandro!” And suddenly, I’m awake.

I jolt upright in bed, my heart crashing against my ribs like it is trying to break free. I’m soaked in sweat, breathing hard, fists clenched around the blanket. The storm still rages outside. My room is still dark. But I can feel him. His pain. His exhaustion. His silence.

That dream… That was not just a dream. I know it. Deep in my bones. That was his truth. A part of him, handed to me like a memory I never earned. And I cannot ignore it anymore. I’m in this. Whatever this is, whatever fate or magic or madness, I’m in it.

And I do not want to let him go.