Chapter five - Silvered Dreams

Night pressed down on the compound like a living thing. The fires in the courtyard had burned to embers, and the laughter of the pack faded into silence, replaced by the steady rhythm of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp pine, and even in the quiet, Nova could feel something in the shadows—an invisible weight she couldn’t name, a presence she both feared and couldn’t pull away from.

She sat on the edge of her narrow cot, boots still laced, dagger balanced across her knees. She told herself she didn’t need sleep, that exhaustion was safer than dreams. But her body betrayed her, eyelids heavy, heart dragging her into restless slumber.

When sleep finally came, it was not kind.

She found herself in a field washed silver by moonlight. The grass stretched endlessly, sharp and glistening as blades. Above, the moon spilled light too bright to be natural, searing across her skin. She tried to shield her eyes, but the glow sank deeper, pressing against her bones, making her pulse thrum in ways that didn’t make sense.

Voices rose from the shadows—low, chanting, in a language she didn’t understand. Words twisted through her marrow, stirring unease and a strange, electric longing she couldn’t explain. Shapes moved at the edges of her vision, faceless and watching, yet familiar in a way that made her heart ache.

Then a figure stepped forward, broad-shouldered, eyes piercing, carrying an undeniable weight. For a breath she thought it was Kilian. But the figure’s mouth opened, and no words came—only a howl, sharp and endless, echoing in her skull. Nova recoiled, chest tight, trying to rationalize the terror that felt almost… intimate.

She jolted awake, sweat slicking her temples, heart hammering. The room was dark, shadows clinging to every corner, air heavy with smoke and pine. Her hand closed over the dagger, though it offered no comfort.

But the unease remained.

It was more than fear. Something in her ached, sharp and inexplicable, twisting deep inside. She had felt hints of it before, long ago, when the Hunters had whispered “Half-Blood” like it explained why she couldn’t kill wolves, why she sometimes paused when her instincts should have struck. She had always brushed it off as weakness, a flaw. Now, in the silence of a pack that did not trust her, she realized the sensation was stronger, more insistent—and utterly mysterious.

The air shifted. Footsteps creaked in the corridor, measured and deliberate. Nova’s hand tightened on her dagger, muscles coiled. The steps stopped outside her door.

A long pause.

Then a faint scent—pine smoke, iron, storm—slipped beneath the threshold. Kilian.

Anger flared first, reflexive. She should have shouted, demanded he leave. But her body betrayed her, pulse slowing as if soothed by his presence. The sensation was maddening. Infuriating. Terrifying.

She waited for a knock that never came. The steps moved on, fading into silence.

Nova sat frozen, dagger still gripped, throat tight with something she could not name. She hated that she felt calm in his nearness. Hated that some treacherous part of her longed for it, for him, for the pull she didn’t understand.

Pushing to her feet, she crossed to the window. The compound stretched beyond, torches flickering along the walls. Somewhere out there, wolves patrolled. Somewhere, Kilian moved with the weight of an Alpha she could neither measure nor escape.

Her reflection stared back: pale, weary, eyes too wild.

“You’re losing yourself,” she whispered.

Yet a traitorous part of her wondered if she was finally finding the pieces she didn’t know were missing. Pieces she didn’t understand, pulled by something she couldn’t name, something that had nothing to do with being human—or so she thought.

She slid down the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Sleep seemed impossible. Restlessness was inevitable. She was suspended, caught between dread and longing, fury and need.

When dawn spilled pale light into the room, she hadn’t moved. Her dagger still rested in her lap, catching the first sliver of sun.

And though she told herself she was stronger than whatever tie pulled her to Kilian, the truth pressed down like a blade: she had never been more vulnerable.