THE NIGHTMARE

Alba's POV

I thought the worst part of the gala was over.

I was wrong.

Because when I closed my eyes that night, the past came to drag me back.

And the Alpha King was the only one who heard me scream.

The dress was hanging on the door. Black silk. Weapon.

I couldn’t look at it.

My room at Blackwood Tower was too big. Too quiet.

The bed was massive. The silence was worse.

I showered until my skin was red. Scrubbing off the cameras, the champagne, Veronica’s smile, Kieran’s hand on my arm.

The rope burns on my wrists were purple now. The salve helped, but the ache was deeper.

I fell into bed at 1am.

For the first time in 5 years, I had a door that locked. Guards outside.

I should’ve felt safe.

I didn’t.

The dream started the same.

White roses.

The mating altar. 18 years old.

Kieran in a black suit, smiling at someone behind me.

The crowd.

My white dress.

“I, Alpha Kieran, reject Alba Monroe as my mate.”

His voice echoed.

The whole pack clapped.

Then it changed.

Veronica wasn’t in white. She was in red. Holding a knife.

“Wolfless trash,” she whispered. “This is what happens to girls who try to steal what’s mine.”

The knife came down.

Into my chest.

Into my ribs.

Pain. So much pain.

I tried to scream. No sound came out.

I looked down. My hands were tied with silver rope again. Burning.

I was back in the rain. Kneeling.

Everyone watching.

My father with his head down.

Kieran with his arms around Veronica.

“Please,” I begged. “Stop.”

No one did.

Then the rain turned to blood.

And the last thing I saw was Ares’ silver eyes watching me from the gate.

Not coming. Just watching.

I woke up screaming.

My throat was raw. My sheets were soaked. I was clawing at my chest like I could get the knife out.

The door slammed open.

Ares.

Bare chest. Black joggers. Hair a mess. Like he’d run.

Behind him, two guards with guns.

“Out,” he snapped at them.

They left. He closed the door.

He didn’t turn the light on.

“Alba,” he said. His voice was rough. “Breathe.”

I couldn’t. I was hyperventilating. My hands were shaking.

He crossed the room in two steps and sat on the edge of my bed. Not touching me. Yet.

“Hey,” he said. Quiet. “You’re here. You’re at Blackwood. You’re safe.”

Safe.

The word broke me.

I made a sound. Half sob, half laugh. “I’m not— I’m not okay—”

“I know,” he said.

And then he did something that wasn’t in the contract.

He pulled me into his lap.

His arms came around me. Solid. Warm. One hand on my back, rubbing slow circles. The other on my head, pressing my face into his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re not there. You’re here. With me.”

I cried.

God, I cried. Ugly. Loud. For 23 years of being called trash. For the rejection. For the rain. For the knife.

I soaked his chest, and he didn’t move. Didn’t complain. Just held me tighter.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m sorry I’m so”

“Don’t,” he cut me off. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

His hand came up and wiped tears off my cheek with his thumb. His touch was careful. Like I’d break.

“You were in hell,” he said. “You get to scream about it.”

We sat like that.

I don’t know how long.

Until my breathing evened out. Until the shaking stopped.

When I finally pulled back, my face was a mess.

He looked at me. Really looked.

Silver eyes, dark in the moonlight from the window.

There was something in his face I didn’t recognize. Not anger. Not alpha command.

Care.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. Lied.

He saw right through it.

“Nightmares?”

“Since I was 8,” I whispered.

His jaw ticked. “About him?”

“About all of them.”

He cursed under his breath. Then he stood, and before I could ask, he picked me up.

“Ares— what—”

“You’re not sleeping alone tonight,” he said simply.

He carried me to the sitting room in my suite. Big couch. Fireplace.

He set me down, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it around me. Then he sat next to me. Close. Not touching.

“I’m not touching you,” he said. “But I’m not leaving. You have my word.”

“Why?” The question slipped out.

“Because no one should wake up like that alone,” he said. Like it was obvious.

We sat in silence. The fire crackled.

After a while, he spoke.

“What did you see?”

I hesitated. Then told him. The altar. The knife. The rain.

His face got harder with every word.

When I finished, he was quiet for a long time.

“Kieran,” he said finally. His voice was flat. Dangerous. “He’ll pay for this.”

“It’s not just him,” I said. “It’s Veronica. My father. The whole pack.”

“I know.” He looked at me. “That’s why we’re going to burn it down. Legally.”

I laughed. A real laugh this time. Small, but real.

“Okay,” I said.

He handed me water. I drank it.

“My wolf,” I whispered. “In the dream, she didn’t come. She never comes.”

Ares was quiet. Then: “She’s scared. Same as you. But she’s there, Alba. I told you. I can smell her.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “We’ll bring her out. Together. Starting tomorrow. 5am.”

“Of course. 5am,” I muttered.

That got the ghost of a smile out of him.

He stood after a while. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right outside the door.”

“Don’t,” I said before I could stop myself.

He paused.

“Stay,” I whispered. “Just... on the couch. Please.”

He stared at me for 3 seconds. Then nodded once.

He grabbed another blanket and lay down on the couch across from me. Arms behind his head.

“Night, Alba,” he said.

“Night, Ares.”

For the first time in years, I didn’t dream.

---

Morning came too fast.

4:45am. The note under my door again.

`Training yard. 5am. -A`

I was already up. Dark circles under my eyes, but I was up.

Ares was in the yard. Shirtless again. God.

He looked up when I walked in. Took in my face. The fact that I wasn’t crying.

“Better?” he asked.

“Better,” I said.

“Good.” He tossed me gloves. “Today we work on control. Anger. Because angry people don’t break.”

He said it like he remembered. Like he meant it.

We trained until the sun came up.

Harder this time.

When I fell, he didn’t ask if I was okay. He just said, “Get up.”

And I did.

At the end, he walked me back inside.

In the hall, he stopped.

“Last night,” he said. “What happened stays between us. Contract or not.”

“Okay,” I said.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then back up.

“Goodnight, Alba.”

“It’s morning.”

“Then good morning.”

He walked away.

I watched him go.

My heart was still doing something stupid.

Because the Alpha King who didn’t believe in pretending...

had just spent the night making sure I didn’t break.

That night there was another gala invite.

Royal Blood Moon Ball. In 3 days.

Mandatory attendance.

And at the bottom, in gold ink:

Hosted by Alpha Kieran Nightfang and Luna Veronica.

Ares read it, crumpled it, and looked at me.

“We’re going,” he said. “And this time, we don’t play nice.”

He held out his hand.

“Ready to make them regret everything?”

I put my hand in his.

“Ready.”