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THE NIGHTMARE
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2026-07-04 02:21:57The dream always started the same way.
I was five years old again, small and clumsy, my hands sticky with sap from the pine cones I had been collecting outside. The cabin smelled of roasting chicken and rosemary, the scent of safety. My mother, Masia, was humming a lullaby in a language I didn't understand, her long dark hair swaying as she set the table.
"Papa will be late," she whispered, smiling at me. "The alpha business is heavy today, little star."
"I made him a wolf!" I announced, holding up a crude wooden carving I had whittled with a butter knife.
Masia laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "It is beautiful, Celeste. He will love—"
She stopped.
The humming stopped. The wind stopped.
The air in the cabin shifted, turning heavy and cold. It smelled of wet fur and impending violence.
"Mama?"
"Under the floorboards," she commanded, her voice turning to steel.
"Now, Celeste!"
The dream dissolved into a blur of motion. The rough scratch of wood against my cheek as I was shoved into the darkness. The dust clogging my nose. The terrifying sound of the front door exploding inward.
I pressed my eye to the crack in the wood. I knew what was coming. I tried to close my eyes, to wake myself up, but the dream wouldn't let me. I was forced to watch.
I saw the wolves, three of them, massive and snarling, wearing the crest of my father’s pack. But they weren't here to protect.
"Traitor!" one of them barked.
"I am no traitor!" my mother screamed. And then, the moment that haunted me.
She turned to face them, and her eyes... they weren't brown anymore. They were glowing with a terrifying, electric violet light. The air around her crackled with silver energy. She raised her hands, and a blast of pure force threw the first wolf through the wall.
Magic, my child-mind whispered. Mama has magic.
But it wasn't enough. The second wolf lunged, sinking his teeth into her throat.
The violet light flickered. Died.
And the blood began to pool. So much blood. It seeped through the cracks in the floorboards, dripping onto my face warm, sticky, metallic.
"NO!"
I woke up screaming.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my chest heaving, my nightgown soaked in cold sweat. The scream tore through my throat, raw and jagged. I scrambled backward, pressing myself against the headboard, frantically wiping my cheek, expecting to feel the warm drip of my mother’s blood.
But there was only sweat.
"Celeste! Celeste, it’s okay! I’m here!"
The door to my room flew open, and a figure rushed in. Mira.
My best friend didn't hesitate. She threw herself onto the bed, wrapping her arms around my trembling shoulders. She smelled of cinnamon and old books, the scent of the pack library where she worked. It was the only grounding thing in my spinning world.
"Breathe," Mira commanded, rubbing circles on my back. "It was the dream again. Just the dream. You’re safe. You’re in the Pack House."
"It felt so real," I gasped, clutching her shirt. "The blood... I could taste it, Mira."
"I know," she whispered, rocking me. "I know."
We sat like that for a long time, until my heart stopped hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The storm outside had passed, leaving the room in a heavy, humid silence.
Mira pulled back, brushing the damp hair from my forehead. Her face was pale in the moonlight. "That’s the third time this week, Cel. You’re stressed about the move."
"I’m terrified," I admitted, my voice hoarse. "Magnus... he’s not who we think he is, Mira."
Mira stiffened. She glanced at the open door, then got up and closed it, locking the deadbolt. She came back and sat on the edge of the bed, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Did something happen at the party? Did he hurt you?"
"He threatened me," I said, pulling my knees to my chest. "He said if I don't shift by the wedding... his father will 'intervene.'"
Mira’s eyes widened. "Julius? The invalid?"
"He’s not just an invalid, Mira. You know the rumors. The experiments."
Mira bit her lip, looking torn. She reached into the pocket of her oversized pajama shirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I wasn't going to show you this. I didn't want to scare you before you left. But if Julius is involved..."
"What is it?"
"A report from the border patrol," Mira whispered. "I snatched it from the archives before they could shred it. Celeste... there have been disappearances. Rogues, mostly. But a few low-ranking pack wolves, too."
I took the paper. It was a list of names, locations, and dates. All near the neutral territory. All vanished without a trace.
"Magnus controls that border," I murmured, a cold dread settling in my stomach.
"Exactly," Mira said grimly. "People don't just vanish, Celeste. Someone is taking them. And if Magnus is threatening you with his father..."
"You think they want to use me?"
"I think you need to be careful," Mira grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard. "Promise me. Keep your head down. Don't antagonize him. And keep this."
She pressed a small, dark object into my hand. A burner phone.
"It’s untraceable," she said. "If things get bad... if you find proof of what they’re doing... call me. I’ll get your dad. I don't care what the politics are."
"My dad won't believe it," I said bitterly. "He’s too afraid of another war."
"Then I’ll drag him there myself."
I managed a weak smile. "You’re a good friend, Mira."
"The best," she agreed, her eyes watery. "Now, get changed. You’re sweating through that gown. We have to have you packed in four hours."
I nodded and stood up, my legs shaky. I walked to the wardrobe and pulled off my soaked nightgown, letting it drop to the floor.
I reached for a fresh shirt, but stopped when I saw Mira’s reflection in the mirror. She had covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes fixed on my body.
"Oh, Goddess," she breathed. "Celeste... your side."
I looked down.
There, on the curve of my waist, was a bruise.
But it wasn't a normal bruise. It was the distinct, purple-black imprint of a hand. Four fingers and a thumb, dug deep into my pale skin. It was where Magnus had gripped me at the party, hours ago.
For a wolf, even a dormant one, a bruise like that should have faded in minutes. Our healing was supposed to be superior.
But the mark was angry, swollen, and dark. It looked like branding.
"He did that?" Mira’s voice trembled with rage.
I traced the mark with my fingertips, wincing at the tenderness. "He didn't mean to. He just... held me too tight."
"That’s not holding, Celeste. That’s owning." Mira stood up, walking over to me. She traced the air above the bruise, afraid to touch it. "It hasn't healed at all. Not even a little bit."
"I know," I whispered, shame burning my cheeks. "I really am human, Mira. I’m broken."
"You are not broken," she said fiercely. "You are just... waiting. Your wolf is sleeping, that’s all."
I pulled the fresh shirt over my head, hiding the mark. "Well, I hope she wakes up soon. Because I’m walking into a den of monsters tomorrow, and I don't think I can fight them alone."
Mira hugged me again, tighter this time. "You won't be alone. You have the phone. You have me."
I hugged her back, but as I looked over her shoulder at the dark window, the fear from the dream came rushing back.
The smell of blood. The violet eyes. The feeling of being hunted.
"I hope you're right," I whispered into her hair.
But deep down, I knew the truth. Once I got into that car tomorrow, I was on my own. And the monsters Magnus was sending me to... they wouldn't stop at a bruise.
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