Dreaming: Sophia’s Perspective

I wake with a start, my heart hammering against my ribs before I remember where I am. The room is dim, moonlight filtering through gauzy curtains and casting silver patterns across unfamiliar furniture. For one blessed moment, my mind is blank, then memories crash back like a wave: Lucian's hands on my throat, books tumbling from shelves, the sickening crack of his neck breaking under Zane's grip.

I press my palms against my eyes, as if I could physically push the images away, but they're burned into my brain now, permanent as the bruises that mottle my skin.

The bedside clock reads 10:00 PM. I've been asleep for hours, my body demanding rest to heal after the attack. My fingers drift to my neck, probing gently. The skin is tender but not as painful as it should be. I know I should be grateful for my accelerated healing, but right now it feels like just another thing that makes me valuable to others, another reason I'm property instead of a person.

'He'll come soon,' Nyx murmurs in my mind, her voice unusually subdued. 'To claim us.'

I swallow hard, my throat clicking dryly. The claiming. Of course. Zane said as much before, that tonight he would mark me as his. The attack probably only made him more determined to stake his claim, to ensure no other wolf would dare touch what he considers his.

'Better him than Lucian,' Nyx offers, as if that's any comfort.

'Better neither,' I snap back, though I know it's a pointless argument. There is no third option, no path where I walk away free. It's Zane or the Council, and at least Zane killed the wolf who tried to force himself on me.

I sit up carefully, wincing as my muscles protest. The soft nightgown I don't remember putting on slides against my skin, and I realise someone must have changed me while I slept. The thought makes heat rise to my cheeks, vulnerability on top of vulnerability.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. Before I can respond, the door opens and Lyra steps in, a covered tray balanced in her hands. The familiar scent of fresh bread and something savoury makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

"You're awake," she says, her expression softening slightly when she sees me. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got thrown into a bookshelf," I respond, attempting humour that falls flat even to my own ears.

She sets the tray down on the small table by the window and approaches the bed. "May I?" she asks, gesturing to my bruises.

I nod, and she gently examines my neck, her touch clinical but not unkind. Her eyebrows rise slightly as she inspects the marks. "These are healing remarkably well," she observes. "Most wolves would still be black and blue."

I give her a small, humourless smile. "Benefit of my genetics, I guess."

"Indeed." Something flickers in her eyes, not quite pity, but close enough to make my spine stiffen. "Those Council blood tests aren't just for show."

She steps back, smoothing her uniform with practiced hands. "Alpha Thorne asked me to let you know that he'll be coming to check on you personally in half an hour or so."

My stomach knots with a tangle of emotions I don't want to name. Fear? Anticipation? Resignation? "Thank you for telling me."

Lyra gestures toward the tray. "You should eat. Healing takes energy."

I nod, slipping out of bed and padding across to the table. She removes the cover from the tray, revealing a simple but generous meal, roasted chicken, vegetables, fresh bread still steaming slightly. The normalcy of food seems absurd after everything that's happened, but my body's needs don't care about my emotional state.

"Is there anything else you need?" Lyra asks, hovering near the door.

I shake my head, then reconsider. "Actually... is there any news about the Council? Are they still at the border?"

Her expression becomes guarded. "Alpha Thorne is handling the situation. That's all I can say." She hesitates, then adds, "Try not to worry about it tonight."

Easy for her to say. It's not her parents facing execution. It's not her life being parcelled out between powerful forces that see her as nothing more than breeding stock.

After Lyra leaves, I force myself to eat, mechanically cutting chicken into small pieces and chewing without tasting. Nyx paces anxiously in my mind, alternating between dread and anticipation of the claiming to come. Unlike me, she understands the bond on a primal level, sees it as protection rather than possession.

'It will make us safer,' she insists. 'No one will dare touch us once we bear his mark.'

'Like a branded cow,' I reply bitterly, but even I can't deny the logic. Lucian proved that an unclaimed omega is vulnerable, even in the Alpha's own pack house.

I'm just finishing my meal when the door opens without a knock. Zane fills the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light from the hallway. Unlike this morning, he's fully dressed in a black button-down and dark jeans that hug his powerful thighs. His steel-grey eyes lock onto mine, assessing, calculating.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I stand, oddly self-conscious in the thin nightgown. "Better," I respond, pulling the collar aside to show him the nearly invisible bruises on my neck. "One benefit of my... condition... is that I heal fast."

His eyes darken as they track over the fading marks where Lucian's fingers dug into my skin. Something possessive flashes across his face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"May I?" he asks, gesturing to the chair opposite mine at the small table.

The request, not a command, but an actual question, surprises me. I nod, sinking back into my own chair as he takes the seat across from me. He seems even larger sitting down, his broad shoulders making the chair look almost comically small.

For a long moment, he just looks at me, his expression unreadable. I fidget under his gaze, hyperaware of how thin the nightgown is, how vulnerable I must appear.

"What?" I finally ask, unable to bear the silence any longer.

He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve. "Most omegas would still be hysterical after what happened today. Yet here you are, composed, resilient."

I'm not sure if it's a compliment or an observation. Maybe both.

"I've had practice holding myself together," I say simply.

One corner of his mouth quirks up, not quite a smile, but a softening of his usual hard expression. It transforms his face, making him look younger, less forbidding. Dangerous in an entirely different way.

"So I'm learning, little wolf," he says. "So I'm learning."