Chapter Nine When Wolves Dream
642 Words
Freya dreamed of snow.
Not the quiet kind that drifted gently from the sky, but thick, living snow that shimmered under moonlight. She stood barefoot in it, unafraid of the cold, breath steaming softly as the night wrapped around her like a cloak.
Somewhere in the distance, something howled.
The sound slid through her bones, deep and resonant, not frightening but beckoning. Her heart responded instantly, beating faster, warmer. She turned toward the sound without thinking, drawn forward by something older than logic.
Gold light pulsed ahead.
She followed it through tall pines, their branches heavy with frost. The air smelled of pine resin and fire and something unmistakably alive. Her skin tingled as if touched by unseen hands.
Then she saw him.
Zev stood at the edge of a clearing, not fully human, not fully wolf. His eyes glowed softly, amber threaded with fire. Power rolled off him in waves, controlled but immense. He looked at her as if he had been waiting.
You are not afraid, he said, his voice echoing inside her chest rather than her ears.
I know you, she replied, though she did not know how.
He stepped closer. The ground warmed beneath her feet. The snow did not melt. It bowed.
This is where bonds are acknowledged, he said. Not claimed. Witnessed.
She reached for him.
The dream shattered.
Freya woke with a sharp inhale, heart racing, skin flushed, sheets tangled around her legs. The room was dark, silent except for the distant hum of the city. Snow tapped gently against the window.
She pressed a hand to her chest. The bond pulsed faintly, warm and steady, like a second heartbeat.
That was not just a dream, she whispered.
A soft knock came at the door.
Her breath caught.
She opened it slowly. Zev stood there, hair slightly disheveled, eyes dark with intensity. He looked as if he had not slept either.
You dreamed, he said.
It was not a question.
So did you.
He nodded once. The first bond dream is never subtle.
She stared at him. First.
You stood in the clearing, she said quietly. You told me it was where bonds are witnessed.
His gaze sharpened. You remember details.
I felt it, Freya continued. Like it wanted me to understand something.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The air shifted immediately, thickening with awareness.
In our culture, he said softly, mates are not bound in beds or words. They are recognized by instinct and witnessed by the pack only after choice is made.
Her throat tightened. And the dream.
Is the bond asking if you are willing to see what you are becoming, he said. Not what I want. What you want.
She sank onto the edge of the bed. This is insane.
Yes, he agreed calmly. It always is at the beginning.
She looked up at him, frustration and wonder tangling together. I am human.
You are Freya, he corrected. Human is not a limitation. It is a path.
The bond stirred again, warm and insistent. She felt more than she heard the echo of distant howls in her blood. Not fear. Recognition.
What happens if I say no, she asked.
Then the bond will quiet, he said honestly. It will hurt. For both of us. But it will not cage you.
She searched his face, looking for manipulation. There was none. Only truth and something dangerously close to devotion.
And if I say yes.
His voice dropped. Then I will kneel emotionally as long as you choose me. Even if it costs me my rank.
Her breath caught.
Outside, snow continued to fall, soft and relentless. Inside, Freya felt the edge of a world she never believed in pressing gently but firmly against her life.
She did not answer yet.
But she did not ask him to leave either.
- Writer
