Sold by Blood, Claimed by Fate

CHAPTER 16— The Dreams That Would Not Let Her Sleep

Her apartment was small—but it was hers.

That alone made it feel safer than any place she had ever lived in before.

She locked the door behind her and leaned her forehead against the wood, breathing slowly until the shaking in her hands stopped. The city outside was quiet, unaware of the storm that lived inside her chest. This place had become her home—not because it was warm, but because no one here could command her, mock her or insult her

At least… not while she was awake.

Sleep no longer belonged to her.

The dreams always came the same way.

First, silence.

Then moonlight.

She stood in a vast open land beneath a sky split with silver, the air thick with power. Her heart would race even before she saw him.

The man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in royal black and silver, a crown resting on dark hair like it had grown there naturally. His presence bent the air itself. He never chased her. Never forced her.

He only held out his hand.

“Come to me,” he called—his voice low, steady, wrapped in something dangerously tender.

Not command.

Not demand.

Longing.

Her chest ached every time she heard it.

Around him stood wolves—massive, powerful, their eyes glowing in reverence. And among them…

Her wolf.

But not the one she knew.

This one was white as fresh snow, fur shimmering like moonlight made flesh. Beautiful. Fierce. Whole. She felt it lift its head and howl—not in pain, but in recognition.

Mate.

The word echoed through her bones.

She would take a step toward him every time.

And every time—

Her sister appeared.

Like poison bleeding into a perfect dream.

Her face twisted with rage, claws extended, eyes burning with the same dominance that had haunted her since childhood. “You don’t deserve this,” she snarled. “You never did.”

She lunged.

Pain exploded through her chest.

She woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat, heart pounding so violently it felt like it would break her ribs. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, her breath uneven, shallow—panic clinging to her skin.

Moonlight spilled through the window.

Again.

She sat up, pressing a hand to her chest where the dream always hurt the most.

This had become her routine.

Dream.

Fear.

Wake.

Survive the day pretending she wasn’t unraveling.

Her wolf stirred uneasily inside her—not weak, not broken—but restless. Confused.

And afraid.

Because somewhere deep down, she knew one terrifying truth:

These were not dreams.

They were memories waiting to happen.

And whoever the man in the crown was—

He was real.

He was calling her.

And fate was no longer patient.