Chapter Three: The Pull
1512 Words
The dream came back.
She was running through moonlit trees, breath ripping from her chest. Roots clawed at her feet, branches whipped past her face. She wasn’t afraid—she was chasing something. Or being chased by it.
Then he was there.
Tall. Still. Watching.
Amber eyes burned through the dark.
Mine.
The word echoed inside her bones.
She woke with a gasp.
No time to linger. No time to think. Morning light already sliced through her curtains. Her heart pounded like she’d truly been running, her body warm in places that made her cheeks burn.
“Get a grip,” she muttered, rolling out of bed.
The dream had followed her for three nights straight. Same forest. Same eyes. Same pull low in her stomach that refused to fade.
She splashed water on her face and rushed through her routine, forcing herself into normalcy. Clothes. Bag. Keys. Out the door.
The street was loud. Alive. Ordinary.
Then the pull hit.
Hard.
She froze mid-step, breath catching. It felt like an invisible rope tightening around her ribs, yanking her attention forward.
Her head lifted.
Across the street, leaning against a black SUV, stood him.
Not a dream.
Real.
Her pulse spiked. The world narrowed. Sound dulled. She took a step without meaning to. Then another.
He straightened the moment their eyes met.
“You feel it,” he said.
Not a question.
Her mouth went dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A slow, dangerous curve touched his lips.
“Liar.”
The word slid over her skin.
He crossed the road in three long strides and stopped far too close. His scent wrapped around her—earth, heat, something wild that made her knees weak.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Amber flashed in his eyes. Just a flicker.
“Not here,” he said sharply. “You’re not safe.”
Fear finally punched through the haze. “From what?”
He leaned in, voice low and controlled.
“From me.”
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
The spell shattered.
She blinked, stepping back. Her heart slammed as she looked up again.
He was gone.
No SUV. No stranger. Just the street buzzing like nothing had happened.
But the pull remained.
And deep in her chest, a terrifying truth settled.
The man from her dreams was real.
And whatever he was—
he wasn’t human.
“Stop staring at me like that.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You are.”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes locked on me like he was daring me to bolt.
“You’ve been quiet all morning,” he said. “That’s not normal for you.”
“I don’t know you long enough for you to know what’s normal for me.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You talk when you’re nervous.”
I scoffed. “Wrong.”
“You’re talking now.”
I glared at him. “You’re annoying.”
“You noticed.” He stepped into the room. “You didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did you.”
He paused. “How do you know?”
“Because you smell like night air.”
That wiped the smile off his face.
“…You noticed that too.”
Silence dropped between us. Thick. Heavy.
I folded my arms. “Why were you outside at three in the morning?”
He studied me. Really studied me. Like he was weighing something dangerous.
“You shouldn’t be asking questions,” he said.
“I shouldn’t be living in a house where people sneak out at night either.”
His jaw tightened. “You can leave.”
“I would,” I snapped, “if I knew where ‘safe’ even is right now.”
He exhaled slowly. “You’re safe here.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” he said. Firm. Final.
Something in my chest twisted. “You talk like—like you own the place.”
“I protect it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when you’re the strongest thing in it.”
The words settled wrong.
I laughed, sharp and uneasy. “You’re really full of yourself.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
He moved closer. One step. Then another.
My back hit the counter.
“Why does my presence bother you?” he asked quietly.
“It doesn’t.”
“You’re lying.”
“Stop saying that!”
My voice cracked. I hated that it did.
He froze. His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
“Say what?”
“Tell me to stop.”
My throat went dry.
“Stop,” I whispered.
He did.
Immediately. Completely.
He stepped back like I’d burned him.
“Good,” he said. “You should always be able to do that.”
My heart was racing. “You act like you’re dangerous.”
“I am.”
I laughed again, breathless. “You don’t look dangerous.”
His eyes darkened. “You don’t know what you’re looking at.”
Something slammed into the back of my mind—an image that wasn’t mine. Claws. Blood. Moonlight.
I gasped.
He swore under his breath. “Did you just—”
“What was that?” I demanded.
He stared at me like I’d just broken a rule.
“You saw something,” he said slowly.
“I don’t know what I saw. It was—fast. Loud.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Well it happened.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “This is bad.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that around me?”
“Because you weren’t supposed to feel anything yet.”
“Yet?”
He looked at me. Then away. “You’re human.”
“So?”
“So humans don’t sense us this early.”
My stomach dropped. “Sense who?”
He didn’t answer.
I pushed off the counter. “Don’t do that. Don’t go quiet.”
“You should pack a bag.”
“What?”
“Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case I’m wrong.”
“And if you’re not?”
His voice was low. “Then something already chose you.”
The room felt too small. “You’re scaring me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
“I can’t.”
I shook my head. “This is insane.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then explain it!”
He took a breath. Long. Controlled.
“There are things that live alongside humans,” he said. “Hidden. Watching.”
I crossed my arms. “You sound like a conspiracy podcast.”
“If I told you I wasn’t human,” he said, “would you scream?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
He watched my reaction carefully.
“…No,” I said finally. “I think I’d ask why you smell like rain and heat.”
His eyes flared.
“That’s not normal,” he muttered.
“Neither is you.”
Silence again.
Then footsteps outside.
He stiffened.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Why?”
He was already moving. “Because if they see you, they’ll know.”
“Know what?”
“That you’re mine.”
I grabbed his arm. “Excuse me?”
He stopped. Looked down at where I touched him.
The air felt electric.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rough. “I meant—”
The door creaked open.
A voice called from outside. “Alpha?”
My breath caught.
Alpha?
His shoulders squared instantly. “Not now.”
“They’re restless,” the voice said. “They can smell her.”
My heart pounded. “Smell who?”
His gaze snapped back to me.
“You,” he said quietly. “They can smell you.”
I yanked my hand back. “This is not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
The voice outside laughed softly. “She doesn’t know yet?”
“Leave,” he growled.
The presence vanished. Fast. Obedient.
I stared at him. “They called you Alpha.”
“Yes.”
“That’s—”
“Exactly what you think it is.”
I shook my head. “No. No, it’s not.”
He stepped closer again, slower this time. Careful.
“You’re not crazy,” he said. “You’re just early.”
“Early for what?”
His eyes softened. Just a little.
“For the truth.”
My voice trembled. “And the truth is…?”
His hand hovered near mine. Didn’t touch.
“You’re standing in the territory of a pack,” he said.
“And something in you belongs here.”
My pulse thundered.
“…You’re not human,” I whispered.
He met my gaze. Unblinking.
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
- Writer
