Chapter 6
1009 Words
The nightmare
The moon shine heavily above the Thorne palace, the pale light spilling across the stone courtyard like a silvery shroud.
The coat had gotten wet from Damian’s sweat. He turned on his bed as his fingers curled into the mattress, a low growl rattled in his throat.
In his dream, the forest pressed in tight around him, the branches clawing like skeletal hands. The ground reeked of pine and blood.
He staggered, half-shifted, his vision became blurred as shadows darted between the trees. The Snarls of the ferals cut through the dark, eager to pounce on him.
A strike to his ribs sent him crashing to the dirt. The Pain was sharp and hot. He tried to breathe, but the taste of iron at the back of his tongue made him realise he was bleeding.
When he looked up he saw boots circling him with a marked face.
And then… some movement approached. A figure darted in, dark hair whipping like a banner. The others recoiled as though she’d drawn a line with her very presence. Her snarl cut through theirs, fierce, and protective. She had come for him.
Damian’s pulse roared. The girl’s gaze locked with his…a wolf-bright, amber catching eyes like a moonlight. But they belong to an enemy, and yet they anchored him, pulling him back from the edge of death.
“Run.”
The single word was both order and salvation. His legs obeyed before his mind did. He pushed into the darkness, his lungs burning, but her voice still threaded through him.
Damian snapped awake with a choked breath. His hands gripped the sheets tight enough to tear. For a moment, the silence of his chamber felt foreign, and suffocating.
The wolf inside him pressed against his skin, restless, and unsatisfied.
Damian pressed his palms against his eyes. The image of her…those eyes, that voice lingered too vividly. He swallowed hard, forcing his breathing steady, but his chest rose and fell like he’d run miles.
The door creaked open.
“Again.” Liam’s voice carried no pity, only certainty. He stepped into the room, moonlight sketching the hard lines of his face. His friend’s gaze flicked to the damp sheets, Damian clenched his jaw, feeling the tremor in his hands.
Damian inhaled some air, stood up, and crossed to the washbasin without answering. He splashed water across his face, some drops streaking down his chest.
“I said it before,” Liam continued, leaning on the doorframe, “the rogues nearly had you and I know no one comes out of that without scars.” Damian braced against the basin, water still dripping from his chin. He stared into the warped reflection…pale eyes, shadowed with exhaustion.
“Scars fade,” he muttered.
Liam arched his brow. “Some don’t.”
The silence between them thickened. Damian didn’t look up, scared that if he did, Liam would see too much…the flicker of memory that wasn’t pain, but something worse.
Finally, Liam straightened. “We’ll double patrols. If they were bold enough to corner you once, they’ll try again.”
Damian gave a single nod, eyes fixed on his reflection. Liam left without another word.
Only when the door shut did Damian’s shoulders sag. He gripped the basin tighter. The wolf within him pushed again, this time not with rage, but with yearning. For her. The rogue.
He closed his eyes. She is an enemy, nothing more.
The words rang hollow.
On the far side of the forest, water glimmered in the moonlight as Aria plunged her hands into the creek. The cold bit deep, numbing her fingers. She welcomed the sting, held her hands there until her skin burned.
Ripples fractured her reflection, but she could still make out her face…the sharp angles, the untamed fall of her hair. Her amber eyes stared back, wolf-bright, should have looked fierce. Instead, they looked…unsteady.
A breath shuddered from her lungs. She pressed her wet hands against her face, but the heat in her chest refused to fade. His scent still clung to her memory, like smoke and steel and…blood. The sound of his labored breath echoed louder than the rush of the stream.
She had chosen wrong that night. She should have let the rogues tear him apart. She should have joined them. But the moment their claws reached for him, her wolf had surged forward, snapping at her own kind.
She had felt it then…an instinct older than logic.
“Aria.”
The voice cracked through the stillness. Her head whipped around.
Kaden stepped from the trees, tall and broad, shadows striping across his scarred face. His dark and suspicious eyes fell on her.
“You’re out here again.”
Aria straightened, drying her hands against her trousers as if the water explained everything. “I needed some air.”
Kaden’s gaze lingered for a while, but the tension in his jaw told her he didn’t believe it.
“You vanished during the raid.” His voice was flat, and dangerous. “While the others fought, you were gone. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Her stomach knotted. She forced her shoulders back, met his stare. “You think I’d run?”
He stepped closer, close enough that the wolf beneath his skin glimmered in his eyes. “I think you’re hiding something.”
Aria’s pulse thrashed in her throat. She held his gaze, unflinching, although her nails dug into her palms.
Kaden studied her for a long moment. Then, with a grunt, he turned away. “Stay sharp, sister. Rogues can’t afford weakness.”
He melted back into the trees, leaving the warning hanging in the air.
Aria let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She turned back to the stream, but the reflection waiting for her wasn’t the same girl who had once snarled with pride at the word rogue.
The girl in the water was haunted. Not by fear of death. But by the memory of the enemy she’d saved.
The one her wolf refused to forget.
- Writer
