Ghosts and Lies - 1
1158 Words
The nightmare came on the fifth night.
I woke drowning.
Not in water in smoke. Thick and black and choking, filling my lungs until I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything but watch through the crack in the floorboards as my parents burned.
But this time was different.
This time, when Kade appeared in the firelight, he looked up.
Looked right at me through the flames and smoke and splintering wood.
And smiled.
I jackknifed upright, gasping. Heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The sheets were twisted around my legs. I'd been fighting them in my sleep. My throat was raw.
Had I been screaming?
The smoke smell lingered. Impossible, but there. Clinging to my skin, my hair, the back of my throat.
Just a dream. Just a dream. Just
A soft knock at my door.
I froze.
"Sera?" Kade's voice, rough with sleep. Concerned. "I can feel your distress through the bond. Can I come in?"
Shit.
I hadn't thought about that. Hadn't considered that the bond might work both ways, broadcasting my emotions like some kind of supernatural radio signal.
"I'm fine," I called out.
My voice cracked on the words.
"You're lying."
The door opened before I could stop him.
I really needed to start locking it.
Kade stepped inside, wearing nothing but sleep pants, his dark hair disheveled, eyes worried in the moonlight streaming through my window. He looked at me, really looked, and I watched his expression shift from concern to understanding.
"Nightmare," he said. Not a question.
I didn't answer.
He moved closer. Slow. Careful. Like he had that first day in the alley.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Do you want me to leave?"
I should say yes. Should maintain distance, keep the boundaries clear and uncrossed. But the nightmare was still too close, still too vivid. The smell of smoke was still in my nose, my father's screams still echoing in my ears.
And the bond was singing with relief at Kade's presence. Warm and insistent and utterly certain that this was what I needed.
Traitor.
"You can stay," I heard myself say.
He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping space between us. Enough that we weren't touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
"I get them too," he said after a moment. "The nightmares."
"About what?"
"Things I've done. Things I couldn't prevent." He stared at his hands. I followed his gaze and saw the scars on his knuckles in the moonlight. Old wounds, healed rough. "Choices I've had to make as alpha."
He paused.
"Leadership isn't pretty. Sometimes it's making the hard call. Sometimes it's watching people die because you weren't fast enough." His voice went quieter. "Weren't smart enough. Weren't enough."
There was real pain in his voice.
Raw and honest and completely unguarded.
I hated how it made my chest ache.
"How do you live with it?" I asked. "The guilt?"
"You don't." He looked at me. Storm-gray eyes steady in the darkness. "You just carry it."
Silence settled between us. Not uncomfortable. Just... heavy.
"What are your nightmares about, Sera?" he asked finally. "What are you running from?"
Here it was.
My chance to plant the seeds. To start building the foundation of my revenge. Feed him pieces of truth mixed with lies, make him trust me, make him care enough that when I finally destroyed him it would hurt twice as much.
But the words stuck in my throat.
"Fire," I said finally.
Not a lie. Technically.
"I dream about fire."
"Were you in a fire?"
"Something like that."
He waited. Giving me space to continue, to explain, to trust him.
When I didn't, he just nodded.
"Whenever you're ready to tell me, I'm here. No pressure. No judgment."
"Even if what I tell you changes how you see me?"
"Even then."
The certainty in his voice nearly broke me.
I looked away. Couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
"You should go. I'm fine now."
"Sera"
"Please."
He stood slowly. I could feel his reluctance through the bond—this pull to stay, to comfort, to protect. It crashed against me like waves, relentless and overwhelming.
"I'm right down the hall," he said from the doorway. "If you need anything."
Then he was gone.
And I was alone again with my ghosts.
I didn't sleep the rest of the night.
Morning came with coffee and Marcus at my door, wearing a knowing expression that made me want to throw something at him.
"Heard you had a rough night."
"News travels fast."
"It's a pack house. Privacy is a myth." He held out a mug, the good kind, strong and black. "Kade asked me to check on you. He had to deal with some border issues, but he wanted to make sure you were okay."
I took the coffee. Wrapped my hands around it and let the warmth seep into my palms.
"I'm fine."
"You're really committed to that lie, aren't you?"
I glared at him over the rim of the mug.
Marcus just grinned. "Come on. I'm supposed to give you a tour of the territory. Kade's orders. Plus, getting out of the house might do you good. Unless you want to spend another day brooding in your room?"
He had a point.
Damn him.
Twenty minutes later, we were walking through the forest that bordered the pack lands.
Marcus kept up a running commentary boundaries, safe zones, and pack protocols. The history of this tree, the significance of that stream. Where the patrols ran, when they changed shifts, which areas were considered sacred ground.
I half-listened.
The other half of my brain was busy memorizing the layout. Cataloging exits and chokepoints. Noting which directions would offer the best cover if I needed to run.
Know your enemy's territory. Basic strategy.
"So what's your story?" Marcus asked suddenly.
Casual. Too casual.
"And don't give me the rogue attack line. I know that's bullshit."
I stopped walking. "Does Kade know it's bullshit?"
"Kade wants to believe you. There's a difference."
Marcus stopped too, turning to face me. His expression was serious now. All traces of that easy grin gone.
"Look, I like you. You've got fire. You don't take Kade's s**t. You actually challenge him instead of just agreeing with everything he says." He paused. "But I'm also not stupid."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that scared refugees don't case territories the way you're doing right now. They don't make mental maps of exits and weak points. They don't watch pack members like they're gathering intelligence."
My blood went cold.
Marcus held up his hands. Peaceful. Non-threatening.
"I'm not saying you're a spy or a threat. I'm saying you're trained. Military? Mercenary? Something that taught you how to survive in hostile territory."
I could work with that.
"My pack was attacked when I was young," I said carefully.
All true.
- Writer
