Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

brIAR

B riar Lockwood floated in a swirling haze, lost between dream and memory, her mind drifting through shadows and fragments that refused to settle into anything concrete. Shapes shifted and blurred, slipping away whenever she tried to grasp them. Her heart pounded, even in unconsciousness, as if trying to escape.

In the dream, she stood in a vast, endless forest, the ground soft with moss and mist curling at her feet. The air was thick with magic—old, wild magic—and with it came a profound sense of unease. She knew, without knowing how, that she was being hunted.

Her bare feet moved silently across the forest floor as she tried to escape the presence that stalked her. She could hear something behind her—the snap of a twig, the soft rustle of leaves disturbed by heavy footsteps. But no matter how fast she ran, it was always just behind her, a shadow slipping between the trees.

She turned a corner in the misty woods, and suddenly, the trees gave way to a clearing bathed in moonlight. A large, black wolf stood in the center, its fur shimmering with silvery streaks where the light touched it. Its amber eyes glowed, locked to her as if it knew her in a way no one else ever had. Strangely, Briar didn't feel afraid of the wolf.

Instead, she was drawn to it.

The wolf stood still, its gaze steady but not threatening, as if waiting for her to make a choice. Briar took a hesitant step forward, her breath catching in her throat. The air between them shimmered, and the wolf began to shift—its form twisting and reshaping, fur giving way to skin, claws softening into fingers.

Where the wolf had stood, a man appeared, shrouded in fog and moonlight. He was tall, powerful, and familiar, though she couldn't place how or why. His dark eyes glinted with something unspoken, and he reached for her, his hand outstretched, inviting her closer. The pull toward him was impossible to resist.

Who are you? Briar wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't form on her tongue. The man's expression was a mixture of longing and determination, as if he'd been waiting for her. The fog thickened around them, making it hard to see his face clearly, but the force of his presence burned into her mind. This man mattered—to who or to what she didn't know, but he mattered.

A sharp crack echoed through the dream, like the sound of a breaking branch—or a warning. Briar's heart raced, and suddenly the tranquility shattered. The moonlight dimmed, and the clearing around her blurred into chaos.

She was running again. Something chased her through the darkness, its hot breath skimming her neck. The trees closed in, their branches tangling in her hair, pulling at her clothes. She stumbled, her lungs burning as she tried to escape the unseen threat behind her.

Run. Run faster.

The dream twisted again, pulling her deeper into fragmented memories—flashes of cold hands dragging her through the mud, angry voices shouting, and the sensation of magic crackling painfully against her skin.

She saw herself, running through a storm, her red hair plastered to her face, rain stinging her skin. Shadows stretched across the landscape, twisting and shifting like predators on the hunt. She knew she had to escape, but she couldn't remember why—or who was chasing her.

Another image flickered through her mind—a face, blurred and unfamiliar. Someone she had once trusted. Someone who had betrayed her. They had found her, and they would find her again.

The storm raged around her in the dream, lightning flashing in jagged streaks across a blackened sky, illuminating strange symbols etched into the earth. Briar knew those symbols, though their meaning was just out of reach. They meant danger, and they marked her as a target.

She was alone, outmatched and outnumbered—but not for long.

The dream shifted again, pulling her back toward the wolf, toward the man waiting in the mist. He called to her, though no words left his lips. She could feel the pull of his voice inside her chest, like a tether drawing her to safety. He was strength, warmth, and sanctuary, though she didn't understand how.

The danger remained, clawing at the edges of her awareness, but when she thought of him, she felt hope. He was the answer to a question she didn't yet know how to ask.

The dream began to fray at the edges, fading into nothingness. Briar felt herself slipping further away, the man and the wolf becoming distant shapes in the fog. She reached for them, desperate not to lose the only thing that felt real, but they slipped through her fingers like mist.

"Find me," she whispered into the darkness, unsure if she was speaking to the wolf or the man.

And then, with a sharp jolt, the dream collapsed into nothingness, and Briar's unconscious mind drifted into silence once more. But one thing was clear, she was in danger.

B riar drifted between the frayed edges of sleep and wakefulness, her mind sluggish and fogged with exhaustion. The dreams lingered, shadows slipping away just beyond reach, leaving only the taste of fear behind. Slowly, she became aware of her body—the ache in her limbs, the tightness in her head, and the dull throb of bruises beneath her skin.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and the world sharpened into focus. Sunlight poured in through pale sheers, casting a soft glow over a casual but elegant room. The light danced across the smooth wooden floor, illuminating a simple nightstand and a glass of water beside her bed. The air smelled faintly of fresh linen and pine, with a subtle trace of soap.

She wasn't alone.

The sensation of other presences buzzed quietly in the back of her mind, like the hum of distant voices, although the room itself remained silent. Whoever they were, she sensed them beyond these walls—people moving, watching, waiting. Her instincts prickled with wariness.

Briar tried to push herself up, but a wave of dizziness crashed over her, forcing her back against the pillows. Her head pounded with the effort, and she groaned softly. The sheets rustled as she shifted, her body protesting every movement.

A gentle, soothing touch landed on her brow—a cool hand smoothing back damp strands of hair. "Easy now, sweetheart," a soft voice murmured, a woman's voice, kind and calm.

The touch was warm, grounding Briar in reality after the strange chaos of her dreams. A moment later, a glass was pressed to her lips, and she drank greedily. The cool water soothed her parched throat, though it did nothing to quell the unease curling inside her.

"She's awake," the woman whispered, as if speaking to someone just outside the door. Briar heard footsteps retreating, followed by a burst of hurried movement. "Go and tell him she's awake," the woman said, and more footsteps pounded down the hall, fading quickly into the distance.

The room was still again, but not for long. Briar's mind swam as the cold fingers of fear wrapped around her heart. Whoever he was, it seemed as if he was coming.

She fought to remain alert, forcing her senses to sharpen even as the exhaustion dragged her back toward sleep. Every muscle in her body felt sluggish, her mind refusing to cooperate with her need to focus. She blinked against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, waiting for the dizziness to pass, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

The sound of boots echoed down the hallway. Briar's heart quickened with each approaching step, her breath hitching in her throat. A new wave of nausea stirred, curling low in her belly and rising toward her chest.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a quiet, commanding presence that seemed to fill the room. Dark hair framed his face, his expression carefully measured, though Briar sensed tension simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes—dark, intense, and searching—landed on her, and the strange buzzing sensation flared inside her head, sharp and insistent.

"Glad to see you awake." His voice was low and steady, a rumble that settled into the air like a distant storm waiting to break. He gave her a faint, reassuring smile as he took a seat beside her bed.

"I'm Colt," he said simply, his gaze steady but unreadable. "How are you feeling'? Can you tell me your name?"

The nausea twisted violently, and the buzz in her head grew louder, making it hard to concentrate. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she tried to answer, but the words felt slippery, like they wouldn't come together properly.

"I... I'm Briar," she whispered, her voice hoarse. The sound of her own name felt both foreign and familiar, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

"Briar," Colt repeated, his tone careful, as if testing how the name felt on his tongue. His presence was overwhelming, waiting just at the edge of her awareness. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Do you remember what happened? Where you came from? What you were running from?"

The questions hit her like blows, each one stirring the fragmented pieces of her memory. Flashes of images surfaced—trees, lightning, the sense of being hunted—but nothing concrete, nothing she could grab onto.

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and unwelcome, blurring her vision. She didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to seem weak—but the confusion, fear, and exhaustion threatened to swallow her whole. She clenched her fists beneath the blanket, fighting for control.

"I… I don't remember," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I just… I have a headache. Please… I just need to rest. If you don't want me here…" she said, trying to rise and failing to do so.

Her head throbbed in rhythm with her pulse, and her vision swam as her eyes threatened to roll back in her head.

The man named Colt studied her for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering. Something flickered in his expression—concern, maybe, or suspicion—but he didn't press her further. Instead, he nodded slowly.

"I don't think you're in any shape to be going anywhere," he said softly. His voice was steady, though Briar could sense the gravity of unspoken questions behind it. "You can rest; we'll talk later. You do what Etta tells you."

She closed her eyes, grateful for the reprieve, though her mind raced beneath the veil of exhaustion.

Colt's touch was gentle as he placed a hand briefly against her forehead, the warmth of his skin soothing against her chilled flesh. It was a simple gesture, but it made her heart stutter with something dangerously close to comfort. He rose and turned away, the door clicking softly shut as he left the room, his footsteps receding down the hall, leaving only silence behind.

For a long moment, Briar lay still, her breathing uneven as she fought against the rising tide of panic. The ceiling above her blurred into vague shapes, and she blinked, forcing herself to focus.

She knew, without a doubt, that she wasn't safe—not yet. Whatever had driven her into the storm was still out there. And whatever these people might want from her, she couldn't afford to tell them too much, even if she didn't know much at all. She had to keep her secret at all costs.

She didn't know what that secret was, but she knew in the depths of her soul that if they found out the truth, they would all be in danger.