Chapter 5

Five

HENDRIX

My daughter...

The Carver genes are unmistakable—never more apparent than seeing my mini-me sleeping peacefully in her ducky pajamas. My heart fractures symbolically. The hallucinations were real.

The truth pulses through my veins, screaming a reality I'd stubbornly denied. How could I have done that to my mate? The female I'd dreamed was my mate even when we were young.

Rejection.

She's believed all this time that I rejected her. Shiftless . That single word is the catalyst preceding each echoing nightmare that haunts my dreams. Needless to say, sleep is an uncomfortable companion, eluding me most nights in favor of sanity.

The visions always start with that gut-wrenching word, then torture me with vivid memories of our mating. Her honey-caramel scent still lingers in my sinuses. The silky softness of her skin, a perfect contrast to my toned muscles, molding and yielding to my rough pursuit. Soft whimpers that pierced my soul—ones I devoured with my lips, fearing someone nearby might hear. Her scent. Her sounds. Her everything. They were mine.

And for one night, she was... until she wasn't.

My hand aggressively drags down my face, attempting to wipe away the frustration plaguing my soul. Now that fate has slapped me awake, it feels like a switch was thrown. That missing piece of the puzzle, teetering on the edge of darkness, is slipping into place.

The major components are absent—like the who, how, and why—but someone has been manipulating me. For years, as the dreams of rejection began towards the end of senior year. There's always been something about Ares that drew me to her, to watch over her as we grew, but it intensified towards the end of junior year. An itch that couldn't be satisfied until she was near. Yet, Ares was timid, preferring solitude over the limelight my brothers and I embraced, so I let her be, observing her from the shadows.

A few weeks later, the first vision hit. I remember it well because I woke shivering, drenched in sweat. My stomach knotted from the fresh sting of rejection, sending me rushing to the bathroom, retching.

I didn’t know what to make of it when they became regular. Each dream depicted us mating, acknowledging our bond, then ending with rejection. Watching Ares’ dream-face crumble at the word "shiftless" every night pushed me to the brink, testing my patience with those around me and drawing my brothers' attention.

Over months, the visions ebbed and flowed in intensity. I tried avoiding Ares, hoping it might help. Initially, I watched for any change in her behavior after each vision, hoping they held some truth. Did I sleepwalk to her house? But she never altered her routine, never ceased those secretive smiles whenever our eyes met.

As time passed, I convinced myself the visions weren't real, no matter how vivid. Whatever they were, they couldn't be trusted. That belief held until our birthdays—when the night terrors became reality. The line between vision and truth blurred, and I could no longer dismiss what I'd seen.

The night of the bonfire is a complete blur. A culmination of alcohol and weed aided whatever force obliterated my happily-ever-after with my mate, not to mention our unexpected precious daughter.

A fist tightens around my heart, suffocating yet allowing my next breath. The pain slices through my being, pinpointing its location as impossible, lingering across every inch of skin.

Jesus .

My hands rub my face again—a junkie withdrawing from their next hit.

Clarity strikes as I sit upright. Withdrawal. That’s what’s happening right now.

After reassessing my agitation, I find my hands shaking, a light sweat coating my entire body, skin crawling with ants. I'd suspected influence, given the fluctuating nightmares. I took the last week away from our business for this reason, yet I'm surprised to find I was right.

Identifying the culprit, however, is tricky. We're from a small community, employing many we went to school with, frequenting local spots to eat or drink.

A laundry list of names—suspects—flits through my mind. Names linger briefly before the next replaces them, trying to settle on one. One recurs more than others, prompting me to reach for my phone to discuss this with my brothers, knowing they're awake even at this hour.

While awaiting their responses, I prepare a cup of tea, savoring its calming brew. Already, I feel myself settling, nerves steadying.

My phone vibrates, indicating at least one brother’s response.

Kato:

You were definitely under the influence of something. You were drinking too. Someone could have spiked you.

Knox:

He’s right. You barely remembered anything from that night when you got home. It’s all coming back to you in pieces over time.

Maddock:

Has this happened again since then, where you can’t remember?

Me:

No. The dreams started before that night and continued. They used to be enjoyable, more of a fantasy, but now they replay our night, ending with rejection.

Maddock:

Who were you with that night?

Kato:

Probably that bitch Tamera. She’s had a thing for you since high school.

His words strike a nerve, especially as I take another sip of the tea she gave me. Now that he’s pointed it out, my anxiety and withdrawal symptoms vanish, leaving me to stare into the cup, wondering if she'd go as far as to drug me.

True, we were decent friends in high school, even dated briefly before realizing we were better off as friends. My brothers warned me she had a jealous streak bordering on stalker, though she never revealed that side to me, nor did I care enough to make an issue of it—until now.

After dumping the tea and purging it from my system, I request a rapid test from a lab we work with on the substance in the tea tin. Once I get a clear answer, I’ll involve my brothers and finally have an answer for Ares, hopefully enough to earn her forgiveness.