That Night

Carys

T he bedspread is so soft beneath me. I feel like I’m floating in a sea of silk and cotton. I caress the lush fabrics, loving the way they puff up around my face, hugging my legs and sides.

“You did so good.” Isaac beams down at me. I smile at him, but something about the beta’s face doesn’t feel right. Everything is too bright and out of focus. Maybe we’re all floating.

“You did an amazing job.” Swanley’s face suddenly appears, but it’s clear he isn’t talking to me. His pale skin looks like porcelain and his eyes are two black orbs, reflecting the light in the weirdest way as he stares at my neck. “It’s not bleeding at all.”

“Well, her neck isn’t bleeding,” Isaac chuckles, pointing at my stomach. Swanley glances down my body, then busts out laughing too.

Confused, I lift my head, then let out a terrified gasp. There’s a long red gash across my belly. It gapes with some kind of dark black liquid pooling at the edge, threatening to spill out of me. I reach for my torn flesh, trying to close it up, but the second my fingers touch the raw skin, it begins to pour hot red blood. It rushes down my sides like a tiny waterfall, slipping underneath me and into the unforgiving bathtub.

“Where am I?” My eyes fly to my packmates, but they both ignore me, still laughing at the long slash marks that keep appearing all over my skin. There are fourteen cuts in all—on my belly, arms, chest, legs, and even face. And I can feel every single one of them.

“The patient has suffered fourteen substantial stab wounds,” Dr. Ambrose’s staticky voice fills the whole room. The sound is distant like it’s coming from a speaker.

“Help me!” I beg, praying someone will stop the bleeding.

“You did so good,” Kofi steps up between Isaac and Swanley. His eyes are black as coal—no sparkle or sign of life—and his smile is unmoving, making his face look almost plastic. “You’re such a pretty girl.” His rigid smile widens.

“Alpha,” I whimper. The fear rises as the blood pushes up over my chest, sucking my legs under the surface. It’s burning hot, searing my flesh down to the bone. “Help!” I scream, and instantly regret it. The sound of my voice seems to have started an alarm. It screeches so loudly I struggle to see straight.

Kofi continues to smile, not moving a muscle. “Such a pretty girl.”

His overly calm voice sets something off inside me, and I begin to thrash. Blood erupts all around me, painting the tile, ceiling, and walls. Swanley tilts his blood-splattered face to one side, watching me with a quiet curiosity.

“Please!” I sob, trying to lift my arms up, but it’s no use. The blood grips me like cement, pulling me down, down, down.

Then my pack shifts, and Preston’s big body wedges between Kofi and Swanley. They move easily for him, letting the evil alpha loom over me. I want to scream at all three of my mates to run and hide, to save themselves from Preston’s rage, but no sound comes out when I open my mouth.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Isaac asks, looking up at Preston. I hate the way he asks. Almost like he’s looking for approval from the monster.

“No,” Preston says flatly, his angry eyes drilling into mine. “She’s not.” Then he looks right at Isaac. The beta tips his head up, listening carefully. “You can do better,” Preston says, then he turns and walks off, the sound of his sharp shoes tap, tap, tapping on the bathroom floors. “You all can do better,” he yells at them.

Isaac frowns, but Kofi nods. It’s a punch to the gut—worse than anything Preston ever said or did to me.

Searing hot blood touches my cheeks, sloshing up over my mouth. It moves like a wave, getting closer and closer to my eyes., but I don’t fight it anymore. There’s no point.

“What do you want to do?” Swanley asks our pack alpha.

Kofi shrugs. “Get rid of her.”

And I’m pulled under.

I jerk awake, the taste of copper still lingering on my tongue. For a split second, I can still feel the hard bathtub beneath me, but then it falls away, replaced by my soft mattress.

You’re okay, I remind myself, zeroing in on the sounds of my pack sleeping around me. It was just a dream.

Turning my head to one side, I stare at Isaac’s sleeping face. He’s pressed right up against my side, his arm draped over my chest. Swanley’s rhythmic snores drift from the other side of the beta, and Kofi is dead asleep on my other side. His broad chest rises and falls with deep, heavy breaths.

I shift on the bed, rubbing where my stomach was cut in my dream. The phantom sensation is still there, or maybe I’m remembering when it was actually cut. After all, the wound on my belly took the longest to heal.

Isaac mumbles something in his sleep, then he shimmies and rolls the other way. While I’m sad he’s no longer snuggling me, my bladder is thrilled.

Scooting ever so slowly so I don’t wake anyone, I make my way to the edge of the bed. I pee in the dark, closing my eyes to enjoy the release of pressure. Once I’m done, I dab at my privates, wincing when I brush against my entrance. It’s so sore. The delicate skin is still raw from taking Kofi’s knot. The dang thing was stuck inside me for so long, I thought it was never coming out.

Tiptoeing through the bedroom, I make my way toward the kitchen. The rest of the house is dead silent, just the occasional groan from the wind rushing off the mountains. I get myself a quick cup of water, washing down the last dregs of my nightmare.

I stare at my reflection in the window over the sink. My cheeks are rosy and my mark...I lift my chin, angling my head to one side. My mark looks good. Really good ! I’m too scared to touch it, but the blurry image reflecting back at me looks fresh and pink. It’s not the raw, mangled mess that Preston left me with. Looking back, I believe he might have been trying to rip my throat out. There were many times when I wished he had.

“Stop it,” I whisper to myself. “You have a new mate.” I can’t help the note of pride in my voice as I place my palm over my fresh mark. It stings, but the pain feels good. It’s proof that I’m loved.

Not quite ready for bed, I lean against the sink, forcing my eyes to focus past my own reflection. The sky is pitch black with a few streaks of moonlight breaking through the clouds. I watch the trees sway in the breeze and something small moving in the shrubs. Maybe the raccoons are back for the trash bins. Isaac will go ballistic if he wakes up to a mess in the driveway. The shrubs rustle again, darkness keeping me from seeing whatever critters are out there, but I still squint, trying like hell to make out the shape.

Slowly, the critter inches forward, but it’s not fuzzy. At least I don’t think it is. I push up onto my tiptoes and squint, trying to figure out what it is. Then the object moves and the shadows twist and turn. Ice tips into my veins as a dark figure comes into focus. I know there’s no one there.

I know it.

But I’m tired and weak, my body is slowly acclimating to the bond building in my head. That’s why I’m seeing this shadowy alpha in my yard. Why won’t my imagination let Preston die? Why does it force me to think about him all the freaking time?

Fear churns in my belly, followed by swift rage at my body’s unrelenting inability to let me rest.

“Fuck you,” I snarl under my breath. My hand flies to the butcher block and I pull out the biggest knife I can find.

There’s so much in my life that I can’t control, and even more things I wouldn't even try to control. But if my dreams are determined to kill me, then they’ll get a fucking fight.