The Middle of the Night
Skyla
My eyes fly open.
I can’t breathe. My chest heaves, heartbeat slamming against my ribs so hard it hurts. The room is too dark as sweat runs down my sides, sticking the sheets to my skin.
My head snaps up, pulse racing, air scraping at my throat. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. I’m in my nest.
Home.
Safe.
I drag in a shaky breath, trying to slow the rush in my chest. Whatever chased me through that dream is gone now, already slipping through my memories. The edges of it blur, fading into nothing, leaving only the hollow ache and the tremor in my hands.
I scrub both palms over my face, as if I can erase the fear along with the sweat. “It was just a dream,” I whisper to no one, the words shaky but real. “Just a dream.”
The room is dark and quiet, except for the soft, steady sounds of my pack breathing around me. A sliver of moonlight cuts through the tiny window, silvering the floor and catching on the edges of the blankets.
Knox and Dakota are curled together on one side of the bed, tangled in sheets and each other. Knox’s arm is slung over Dakota’s waist, his chest pressed to the beta’s back, both of them snoring softly—one low and rumbling, the other a quiet whistle through his nose.
Tadeo’s practically on top of me, his heavy warmth pinning me down in the best way. One arm lies across my stomach, the other tucked under his head, his breath slow and deep against my shoulder.
And Alex is draped over Tadeo like a second blanket, arm thrown wide, his messy hair tickling the back of Tadeo’s neck.
The bed is a maze of limbs, heat, and sleepy scent—cherries, citrus, lime, and lilac blending into something that smells safe and sweet.
For a long minute, I just lie there, staring at the faint outline of the dark twinkle lights along the wall, trying to slow my racing pulse and fall back asleep, but the pressure in my bladder wins out.
I sigh softly and start to wiggle free from Tadeo’s grasp, inch by inch, praying I don’t disturb the warm tangle of bodies.
But Tadeo stirs the second I move. His arm tightens reflexively around my waist, pulling me closer.
“Sky?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “What do you need, omega? I’ll get it.” His breath is hot against the back of my neck, his words slow and slurred.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I whisper.
He hums in acknowledgment but still shifts like he’s about to get up, muscles bunching next to me. I press my hand to his chest, gently pushing him back down. “No. Stay. Go back to sleep.”
For half a second, he resists—some instinct refusing to let me go alone—but then his body eases, heavy and warm against the blankets.
“Okay,” he breathes, already halfway gone again.
I wait until his breathing evens out, then slip free of his hold, the cool air brushing my skin where his heat had been.
The room feels impossibly quiet as I crawl around limbs and blankets, careful not to wake anyone else.
The tile’s cool under my feet as I shuffle into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
The tiny click of the latch sounds too loud in the stillness, then I flick on the light.
I pee, trying not to think too hard about the lingering adrenaline still humming in my veins.
When I’m done, I wash my hands and glance up.
The mirror catches me off guard.
My hair’s a wild halo of curls, cheeks flushed from sleep, eyes still wide and glassy from the dream. But it’s the fresh mark at the juncture of my shoulder that draws me in.
Knox’s mark.
I turn slightly, letting the light hit it. The edges are pink, the skin still a little tender, but it’s beautiful. A perfect crescent of faint silver scar tissue, shimmering just above my collarbone.
It looks good.
Better than the mangled mark on the other side of my neck or the old faded ones under my ear—those marks are ghosts, pale reminders of a bond that never really took. This one feels…alive. Like it belongs there.
I trace it gently with my fingertips, heat blooming beneath my touch.
“Pretty,” I whisper to my reflection as warmth in my chest spreads, soft and slow, until something catches on the edges of it. A flicker. A tremor.
The precious emotion twists in on itself—subtle at first, like a shadow creeping under the door. My hand drops from my neck as the fuzzy feeling fades completely, turning heavy and sharp.
Knox?
I can’t tell what he’s feeling. It’s all muffled in my head.
He must be having a bad dream. Maybe he felt my dream, and that made him have a nightmare too. That can happen. Right?
The sharp emotion flares again—hot, jagged—dread cutting straight down my spine. Then the air shifts.
It’s subtle, but the tiny hairs on my arms lift, my heart thudding in my chest. Suddenly, I can feel eyes on me. I know it’s just my imagination. No one is watching me, but it feels so real it steals the air from my lungs.
No one’s here. I know that.
Still, my body doesn’t believe it.
The bathroom feels too small, the light too harsh. I flick it off, and the darkness makes it worse. My pulse spikes. I spin, half-expecting to see someone standing in the shower. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of the house.
I can’t stand it another second.
I shove the bathroom door open and bolt down the hall, bare feet slapping against the hard floor. The fear doesn’t ease until I’m climbing back into the nest, crawling under Tadeo’s weight. His body’s solid, warm, and heavy against mine, his scent wrapping around me like armor.
Only then do I breathe.
My heart’s still racing, but the moment his arm falls across my waist, it starts to slow.
My breath is finally starting to even out when I feel it again.
Fierce anger and frustration burn together in the back of my mind.
But this time it’s sharp and clear. Not the vague haze of a dream, but wide-awake rage.
I turn my head, peering across the nest at Knox. He’s only a few feet away, body stretched out, his broad chest rising and falling steadily. Eyes closed. Perfectly still.
Is he pretending to be asleep?
Narrowing my eyes, I stare really hard at Knox’s face, taking in every line and feature—his long nose, the fuzzy line of his beard, the clean scar through one eyebrow, and his long hair fanning across the mattress. He really does look dead-asleep.
I’m being stupid.
Of course, he’s really asleep.
I got spooked after my dream. That’s all.
“Go to sleep,” I whisper to myself as I snuggle deeper into Tadeo’s arms. I’m safe, I silently remind myself. Everything is fine.
Still, I keep my eyes open for a long time, staring into the dark, waiting for that feeling to fade.
“Hey, beautiful.” Knox’s voice is low and warm as he kisses my cheek when I wander into the kitchen.
I mumble a sleepy “hi,” leaning into him for a second before pulling away. My body feels heavy, my mind foggy from too many hours of half-sleep.
Alex stands at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping scrambled eggs onto a plate. The smell of butter and toast fills the air—comforting, familiar. He glances over his shoulder with a grin. “Morning, sunshine. You look like you fought a bear in your dreams.”
“Feels like it,” I say, rubbing my eyes.
Alex laughs, tossing another piece of bread into the toaster oven. “Eggs and toast—chef’s special. I’d offer pancakes, but we all know Dakota’s the only one who can make those without setting off the smoke alarm.”
Knox chuckles softly behind me as he moves to pour coffee. “He’s still asleep,” he says. “Lucky bastard.”
“Where’s Tadeo?” I ask.
“Already at work,” Knox says. “He’s got a big presentation today.”
I grimace slightly, feeling bad that I didn't know that. I probably should have woken up early to wish him good luck. But there’s no helping it now.
Moving slowly, I sink into one of the chairs at the table, resting my head on my folded arms. The hum of the coffee maker, the clink of utensils—it’s all so ordinary it almost feels like last night didn’t happen. But the tired ache behind my eyes says otherwise.
Knox slides a mug toward me, the warmth seeping into my palms as he studies my face. “Rough night?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit quietly. “Just…bad dreams.” I look up at the pack alpha, trying to find any trace of a sleepless night. “How did you sleep? Any bad dreams?”
“No.” Knox tilts his head. “Why?”
“No reason,” I say, forcing a small smile and taking a careful sip of my coffee. The bitter taste helps ground me, pulling me back into the safety of this kitchen—warm light, the smell of toast, the low hum of voices I trust.
Alex glances over from the stove, his hair sticking up in about five different directions, spatula in hand. “Then I guess you’ll have to take an extra-long nap today to make up for it,” he says, flipping another pile of eggs onto a plate. “Doctor’s orders. Well—Alpha’s orders.”
I smile, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. “An extra-long nap?”
“Hell, yes,” he says, grinning as he turns off the burner. “Preferably post-lunch, after Dakota inevitably insists on overfeeding us again.”
I hum softly. “That sounds really nice.”
Snuggling up with Alex and Dakota in my nest after lunch is my favorite part of the day. Safe and quiet.
Knox leans against the counter beside me, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Guess we’ll have to make sure you don’t have too much caffeine, then.” He eyes my cup.
“Don’t worry, babe.” Alex slides a plate of eggs and toast in front of me with a flourish. “I’ll make sure she’s thoroughly napped and fed. I’m great at both.”
“Try not to break any furniture this time,” Knox mutters.
Alex groans at the jab, muttering something about “one time” under his breath, and Knox chuckles—low and warm, the sound vibrating through the kitchen. I’m smiling too, halfway through a bite of toast, when something catches my eye.
A thin red line across Knox’s knuckles. It’s small, almost healed over, but it wasn’t there yesterday morning.