Dreaming
Tansy
I'm floating, wrapped in the warm, solid safety of Cass’s arms. The world around me is hazy, the edges soft and blurred like a watercolor painting left in the rain.
I can feel his heartbeat, a slow, steady drum against my cheek, a comforting rhythm in the fog.
He’s holding me, his chin resting on the top of my head, and I feel completely, utterly safe.
But something is wrong.
A dark shadow creeps along the edge of my dream, a formless, oily thing that slithers just beyond the soft light. It doesn’t have a shape, but I know exactly who it is.
Cold, sharp fear pricks at the warmth of Cass’s embrace.
The shadow grows closer, stretching its smoky tendrils toward us, and I hold my breath.
Then, Warren is there, stepping into my view like he’s materialized from the mist. He’s a solid wall of lean muscle, blocking out the shadow completely.
But the darkness is clever. It shifts, sliding around Warren’s edge, and then Grason appears, his broad shoulders filling the gap, cutting off its path.
The shadow darts to the side, a quick, desperate movement, and Beck steps forward, his presence calm and resolute, completing the wall around me.
Cass’s arms tighten, a low, protective rumble vibrating in his chest. "Shh," he whispers, his voice a warm breeze in my ear. "You're safe. He can't get you."
Beck leans in, his face so close, his eyes soft and earnest in the dreamy light. "You don't have to be scared of him anymore, Tansy."
"You don't understand," I whimper, and the sound is small, thin, and I realize with a jolt that it's the voice of a child. I’m a little girl, wrapped up in Cass's arms. "He can get me any time he wants." I turn my head, trying to hide in the comfort of Cass’s broad chest.
“No, sweet girl.” Beck shakes his head slowly, a sad, knowing smile on his lips. In this dream-like state, his voice is the softest thing I've ever heard. "Your packmates have already killed him."
He steps to one side, giving me a clear view.
Warren and Grason turn, their eyes glowing with a feral, golden light. Then they lunge at the shadow, their hands turning into claws.
They rip into the darkness like it's tissue paper. Blood sprays everywhere, hot and crimson, painting the foggy air in violent, beautiful streaks.
Cass lets out a deep, protective growl that vibrates through my entire body. He touches my chin, his fingers firm but gentle, forcing me to look away from the carnage and up at him. His eyes are burning with a primal fire.
"No one," he whispers, his voice a low, comforting promise that makes my soul ache, "gets to touch our mate."
His words sink into me, warm and heavy, wrapping around my fear until it finally loosens its grip.
Then he purrs.
It vibrates, curling around me and settling deep into my belly.
The vibration grows stronger, a low, persistent hum that becomes impossible to ignore.
But it's not a purr.
It's a growl…
My stomach is growling, and the insistent rumble pulls me up and out of the dream, dragging me back into consciousness.
For a second, I don’t know where I am. The light is different. Soft, muted, filtering through the familiar yellow curtains.
I think I’m still in the guest room.
I turn my head and confirm it. Same pale blue walls. Same hulking dresser. The small pillow Cass has been using to prop up his knee is still tucked near the edge of the bed, but the alpha is nowhere to be seen.
Reaching out, I feel the cool sheets where he should be lying.
Where is he?
My stomach growls again, impatiently cutting off the thought.
I kick off the blanket, then push myself up to sit. The movement pulls a low ache through my abs, deep and heavy. The sensation spreads through my body as I lean forward, making me frown.
Every muscle in me is sore in a way that’s both deeply satisfying and utterly foreign. It’s the kind that omegas are warned happens after their first heat with an alpha.
I stand and the achy feeling is instantly replaced with a sharp pain that flares from deep inside. Looking down at myself, I gasp at the sight of my sex. My inner labia is so swollen and sensitive, it sticks out from between my lower lips.
“What the hell?” I lean down, looking at my raw clit. “What did he do to me?”
That’s when I see it.
A small spot of blood on the otherwise pristine white sheets, right where I was lying. My second hymen. It broke when Cass knotted me. It’s a sign of a true mating, a final, irreversible surrender.
My body is no longer entirely my own.
A flicker of panic rises, and I instinctively check my bond for Cass.
It's instinctual, and not at all what I meant to do, but it’s too late. I’ve already found him. He's close. So close it feels like he's right down the hall.
And he’s happy.
There’s a low, steady hum of contentment flowing from him, and for some reason, I can’t help but think that he hasn’t been this happy in a long time.
“Of course he’s happy,” I grumble. “His pussy wasn’t ripped open.”
As the words leave my mouth, another memory surfaces deep inside my head. Of Cass holding me in the shower. His voice low and serious. "You can be angry, irrational, or even abusive."
And just like that, every awful thing I said to him slams into me all at once.
I remember yelling at him, snarling and cursing, telling him I hoped his knee gave out. I remember hitting his chest hard, the sharp, wet smack of my palm against his skin.
Horror floods me as my mouth slowly falls open with shock.
I hit him.
I actually hit an alpha.
I've never hit an alpha. Ever.
Not in anger or in fear. Not even in self-defense. And the first one I ever laid a hand on was my mate.
So stupid.
I stare down at my own hand, turning it over as if it belongs to a stranger. I can't believe I was so stupid, and I can't believe he didn't beat me senseless for it.
But all he did was hold me and whisper that everything would be okay.
His reaction is so foreign, so utterly backwards, that my head starts to spin.
“Calm down, Tansy,” I tell myself, before sucking in a deep breath.
Dwelling on it won’t help. Replaying it won’t change anything. My head already feels too tight, too full, like one more thought might tip me over.
I drag in another slow breath and let it out through my nose, grounding myself in what’s real. The room. The light. The quiet.
My gaze wanders despite my panic, snagging on the dresser across the room.
There are clothes folded neatly on top of it, set there as if someone wanted me to see them.
I cross the room, pleased to find an oversized white shirt. It’s soft and worn thin at the collar. There are a pair of dark red boxers folded beneath them. Nothing fancy. Just practical, clean, and faintly scented with Cass’s smoky-amber scent.
Of course.
I quickly put on the oversized clothes, then open the bedroom door. I’m a little surprised to find no one there.
The hallway is completely empty, with the muted daylight spilling in from somewhere farther down.
Sucking in a deep breath, I make my way through the house, the wood floor cool beneath my bare feet. My body still feels off balance, like it’s swaying a little too much with every step. The living room opens up, and I’m greeted by a lovely view of a sunset through the massive wall of windows.
The sky outside is still blue overhead with the sun inching its way toward the mountains in the distance. Yellow light bursts around it, the edges just now bleeding orange.
Did I sleep all day?
My feet move toward the sound of voices in the kitchen. He’s there. I can feel it, and my need to be near him is almost too painful to ignore.
I drift past the low couch and the wide windows, following the warm clatter of voices and cookware. On the far side of the room, a short entryway opens up.
On one side is an open room with a heavy dining room table and matching chairs. The other way leads to a hallway I haven't been down yet, and straight ahead is the archway into the kitchen.
The smell of food grows stronger as I tiptoe forward, curling into my chest and making my stomach ache again.
The second I step into the kitchen, I see that the whole pack is here.
Beck and Warren are at the stove, shoulders angled toward each other, both of them mid-laugh like someone just said something genuinely funny. Beck is barefoot and rumpled in soft lounge pants and a loose T-shirt with a spatula dangling from his hand.
Warren looks as relaxed despite his pressed slacks and a crisp button-up. His sleeves rolled to his forearms like he just got off work. The sight sends a small pang of unease through me, making me wonder how long I’ve been out.
Cass sits at the kitchen island in worn gym shorts and a fitted shirt.
One leg is stretched out and the other bent, his posture loose but alert as he reads a stack of paperwork in front of him.
There’s a sleek, stylish cane leaning against the island within easy reach, matte black with a subtle metal handle, understated but unmistakably fancy.
Grason is at the little dinette, his broad shoulders filling out a long-sleeved shirt.
He sees me first.
The alpha’s eyes go wide when they land on me, and his chair scrapes back hard as he stands too fast. His long legs smack into the side of the table, making it bang loudly against the floor.
The sound is sharp and awful in the otherwise quiet room.
He freezes for half a second, like he’s realized what he did.
Then everyone turns.
Beck’s laughter cuts off immediately. Warren straightens, eyes snapping to me, then to Cass, and back again. The whole room feels like it’s holding its breath.
I’m suddenly very aware of what I’m wearing. The oversized shirt and short boxers suddenly feel too flimsy at best. I cross my arms, praying they can’t see my chest through the thin material.
No one says anything.
Except Cass doesn’t look surprised to see me. He lifts his gaze to mine, calm and steady, like he knew exactly when I’d step through the doorway.