Chapter 16 - Layla #2
At the time, she had thought herself resolute. And yet, even now, she could still remember the way Dominic’s face had flashed across her mind as she made her wish. A creeping desire. A longing too shameful to speak into words.
But it had been there, buried deep.
Please let him finally see me the way I see him.
She scoffed, shifting her position.
Neither wish had come true. And neither seemed likely to.
She turned her attention back to the sky.
For a long time, nothing happened. Only the fading light, the sound of her heartbeat, the steady whisper of the wind.
Then, far to the north, the sky shifted.
A pale green shimmer bled across the horizon. It flickered once, twice, then deepened, spreading like ink through water. Blue joined it, and rose, and violet, waves of color folding and unfolding above the mountain like curtains of fire.
Layla’s breath caught. The lights danced exactly as they had in her dreams, silent and rhythmic.
And then—there!
It flared upwards, far above her, curling in on itself like woodsmoke, blue bleeding into green.
She scrambled for her notebook, flicking it open, holding it up against the sky.
It was the same. The exact same series of patterns.
Tears filled her eyes. “It’s real,” she whispered, “it’s real.”
She knelt there, face lifted to the heavens, the glow painting her skin in shifting color. The ache in her legs, the sting of cold, all of it vanished under the sheer wonder of it. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel weak or outcast or broken. She felt chosen.
Her fingers brushed the cut on her palm. It stung, but only temporarily. And beneath it, she knew.
These were no ordinary dreams she was having.
For a heartbeat, she felt a presence vast and luminous, neither male nor female, older than the world. She didn’t hear words, exactly, but she understood. You see now.
Layla closed her eyes.
“I see,” she whispered.
And for the first time, she believed it. Raw joy, childlike and exhilarating, bubbled up and burst out of her in a loud peal of laughter.
Here she was, on top of the world, bathed in glorious light.
It felt like a benediction.
She watched, hands clutched to her chest, as slowly the lights began to fade.
The first green ribbons dissolved into gray, then blue, then nothing but black sky strewn with stars. The wind rose again, colder now, and the mountain was suddenly just a mountain, vast and quiet and empty.
Layla knelt there for a long time, staring upward as the last threads of light vanished. Her eyes still shone, but the warmth was ebbing.
She laughed under her breath, shaking her head in pure disbelief.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, caught between exhaustion and elation. Eventually, her body reminded her of its limits. Her legs were shaking. Her fingers were numb. She gathered her pack with clumsy hands and stood, swaying slightly.
She took one last look at the sky, memorizing every star.
Then, she took her phone out of her bag. The harsh blue light cut through the mysterious, ancient landscape she’d fallen into, and she blinked against the onslaught. Then her eyes widened as she saw the notifications.
Several missed calls, both from her brother and Dominic.
“Crap,” she muttered, tugging a glove off with her teeth, wincing against the instant bite of cold.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, debating who to call.
Her brother would be beyond furious with her, but not more than Dominic.
But then again, Dominic would be catatonic with rage if she called her brother before calling him.
Briefly, she considered bypassing them both and just calling Julian, before she remembered she didn’t have his number.
“Needs must,” she muttered, tapping on her brother’s name. He’d likely have to carry her down the mountain on his back while he was shifted, and she would really rather Dominic wasn’t anywhere near what would no doubt be an entirely humiliating experience.
And that was when she heard it.
A sound that didn’t belong to the mountain.
It came from below, low and guttural, too deep to be the wind. A growl. Long and deliberate, the kind that belonged to something hunting.
Layla froze, every muscle locking in place. The air, moments ago, electric with energy, now felt wrong. Thick. Heavy.
Her gaze flicked toward the tree line just below the ridge. Nothing moved, but the shadows between the pines looked darker than they should have been.
“Hello?” she called, instantly regretting it. Her voice sounded small, absurd against the vastness of the peak.
The answer was silence. Then, another sound. A step. Heavy. Slow.
Not a bear. Not a wolf. Something else.
Her heart stuttered once, then slammed into a sprint. She turned off her phone. Darkness swallowed her instantly, but she didn’t dare make herself a target.
The forest below shifted again, a rustle, a branch snapping. She took a step back, and her boot crunched on ice. The noise seemed deafening.
The growl came again, closer now, echoing through the hollow.
Layla’s pulse roared in her ears. No. Not now. Not after this.
She fumbled for the small knife clipped onto her belt, the one she brought along “just in case.” It felt pathetic in her shaking hand. Still, she raised it.
The air shifted.
And then she saw it.
Between the trees, something moved. Tall, lean, its shape wrong.
At first, her mind tried to make sense of it—a wolf, yes, but standing upright.
Its fur was patchy, slick with something dark.
Its face…God, its face. Too long, too narrow, teeth bared in a grin that wasn’t human.
Its eyes glowed faintly, reflecting light that wasn’t there.
It stepped out from the shadows, and the moonlight hit its claws, curved and black, hooked like blades.
Layla’s body reacted before her mind could. She ran.
The pack on her shoulders thudded against her spine with every step. The path was steep and treacherous; loose rock and snow made every stride a risk. But she didn’t look back. The sound of her own breath was drowned by the thunder of pursuit, heavy footfalls, faster than any man, any wolf.
She could hear it breathing now, close behind. Hot and wet, a stench of rot and blood filling the air.
Layla’s vision blurred from tears and wind. She nearly fell when the path narrowed, her hand catching on a sharp outcrop of stone. Blood slicked her fingers, but she didn’t stop.
The growl came again, louder, closer, threaded with something almost human, a rasp of laughter.
Her lungs burned. Her mind screamed shift, but nothing happened. The sense of power that had filled her minutes ago was gone, drained by terror. She was human. She was slow. She was prey.
Behind her, the creature roared, a sound that shattered the night, primal and furious.
Layla risked one glance over her shoulder. It was closer now, climbing on all fours, claws gouging into the stone. Its mouth hung open, fangs slick, a glint of saliva catching the moonlight.
She turned and ran harder. Her boots slipped; she caught herself on a branch, the bark tearing up her arm. Pain lanced through her. She pushed off again, down the path, through the dark.
For the first time since she left Skymist, Layla Hawthorne prayed not for divine intervention. She prayed for survival.