Chapter 3 - Arianna
Warmth spreads across my cheeks, but it's not just from the bright morning sun. My lips lift with a smile of adoration when I spot the silhouette of a man I'd recognize in any crowd, standing at the ingress of the woods with one arm outstretched toward me.
My feet move of their own accord, bare and basking in the heavenly softness of the summer lawn like a blanket that cushions my steps until I'm close enough to see the tattoo coiling around the arm held out toward me.
I've always found myself intrigued by the moon phases inked across the thick forearm, wanting to press a kiss to each one until I reach his shoulder.
“Ari…” his deep, baritone voice whispers my name, fluttering butterflies in the pit of my belly as I slip my hand into his and allow him to pull me closer. One hand settles on my belly, which grows as he lifts a smile to my face.
His blue eyes sparkle with appreciation, holding me captive in their warmth.
“Noah…” he speaks our son's name, and my heart skips a beat just as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss on my lips.
When our lips meet, our worlds collide, and I feel whole again, knowing that I belong in his arms. But as he pulls away, the brightness of the morning is suddenly swallowed by an ominous mist that consumes his smile.
I gasp when a threatening screech slices through the air, and Noah's father pushes me firmly, knocking me out of the way just as the mysterious dark creature that chased me in my dreams before emerges from the forest and attacks him.
I scream, but no sound leaves my throat when I witness the ghastly creature tear off my mate's head.
That's when I wake up with the sound crawling up my throat and leaving my lips like a struggling wheeze.
Another cold sweat.
Another horrifying nightmare just when I thought I'd catch a break.
My only consolation is knowing that it wasn't anything more than a dream, and my son is safely asleep beside me.
After tending to the aftermath of another frightening, unsettling nightmare by wiping away the sweat from my brow and quenching my dry throat, I turn to Noah and gently wake him up for the day.
He seems to notice my wariness by the way he frowns, but I'm able to douse his suspicions with a series of kisses on his cheeks and some cuddling.
Admittedly, I'm trying to distract myself. The embrace from the dream was one I yearned for, but one I'd forgotten how much I craved when I buried the memory of him and swore to myself that I'd never uncover it.
It was the only way I could protect my heart and shower all my love onto my son. Our son.
Him being killed by the ominous creature that haunts my nightmares is symbolic of the way I killed him in my memory. Even his name is something I refuse to speak.
It's why I'm afraid of Noah growing older and asking questions about his father. Though I killed the memory of him, he is still out there somewhere.
He's also the reason I refuse to pay heed to my inner wolf that keeps telling me to go back home.
I need to stop letting these nightmares get to me. They mean nothing, and I have to stop being so paranoid.
“Wanna have pancakes for breakfast again?” I ask Noah cheerfully, but it's really just a desperate attempt to distract myself from my mind.
Noah lifts his head, his lips forming a pout. “Want milk and cookies!” he exclaims, to which I giggle.
“Milk and cookies it is!” I concede, sensing that I probably need the sugar more than he does.
***
Lunchtime rolls around at work, and as expected, it’s always our busiest on Saturdays.
Rushing around like a headless chicken, I'm grateful for the busy day, which means I don't spend too much time trying to dissect my nightmares. I take another order to the kitchen and hear the bell chiming on the inside of the front door, signaling another patron's entry.
“Sanchez! Table three!” one of my coworkers calls out from behind the counter, where she's taking orders from the long line of customers wanting carryout.
I nod at the younger woman, then flip my notepad to a clean page, taking a deep breath and plastering a smile on my face before going to table three.
“Hello, Miss Sanchez.” The man purrs my name as he lifts his head, eyes curious behind a pair of thick spectacles.
A fleeting frown passes my brows as I remember the man from yesterday. He was our last customer before we closed, but he wasn't alone last night.
“Hi, I see you've come back,” I smile sincerely.
“Yes. Yes, I have,” he concedes with a charming grin that shows off a set of flashy white teeth. “The food here was delightful, but”—he gestures to the empty seat across from him, brows furrowing with disappointment—“last night's date didn't seem to think I was very delightful.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” I say in a consoling tone. He genuinely appears disappointed that his date didn't go well, and I can't help but feel sorry for him.
“It's okay,” he shrugs as he lifts the menu to inspect it. “I guess a chocolate milkshake for starters will do the trick to cheer me up…”
“Of course,” I smile as I jot down the order. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
He turns his face toward me and grins. “Your smile has definitely brightened my day already. If that milkshake comes close to doing that, I'll be ordering more.”
I nod as I'm about to leave the table, but not without noticing that the man keeps his eyes on me. Even as I turn, the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle as if he's still watching.
Shrugging off my wariness, I dismiss the feeling to the fact that I've been on edge all week. He's just a man whose date didn't go well, and he's here for a pick-me-up. That's all.
I take his order through to the kitchen when I see him signaling for me from his table. Returning, I'm ready with my pen to take his next order, but he barely gives the menu another look.
“So tell me, Miss Arianna,” he begins as he reads my name off the tag on my apron. “Are you seeing anyone?”
I gasp in shock at the direct question, which is way too personal for my liking. The last time I saw someone was a few months ago, and he proved to be a creep who wanted too much, too fast, and I got rid of him just as quickly.
But that's none of the stranger's business.
Frowning as I lift my eyes to the stranger at table three, I tilt my face to one side, wanting to remain professional but also needing to set a clear boundary.
“I'm sorry, but I don't believe it's appropriate to be discussing my personal life, sir.”
“Naturally.” He chuckles nonchalantly as he leans back. “But I mean, pretty girl like you working in a place like this…” He leans forward and folds his arms on the table. “You must have many secrets, right? What is it that you're hiding? A child?”
My eyes widen with horror at how intrusive the stranger is being, my blood boiling just beneath the surface. Who does he think he is? It's no wonder his date didn't go well!
Just as I feel my pulse quickening and I'm about to snap at the stranger, a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Is everything alright, Arianna?” Warren asks as he steps forward.
“Y-yes,” I say as I narrow my eyes at the stranger. “This man wasn't sure what to order, so I guess he'll be leaving now.”
The strange man hesitates as his eyes flit between Warren and me, but he seems to get the message when he stands up, the chair's legs grinding against the tiles.
“I'll see you around, Miss Sanchez,” he says with a curt nod before leaving the diner.
As soon as he's gone, I let out the breath I'd been holding. I'd put on a brave face with the stranger, but I’m flooded with anxiety.
“Arianna?” Warren whispers gently as he turns me around with both hands on my shoulders. “What was that all about? Are you okay?”
“I—I don't know…” I fumble for the right words, overwhelmed.
Just because the stranger is gone doesn't mean that I'm not overthinking every bit of what just happened.
Why was he suddenly so invested in my life? Why was he asking me those questions?
I can’t shake off my wariness, the past few days keeping me on high-alert. I can’t let the slightest red flag pass me by, especially after my last encounter with a human man that shook me to the core. I’m extra cautious now.
Is he the one following me? The dark being haunting my mind at night?
Is he the reason why my inner wolf has been nagging me to go back home?
It feels as if my inner wolf reawakens in the wake of the peculiar encounter with the stranger, warning me that I need to get to my son quickly.
I look up to meet Warren's concerned eyes, and without hesitation, I ask, “Can I go home?”
The question seems to echo in my mind as if my inner wolf is clinging to it, reminding me of all the times it whispered that I needed to go home.
Not to my cottage behind Lyra's house in Salem, but the home I fled when I was rejected by Noah's father.
I gulp as I await Warren's response, expecting him to reject my request as he's done in the past. But there's something different in the way he stares at me, as if he can sense my panic, my desperation, the urgency in my tone.
He probably can see how spooked I am by the strange man, and he nods slowly.
Without another word, I remove my apron and rush to the counter to collect my belongings. My ears buzz with the panic building in my chest, panic I have to push through until I'm outside, carefully checking my surroundings to make sure I'm not being followed.
I can't see anyone on the sidewalk who'd be remotely interested in my existence, but I can feel that I'm being watched. The fine hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, goosebumps erupting on my forearms as if in warning.
My intuition is in overdrive, and there's no more ignoring it.
I thought I couldn't trust it, but it's practically screaming at me now to warn me of the danger manifesting from my nightmares.
I can't make sense of it, but the death I witnessed in last night's dream, and the encounter with the stranger are enough to cause alarm that doesn't need questions.
It needs action, and that’s what leads me across the street, jogging until I'm close to the shortcut I've been avoiding taking for almost four years.
As soon as I'm behind the first tree, I close my eyes and make the shift for the first time in all those years, my bones aching with the memory of being snapped into the shape of my wolf.
An anguished screech rips through my chest as I land on padded paws, and the moment I open my eyes and see through my wolf's vision, I feel the intensity of my panic.
The feeling is unexplainable, but it has me racing forward in the wolf form I still have to get accustomed to.
I push through the quivering of my knees until I'm through the small gathering of trees and almost out on the other side.
That's when I reclaim my human form and rush toward the residential area.
Just as I'm about to approach Lyra's house, I spot her standing outside in the driveway, clutching Noah close to her as she stares at my cottage in the back. Another wave of anxiety slows down my steps, the panic so imminent that it sends acrid bile to the top of my throat.
“Lyra…?” I call out fearfully as I near them, and Noah turns around first. He jumps out of Lyra's arms and bolts toward me, and as I reach down to scoop him into my arms, Lyra turns with apologetic eyes, ensnaring me in the reality of my greatest fear.
“Your place, Arianna…it's been thrashed,” she says sullenly, and my heart skips a beat in fright.
“Who was it?”
Lyra shakes her head and begins explaining how they only heard the crashing and explosive sounds of things breaking inside the cottage before the assailant disappeared.
She didn't see who it was, but I already know that it must have been whatever or whomever it is that's been chasing me in my dreams.
And that's when my inner wolf stirs and whispers the words it's been repeating inside my head for a week now.
“Go home…”