Chapter 15 Cade
A chilling scream pierced the silence, yanking me out of sleep like a slap to the face.
My hand moved on instinct, finding the grip of the gun holstered beside my bed. Adrenaline surged through me as I sprang up, heart already pounding. It was Rowan. Her voice carried through the dorm, high-pitched and terrified, shouting incoherently.
I didn’t hesitate. Gun in hand, I sprinted toward her room. What the hell was happening? Why was she screaming like that? Behind me, footsteps thudded on the floor. Ryker, bleary-eyed but alert, emerged from his room, pulled from sleep just like I was.
“What’s going on? Is Rowan okay?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My focus was locked on Rowan’s cries, growing more desperate by the second. I had to get to her. I had to make sure she was safe.
Fear gripped me hard, coiling in my gut like a fist. I hadn’t felt this kind of fear in a while. Not since the night Killian almost died.
I reached her door and shoved it open, the hinges groaning in protest. I swept the room with trained precision, gun up, senses heightened, ready to respond to any threat.
But there was none.
No intruder. No signs of a struggle. Just Rowan, tangled in her bedsheets, soaked in sweat, caught in the throes of a nightmare.
Ryker skidded to a halt behind me, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he realized the same thing.
“It’s a dream,” he murmured, reassuring himself she wasn’t in danger.
“I’ve got her, it’s fine. Go back to bed,” I told him as he turned and left the room, yawing.
Rowan whimpered, thrashing slightly, her face twisted in fear. “Please, no… help… anyone!”
I knelt beside her, setting the gun aside.
“Rowan,” I said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Wake up. You’re safe.”
She flinched away, her body trembling. “Please don’t take me… Dad! Please, don’t let them take me!”
The words hit me like a punch. My throat tightened.
“Rowan,” I said again, firmer now. “It’s a dream. You need to wake up.”
Still no response. Just more cries, more helpless pleas.
This time, I raised my voice, not in anger, but urgency.
“Rowan! Wake up! You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Her eyes flew open suddenly, wild and unfocused, as if she wasn’t sure what was real. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, and for a moment, she just stared at me like she didn’t recognize me at all.
Then she gasped, choked on a sob, and reached for me.
“I’ve got you,” I said again, softer now, pulling her into my arms.
“The man with the yellow eyes… he was trying to take me. My dad was...”
She spoke in a panic, her voice faltering as she struggled to untangle the fragments of her nightmare. Fear clung to her every syllable, her eyes wide and unfocused as if she were still trapped somewhere between the nightmare and waking.
I stayed silent. There was no need to ask who she meant. I already knew.
Talon.
She had seen him outside the bar. Ryker told me he was the last thing she saw before the tranquilizer took hold. He said that the look on her face was pure, unfiltered terror.
Of course she was scared.
Talon wasn’t like us.
There was something predatory about him, something jarring that no amount of charm or careful restraint could mask. The yellow glow of his eyes gave him away as something other than human.
Unnatural.
Animalistic.
No matter how carefully he tried to construct his facade of control, she had seen through it.
And what she saw had frightened her.
I purred softly, trying to regulate her emotions.
“I want to go home,” Rowan choked out, her voice cracking just before the sobs came.
The sound of her crying hit me harder than I expected. A sliver of guilt cut through me. The feeling was sharp, unwelcome, and foreign. I shoved it down, burying it beneath layers of practiced control. There was no room for that now.
Rowan would eventually come around.
She just needed time. Structure. Safety. And the occasional behavior correcting punishment.
That’s what I told myself, anyway. She had been through too much, too fast. Rowan was ripped from everything familiar, thrown into a world she didn’t understand. She hadn’t had a chance to process any of it.
“Rowan,” I murmured gently, still purring as I spoke. “It’s okay. You are home. This is your home now.”
She didn’t answer, but her arms tightened around me like she was afraid to let go. I held her, letting her cry. I ran my fingers slowly through her hair, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to melt beneath my touch.
Eventually, the shaking in her chest softened. Her breathing evened out, longer and slower with each inhale. I kept holding her until I was certain she’d drifted off, asleep against me.
As I watched her sleep, I found myself thinking about her nightmare.
She had cried out for her father.
When I was a child, I had nightmares too.
But I never called for my father. He was cruel, distant, and long dead to me even as a kid.
Instead, I cried out for my mother. Sometimes, on rare nights, she would come.
She’d sit on the edge of my bed, brush the hair from my face, whisper that everything was fine.
And for a moment, I’d believe her. But more often, I cried into the dark alone, while she poured drink after drink, stumbling through the house, too far gone to hear me or care.
Now, holding Rowan close, running my fingers through her hair, the urge to protect her was overwhelming.
Not just protect.
Control.
I wanted to shield her from every shadow, every fear, every pain. I wanted to wrap her in a cage of my making.
Safe, secure, and utterly mine.