What Woke with Me
Gabrielle POV
Cold night air burns my lungs as I lurch upright, my heart slamming so hard it feels like it might tear free of my chest. My hands claw at my throat, desperate for air, for relief – for him.
But there’s nothing.
No smouldering eyes burning through the darkness
No pull tightening low in my body.
Only trees.
Moonlight filters through the canopy above – too bright for midnight, too dark for morning. Dread coils low in my stomach as I realise I’m not in my bed.
I’m in the forest. No insects. No wind. Just silence pressing in.
“What the hell,” I mutter to myself.
My voice sounds thin. Fragile.
Like I’ve just run from something I can’t quite remember.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to slow my breathing, trying to convince my body it’s over.
It doesn’t listen.
The pull is gone – but something lingers, pulsing beneath my skin.
I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to hold onto the dream.
The eyes. The power. The way he felt – like gravity. It’s already slipping away, dissolving like mist between my fingers.
I stagger to my feet, dizzy, grabbing at a low branch to steady myself. My legs feel weak, unfamiliar, like they don’t quite belong to me.
"It was just a dream," I mutter, fully aware I’m lying to myself. Get a grip.
The words sound unconvincing even to me – because dreams don’t follow you into the daylight.
But this one had.
My fingers curl around the pendant at my throat. The metal is warmer than it should be, the familiar weight grounding me just enough to breathe properly again.
Yet the remnants of the dream cling stubbornly to me.
A voice cuts through the trees.
“Gabrielle!”
My stomach drops. Crap.
I turn just as my dad’s voice rings out again, sharper this time, “Gabrielle Stone!”
“I'm coming, Dad.” I call out, forcing my legs to move.
As I push through the undergrowth, a shiver ripples through my body, heat pooling beneath my skin in a way that makes no sense.
What is wrong with me? And why does it feel so real?
A strange flutter stirs low in my stomach, followed by a jolt of something dangerously close to lust. I shove the thought away just as quickly, mortified.
Tessa would have a field day. My best friend has never understood my lack of interest in boys – a fact she treats like a personal insult to modern society.
She’s perpetually determined to 'fix me', usually by attempting to throw me at the nearest available male.
It’s a good thing we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, or her relentless matchmaking schemes might have driven me to throttle her by now.
She forgets, conveniently, that I’m human.
In a town full of wolves, that makes all the difference.
Tessa will wake up on her eighteenth birthday able to sense her mate at a single touch.
There will be sparks, thunder, and an instant, unmistakable pull toward that one person made for her.
I won’t.
There will be no lightning. No crackle of energy. No universe-shifting moment.
Humans don’t get that kind of certainty.
So why rush? Better to wait than kiss a few frogs along the way.
My body, traitorous as ever, seems determined to disagree. The memory of the dream flickers again, heat brewing low in my belly, and I have to shift my weight awkwardly as I walk. Maybe I wouldn’t mind a little something with –
“Gabrielle Stone!”
My dad’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.
Jeez, give me a minute.
“How many times have I told you not to come out here alone?” he snaps as he strides into view.
“Daaad…” I protest weakly.
He folds his arms, eyes blazing. For someone who avoids confrontation at all costs, he looks genuinely furious.
“Girls have gone missing. From Roseville! And you're out here – all alone. At night!"
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten.
“What’s happening?” I ask carefully.
His jaw barely moves, “No one knows for certain, but I do know that I won't have you becoming the next headline!”
My stomach sinks.
“Roseville is less than five miles from here,” he continues grimly. “What were you thinking?”
I hesitate, carefully choosing my words.
Because, Hey Dad, I sleepwalked into the forest and had a disturbingly vivid dream about a dangerous, gorgeous stranger doesn’t feel like the right answer.
“Sorry,” I say instead. “You’re right. I just needed to clear my head. I’m heading home now.”
“Damn right you are,” he mutters.
Despite myself, affection warms my chest. Charles – or Charlie, to everyone else – isn’t my biological father, but he’s the only parent I’ve ever known. He’s family. He, Tessa… and this place.
As we turn toward home a distant howl echoes through the forest.
Unease coils in my stomach, and a strange certainty settles deep in my bones.
Something has changed.
Willow Creek has always felt safe, quiet, tucked away in the mountains, but lately, something feels off. Like the forest itself is holding its breath.
Something ancient has stirred in the darkness. And whatever it is, I don't think it has noticed me by accident.