Chapter 23 Nora
Nora
The nightmare didn’t start like a nightmare.
It started like memory.
I was walking down Main Street, the sun warm, the Magnolia Ladies gossiping, Trigger singing terribly off-key from inside the tavern singing along with the new jukebox.
Then everything shifted.
The street emptied.
The sky darkened.
The air turned heavy, suffocating.
And suddenly—
I wasn’t alone.
A figure stood at the corner.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t have a face.
But I knew—
he was looking at me.
My heart pounded in my chest.
I tried to turn around.
I couldn’t.
Tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
The figure stepped forward—
Long, slow, deliberate steps—
His shadow stretched across the pavement toward me like fingers reaching for my throat.
I stumbled back—
And fell.
Fell and fell and fell—
into darkness so thick it wrapped around my lungs.
Then—
A voice.
Low.
Rough.
Urgent.
“Nora. Nora—hey—look at me.”
The darkness shattered.
I woke with a gasp.
Wolf
I was sitting up in bed, cradling her against me.
Nora’s breath came in short, sharp bursts as she tried to pull herself out of the panic.
She shook violently, her fingers gripping my arms like I was the only thing keeping her afloat.
I cupped the back of her head and pressed my forehead gently to hers.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, voice steady even though my heart was hammering. “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She tried to inhale and choked on it.
“Breathe with me,” I whispered.
I held her close, chest to chest, letting her feel the rise and fall of my breathing.
“In,” I said softly.
Her chest stuttered, then rose.
“Good. Now slow.”
She clung to me, matching the rhythm.
I slid a hand down her back, grounding her with soft pressure. Her hair brushed my cheek, damp with fear.
After a minute, her breathing steadied.
Not normal—
but close.
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice cracked and fragile.
“No,” I said immediately. “No apologizing. Not for this.”
She looked down. “It felt so real.”
I brushed my thumb over her cheek. “What happened?”
She swallowed hard. “He was there. In the dream. Watching me on the street. Then he started coming closer. I couldn’t move.”
My jaw tightened—not at her, but at the invisible bastard who was poisoning her peace even in sleep.
“That’s your mind trying to process fear,” I said gently. “It’s normal.”
“I hate that he’s gotten into my head,” she whispered fiercely. “Into my dreams.”
“He’s not getting any farther,” I said. “Not with me here.”
Her eyes glistened again, but this time it wasn’t terror.
It was something softer.
“You really mean that,” she whispered.
I nodded. “More than I’ve ever meant anything.”
Her fingers relaxed in my shirt, sliding instead to rest over my heart.
Wolf—protective, hardened, trained—felt that touch like something breaking open inside him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.
I stroked her hair back, letting my knuckles graze her cheek. “Me too.”
She curled against my chest, head beneath my chin, and I held her as if someone might try to take her away in her sleep.
They wouldn’t.
Not while I breathed.
Her voice came small but steady:
“Do you think he’s close?”
I hesitated—but only for a breath.
“I think he’s not far enough for my liking,” I admitted. “But that’s why we’re not giving him a second alone with you. Not day. Not night.”
I felt her nod against my chest.
For a while, we lay there in quiet.
Her breathing steadied.
Her trembling eased.
Her fingers curled in my shirt again—this time not from fear, but comfort.
When she finally drifted back to sleep, it was against my shoulder, her body warm and soft in my arms.
I stayed awake.
Listening.
Watching.
Waiting.
Because the nightmare might have been in her head—
But the danger wasn’t.