he woods weren't hers. She knew that the moment she stepped in.
They were too quiet. Too still. The trees stretched above her, tangled and watchful, their trunks pressed in close like they'd grown that way for a reason. Their branches curled toward the sky, twisted and bare, like bones clawing upward. No wind. No night birds. Just the slow crunch of dry leaves under her bare feet and the occasional rustle that never seemed to come from the same direction twice.
She didn't know why she was out here.
She couldn't remember leaving the house.
The fog started low, hugging the forest floor. Thin at first. Harmless. But the deeper she moved, the thicker it got, until the path behind her vanished entirely. The cold found her fingers. Her breathing turned shallow. Her ears strained for sound. But all she could hear was the sound of her steps, and even that began to sound wrong.
It felt like she was being watched. Every time she turned, she saw nothing. No animals. Just plain nothing.
Then came the smell. Rotting meat. Warm and metallic, thick with the sting of blood. Her stomach churned. She stepped back, and the ground gave way beneath her.
She fell. Hard and fast.
Straight into icy water, black as night.
Icy, breath-stealing water that rushed over her head and dragged her under. Her arms flailed. Her legs wouldn't move. Her lungs burned. She tried to scream, but her mouth filled with water. She tried to swim, but her body wouldn't rise. She sank deeper.
Then—she wasn't in water anymore.
She was in the backseat of a car.
It was raining. Two figures sat in the front. A man and a woman, talking softly, laughing like they didn't know she was there.
Her heart stuttered.
"Mom?" she whispered. "Dad?"
They turned. Slowly. Their faces were wrong. Hollowed out. Her father's chest was gaping, soaked with blood. Her mother's eyes were gone. Just dark, empty sockets and a smile too wide to be real.
Her throat seized. Bile rose.
A touch on her shoulder.
She turned. It was herself.
A mirror version of her stared at her in the backseat. Hair matted with blood. Eyes sunken and weeping. Tears or blood, she couldn't tell. Both, maybe.
Her scream never made it out.
She woke up choking.
Blankets tangled around her legs. Her shirt clung to her skin. The room was dark, lit only by the pale sliver of moonlight cutting through the window. No rain. No car. No woods. Just the silence of a place that still didn't feel like home.
She dragged a hand through her hair, pushing the red strands into a loose, messy bun. Her head dipped forward, eyes fixed on the honey-colored wood of her bedroom floor. Her throat ached.
She needed water.
Slowly, she made her way down the dark staircase, one careful step at a time. The house was silent. Not a creak. Not a whisper. Goosebumps rose along her arms. She pushed through the unease and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water before walking to the back door.
She cracked it open just enough to let the night air in. The breeze was cold, but it brought her back to herself. Grounded her. It was silly, maybe, but the chill comforted her.
The backyard felt like a forgotten craft project. A worn wooden chair, a few weathered flower pots, some full, others cracked. A dreamcatcher swung gently from a nail, clearly Suki's touch. Her brother and Papa Jake didn't care for decorating.
She sat and drank, eyes drifting toward the edge of the forest. The trees stood quiet, still, but not in that suffocating way from the dream. Just calm. Familiar. For a moment, it felt safe enough to relax. She hummed under her breath, letting herself settle.
Would she ever understand why her life had unraveled the way it had? Why so much had been taken? There had to be a reason she was still here. Still breathing. Still trying.
She finished the water, went back inside, climbed the stairs, and slipped into bed. Her eyes closed against the dark. Against the cold. Waiting for sleep to come.
****
He shouldn't have been there. That much was clear.
Standing in the shadows of her room, barely breathing, Ezra felt like exactly what he was: a creep. What excuse did he have? That Soren wouldn't stop pacing under his skin? That the wolf had dragged him here just to be near her?
He hadn't meant to stay. He told himself he'd leave the second he saw her. Just a glimpse. That was all. But then she moved in her sleep, just slightly, and the scent of her hit him like a punch to the gut. Sweet. Warm. Alive.
His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body locked up, including the one that betrayed him most. Disgust curled in his gut. Not at her. At himself.
Still, he didn't move.
There was more to her scent. Not just the warmth or the sweetness of wild honey. She was sad. A deep, heavy presence, thick in the air like smoke after a fire. He'd heard why she came here, knew the story whispered by his Beta and Papa Jake. But standing this close, the truth of it was a physical blow. Ezra had known anger. He'd known betrayal. But not this kind of grief—the kind that takes an entire family, leaving a person alone with nothing but ghosts.
He stepped out of the shadow of the closet door, his scent still masked by the old cedar and dust. No one would know he was here. Not Suki, not Papa Jake, not Jesse. Not even his Beta.
She stirred beneath the multiple layers patchwork quilt, her body turning, a small, soft sigh escaping her lips. Her face shifted toward him, the moonlight from the window painting her features in silver. Her eyes fluttered open.
And then they focused. She was awake. Staring right at the dark shape of him.
"I'm dreaming again," she whispered, her voice a soft ribbon of sound, thick with sleep. "At least it's not a bad one."
She yawned, a delicate, unselfconscious thing, and rubbed at her eyes. "Why am I dreaming about you?"
Ezra's heart hammered against his ribs. He held his breath.
"Well… I hope everything's going to be okay," she mumbled, already drifting back to sleep. "Good night, Ezra."
Her heartbeat, so fast and erratic a moment ago, began to slow. Her breathing deepened and evened out. She was gone again, lost to the depths of sleep.
A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in Ezra's chest, spreading through him like a wildfire. It was a warmth he hadn't felt in years, and with it came a pull so strong it almost made him gasp. One of his eyes, the left one, flared to a brilliant, impossible blue.
She dreams of us, Soren, the beast, purred in the back of his mind.
"It seems so," Ezra replied, the words a silent plea to a god he didn't believe in.
She is our mate. The claim was a simple, brutal truth.
"I know."
She's strong. She can take it.
"She is." Ezra's voice was a low growl now, a desperate, pained sound. "But not for us."
The bond between them tugged, a shimmering, real thing, a rope of light and warmth. It was alive. It was perfect. And it was wrong. If they touched it, if they claimed her, it wouldn't just ruin her. It would take the pack down with them.
The blue glow in his eye faded back to a familiar, painful brown. Ezra turned, a hand gripping the rough wood of the windowsill. He climbed out, silent and swift, and dropped to the damp-snow grass below.
He walked away without looking back, leaving the ghost of his scent and the hollow echo of a forbidden dream behind him.