Oh no.
I was feeling nothing short of stressed out in this dream—like seriously so.
The dream played out as if I were watching a scene in a movie.
There was a wolf running through the forest. It was night, and there was only the full moon lighting its path. The wolf ran and ran. Its fur gleamed a midnight blue. Everything in the scene was cast in a bluish hue.
Eventually, the wolf stopped at a clearing by a lake, the full moon reflecting off the dark, watery surface. The wolf stopped to drink. Its eyes were reflected in the lake—an ultramarine blue, like a matching pair of lapis lazuli.
I was still feeling really stressed out because something bad was going to happen. As I watched, I kept looking out for any clue of the terrible thing that hadn't appeared yet.
And then it did appear.
A maroon-and-white wolf stepped out from the shadows of the trees, like a dark, desaturated red against the deep gray-blues around it. It was huge. Its fur was plastered down, wet and dripping. And I realized that the dark red patches were fur drenched with blood. It was dripping blood down its hind legs.
The blue wolf turned to face the red one.
The camera zoomed in. I didn't want to watch anymore.
I wanted to close my eyes and block out the sight the way I would have if I were watching a show with my friends. But it was a dream; I was sleeping with my eyes fully shut. I couldn't close them any more to stop seeing this.
Low growling. The wolves slunk closer to each other. Now the camera shifted to the blue wolf's point of view, showing the red wolf's face up close. Golden eyes.
The camera pulled back, and I was watching the two wolves again.
The red wolf walked past the blue one. As it passed, it straightened itself as if to prove that it was the larger wolf, then walked straight into the lake.
It was quiet. The blue wolf waited on the shore, watching the water stain red and the reflection of the pale moon ripple with movement.
Then the red wolf emerged—those same golden eyes—but now it was no longer red.
White.
It was white, white like the moon in the sky.
Golden Eyes dragged itself out of the water and shook off a fountain of wet, crystal beads into the air around it.
It was no longer bleeding. There was no sign of injury. The lake had washed it all away.
The white wolf moved cautiously toward the blue wolf. The blue wolf straightened too. They faced each other, both stances strong and unyielding.
Now that the white wolf's fur was no longer soaked with blood, it had filled out. The white wolf was not only taller; it was also much larger-looking. He bared his teeth, demanding submission.
What should the blue wolf do?
OPTION 1: BOW IN SUBMISSION
OPTION 2: FIGHT FOR DOMINANCE
OPTION 3: DO SOMETHING CRAZY
It was as if the third option was added just for me.
But I wasn't happy at all. I was really stressed out. I didn't want to pick this option. I felt quite terrified that it was a trap—that this third option would lead to something terrible.
But unlike choose-your-own-adventure books, I couldn't cheat and quickly scan ahead to see where the options would lead. I had to choose without knowing what would happen next.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks: I knew the answer, or at least I knew what the answer was not.
I didn't know who the blue wolf was. Your guess would be as good as mine. But I knew Golden Eyes was my mate.
So OPTION 2: FIGHT FOR DOMINANCE was out. There was nothing to gain from having my mate hurt in a fight.
I mean, I might just be biased here, but my mate would probably win. He was larger and stronger. But the blue wolf would not lose without dealing major damage.
That left OPTION 1: BOW IN SUBMISSION
Or OPTION 3: DO SOMETHING CRAZY. Just saying.
Of course my heart wanted to choose the latter, just to see what would happen. But my head said to pick the former and keep things safe—protect my mate.
I was stressed out, so stressed out.
I wanted to follow my heart, but if I did, my mate would surely be hurt. Was hurting my mate worth "following my heart"?
Whenever I followed my heart, whenever I said, let's do something crazy, would I end up getting everyone else around me hurt—my mate, my parents, my pack?
I was scared. So scared, I lost it. I lost all my daring.
It wasn't fun and exciting now that it was real life and the stakes were my pack and family.
Oh wait—this wasn't real life! This was a dream. So technically, even OPTION 2: FIGHT FOR DOMINANCE could be a viable option.
Suddenly, I was freed to choose because it was just a dream. I picked the obvious choice.
I wanted OPTION 3: DO SOMETHING CRAZY, please.
No—wait.
Since this was a dream, why settle for just one?
What if I pretended to pick OPTION 1: BOW IN SUBMISSION, and then, when he let down his guard, switched to OPTION 2: FIGHT FOR DOMINANCE, and then, during the fight, OPTION 3: DO SOMETHING CRAZY?
In other words, I could also choose OPTION 4: ALL OF THE ABOVE!
So what if I made up my own option? It was my dream.
The scene remained paused, as if waiting for my choice to be confirmed.
But just as I decided, I also changed my mind. I was scared again.
So what if I was an amazing decision-maker in my dreams? So what if I could dream up new options? Dream logic wasn't going to help me in real life.
I needed real answers, not fantasy options.
Would I spend my real life submitting because I was too scared to let anyone around me get hurt?
I would never know if the blue wolf could win OPTION 2: FIGHT FOR DOMINANCE.
I would never know what crazy, exciting thing the blue wolf might come up with in OPTION 3: DO SOMETHING CRAZY.
If I picked the safe OPTION 1: BOW IN SUBMISSION in real life, it wouldn't matter what I chose in my dreams.
My life would always be bowed to my fears.
And because the movie was still paused, waiting for me to confirm my decision—and because I had no idea what I would pick in real life—and because this was not real life but just a dream—and because I didn't think I could wake up until the movie was over—I confirmed OPTION 4: ALL OF THE ABOVE.
If I had to watch it play out, I might as well pick something interesting.
Suddenly, the movie started to play, and I was drawn into the perspective of the blue wolf. I supposed that since I made the decision, the dream felt I should share in its consequences.
I bowed my large wolf head in submission, feeling strange about it. If I thought that was the end of it, I was wrong.
My stupid mate had to be just that dominant. He put his large paw on my head and pushed the blue wolf all the way down until the fur on my chinny chin chin was pressed flat against the ground.
Stupid mate. Stupid dominant alpha.
He continued to growl and push until the blue wolf was prone on the ground.
Time to exercise OPTION 2: FIGHT FOR DOMINANCE.
I swallowed the low growl in my throat and closed my eyes, letting the blue wolf endure the submission a bit longer.
My stupid dominant alpha mate kept his heavy paw on my head longer than necessary. Then he let go.
I waited.
It had to be the right moment. He was bigger and stronger, and this was my first time controlling a wolf body. I really hoped the blue wolf would take back control and fight on autopilot.
The moment my mate turned to move away, I pounced—pretty much landing on top of him. Huh. Wait. No autopilot. I needed to drive this thing.
How did you drive a wolf?
My mate rolled over, his golden eyes darkening, his growl low and warning. His shock flickered into… what? Anger? Confusion?
What should I do now? Oh right. I should bite him. Probably.
I mean, biting was a legit wolf move, right?
Oh well. Here goes nothing.
The blue wolf's mouth clamped down on fur. Bleh—fur in my mouth. My mate was so fluffy that my teeth barely scraped skin. It was all fluff. Instinctively, I let go. My mate rolled me off.
I got back on my feet. Okay. This was totally not going the way I imagined a wolf fight should go.
When I shifted into my wolf for real, I was going to need a lot of training. Because honestly, this was pathetic.
The only consolation was that my mate was no longer angry. He looked wary, but mostly confused by the blue wolf.
Should I try again? This time pounce and bite—and bite much harder. If at first you did not succeed, try, try again, right?
I crouched down, growling, ready to pounce again, but my mate read my obvious intention and moved much faster.
He knocked me off my feet. We rolled twice, and then he bit me. What the hell.
He bit me hard, too. Stupid mate.
I felt the fur on my shoulder soaking with blood. He wasn't letting up either. He was going for my neck next.
Panic. Stupid mate, stop!
But of course he couldn't hear me.
I struggled, but I was pinned on my back, his wolf looming over me, wild and angry, his white fangs bloody.
OPTION 3: DO SOMETHING CRAZY, now—because I was not going to live much longer if I didn't do anything.
I was so scared. I was so mad. And I was so pinned to the ground that it was seriously humiliating.
So I shifted back into my human form.
Just as his teeth came toward me, I shifted, slipping free of his paws and narrowly escaping his teeth. I rolled to the side and stood up.
Oh. I had clothes on.
They were soaked with blood on my right shoulder.
I was still wearing my pajamas—a soft cotton pajama dress with blue flower prints. My Mum bought it for me for New Year's Eve.
My Mum bought Savy and me new pajamas every year to wear on New Year's Eve so we could wake up to the new year in new clothes. She said that was what her Mum used to do for her.
My mate spun around, eyes still wild and angry. Then he saw me—and stopped in his tracks.
Then he shifted too.
He was crowned with dark curls, his eyes still golden.
Shirtless, wearing only a pair of black leather pants wrapped tightly around his lower half.
What the heck was with that outfit?
Meanwhile, I was in my pajamas, blood soaking through one sleeve. It didn't hurt, though.
Strange. A minute ago, it had felt like my shoulder had been stabbed through with a pitchfork.
I lifted my collar gingerly to look at the damage, but there was none—not a single scratch.
That was some super-fast healing. Maybe we really were acting in a movie.
Or maybe it was just because this was a dream.
"How old are you?" he asked. He still sounded growly and angry.
Oh. Wait. I was supposed to speak first!
I was supposed to yell at him, give him a piece of my mind, and glare him to death for biting me—but I got distracted by our clothes.
How was it that we could shift back with our clothes still on? And if I was wearing these exact pajamas in my bed right now, was he wearing those shiny black pants?
Also, the pain that fueled my anger was gone.
I guessed I wasn't the type to hold onto my anger—unlike my stupid mate, who was still glaring at me, arms crossed over his bare chest.
"Answer," he commanded.
Answer what?
"Oh. Fifteen," I lied. Close enough.
"You are still a kid!" he accused.
"Yeah, well, you still act like one," I shot back.
I might have been a total noob at wolf fights, but childish verbal sparring was my specialty.
He huffed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Where are you now?"
I blinked at him. "Here. With you."
"No!" he practically shouted. "Where are you in real life?"
"I am at home," I said, tugging at the hem of my dress. "I am not going outside in this. Who knows where you are?" I gave his pants a pointed look.
Yeah, I could be a prude, but no respectable male walked around in broad daylight wearing pants like that. They looked like they belonged in places I wasn't old enough to enter.
He blinked, then, as if only just realizing what I meant. "It is none of your business," he grumbled.
Stooooopid mate. (The number of o's reflected the level of stupidity.)
"Okay." He took a breath, as if struggling to stay patient.
Then I realized what he was asking. He wanted to know my location outside the dream. Should I tell him?
"My pack is in the Green Pack lands," I said at last.
He nodded stiffly at the information. "Stay there," he ordered. "I will come for you in a few years."
Wait—what?
"You look like you need more help than I do," I said snarkily. "How about you tell me where you are, and I will come rescue you?"
He blanched. "Just stay where you are until you grow up."
That would take forever and a day.
"And while you are at it, Princess, learn to submit properly when I see you."
He did not just say that.
Except he did.
And I saw red.
"You—you dumbbell!" I yelled.
He looked stunned, like he had been slapped.
I did not stop. "I am the Alpha! You learn to submit properly when I see you!"
"You are a pup."
"I will grow up."
"You are a girl."
"My wolf is strong."
"Your wolf can't even fight."
"How would you know? You've never met my wolf!"
He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again. I watched him take a steadying breath, clearly trying to calm himself. "You know what? Forget it. I do not have time for this."
"Yeah, because you are too busy getting your ass handed to you in a bloody pulp all the damn time."
"Do not swear, Princess. It is ugly."
"I haven't even started."
Everything he said just made me angrier.
He shook his head at me. "Do you have to be so… so difficult?"
"I am not being difficult. You are being a dumbbell."
"Do NOT call me that."
"Dumb. Bell."
He growled. I thought he might just shift in anger—typical male wolves. Can't win verbally, so they get physical.
But he didn't shift.
"Enough!" he shouted, his alpha command so strong that it physically pushed me back a step. "Just stay where you are and wait until I get there."
I stepped forward again, growling as I spoke. "Do not tell me what to do. Do not alpha-command me. And do not bother coming until you learn to respect me as your equal."
He snorted. "If you want my respect, Princess, you have to earn it."
"Same to you, Dumbbell," I snapped back.
And then I woke up.
Why couldn't I be one of those people who had romantic dreams about their future mate?