The Haunting Dream

ZORAN

The echoing sound of women laughing bounced off unseen walls, surrounding me in a surreal dreamscape. Thick white mist rolled over my boots. A blinding golden light pierced through the fog, swallowing the world in an oppressive glow. I stood frozen in the center of the strange expanse.

Two ancient voices drifted from the core of the light. They conversed in solemn tones that vibrated against my breastbone, carrying the weight of old magic.

"I agreed to your condition years ago when I created that bond. At least you are able to admit that your children are going down a dark path." The first voice resonated with a deep melody. It carried a majestic authority that made my inner wolf whine, urging me to bare my neck in submission.

"Yours are not all innocents. This condition will do us both good. Let us see if they are able to pass this grueling test." The second voice lacked the heavy bass but held a dangerous allure. It felt like a whisper caught in a bitter wind, yet it commanded the air around me.

"It is done, under the immense power of the scarlet moon. Will they unite their kind or break this sacred bond? Only time will tell. My children love deeply."

Another chorus of laughter chimed through the mist. Before I could grasp the profound meaning of their divine words, the blinding light flickered and died. Suffocating darkness rushed in, crushing the breath right out of my lungs.

The ground beneath my boots shifted into a jagged rock formation. I recognized this cliff edge. I hated this familiar place. The memory clawed at my mind, refusing to remain buried.

The young witch stood mere inches from the terrifying drop. She looked like she had been dragged through the lowest circles of hell. Her bones jutted out against her pale skin. Her clothes hung off her skeletal frame in shredded rags. Dark bruises covered her fragile body. Vespera. The sight of her shattered my chest.

"The daughters of Hecate always ask for something in return for helping." Her voice was a broken rasp, yet it echoed clear in the dead silence. "I know I am darkness, but even then, may I ask a single favor?"

My stomach twisted with a sickening knot of regret. I stared at her battered form, my jaw clenched. I should never have nodded. I should never have agreed to her desperate terms the moment they left her bleeding lips.

"Do not stop me!"

She screamed the words with a sudden burst of energy, forbidding me from stepping forward. Without a second of hesitation, she threw her fragile body off the jagged cliff, plummeting into the black abyss below.

I shot up in bed. My heart hammered a brutal rhythm against my ribs. Freezing sweat slicked my bare chest and dripped down my spine. I gripped the tangled bedsheets, dragging ragged gasps of air into my burning lungs. I ran a shaking hand through my damp hair and forced my eyes to focus on the present reality.

The shadows of the luxury penthouse bedroom came into view. I threw the heavy duvet aside and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. My bare feet hit the hardwood floor. I walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling glass window.

The Scarlet Moon hung huge and ominous over the restless city skyline, casting a crimson glow over the concrete jungle. Down below, the streets hummed with late-night traffic. Sirens wailed in the distance, and streetlights carved paths through the dark blocks.

I checked the silver watch sitting on my nightstand. It was barely past one in the morning. I had managed less than an hour of sleep.

I closed my eyes and tried to grasp the elusive first part of my dream. The mist, the golden light, the ancient voices discussing a sacred bond. The details slipped through my mental grasp like sand, vanishing into the shadows of my mind. Only the lingering nightmare remained. The tragic image of the suicidal witch leaping to her death stayed burned into my retinas.

I leaned my forehead against the cold window pane. I was supposed to be in Bristol tonight. The grand mating ball was in full swing right now, packed with hopeful wolves looking for their other halves. My father had laid down the law before I left. He demanded I attend, demanded I finally track down my destined Luna and prepare to take my rightful place as Alpha.

I had ignored his strict orders. An undeniable, magnetic pull kept me tethered to this specific city. We were scheduled to hit the road yesterday, moving on to the next stop of our planned trip. I refused to leave. I could not explain the strange anchor holding me here, but the instinct was far too strong to fight.

It was not the local nightlife keeping my attention. Cillian had spent the last two nights burying himself in every willing woman he could charm. I just stood at the crowded bar, nursing a bitter drink and watching the dance floor. A few brave girls had tried their luck, grinding against my hips. I flashed them a killer Alpha smirk, and they were ready to drop to their knees in the VIP booth. I walked away every single time.

Over the past two years, I had slammed the brakes on my relentless Alpha sex drive. I kept an iron leash on my primal urges. I had sat through too many drunken confessions from older werewolf men. They always expressed regret over their promiscuous pasts the second they finally located their true mates. The guilt ate them alive. I refused to be one of those pathetic bastards. Celibacy was a small price to pay for a clean conscience when I finally met my Luna.

Falling back asleep was a lost cause. The phantom scent of the witch's blood still haunted the back of my throat. I turned away from the window and headed for the dark closet. I grabbed a simple black shirt and pulled it over my head. I shrugged into my heavy leather jacket, the familiar weight offering a strange sort of comfort. I shoved my feet into my combat boots, lacing them up with quick motions.

I stepped out of my bedroom into the hallway of the luxury penthouse. I shared this massive suite with my closest friends. The ambient glow of the city lights spilled across the expensive rugs.

I walked toward the living room. The heavy, unmistakable scent of slick sexual arousal hit my enhanced werewolf senses like a physical punch. It was thick, sweet, and musky, filling every corner of the open space.

I stepped around the marble pillar and stopped in my tracks.

Rose straddled Sloane on the suede sofa. Rose's skirt was hiked all the way up to her waist, exposing her bare thighs. Sloane's hands were buried deep under Rose's top, her fingers kneading bare flesh with rough grips. They were making out with a messy hunger. The wet sound of their tongues tangling and their ragged breathing echoed in the quiet room. Sloane’s hips arched upward, grinding hard against Rose’s center. Rose let out a sharp moan, her nails digging into Sloane's shoulders.

"Can you ladies take your intimate activities to the bedroom? This is a shared space." I kept my voice dry, reaching out to grab my phone off the glass coffee table.

Rose let out a flustered gasp. She tore her mouth away from Sloane and scrambled backward, her face flushing crimson. She yanked her top down, struggling to catch her breath and cover herself. As a tracker, I knew exactly how to silence my footsteps and lower my heart rate. She never heard me coming.

Sloane did not flinch. She leaned back against the sofa cushions and crossed her arms. She shot me a lazy smirk, unbothered by my sudden interruption.

"Tell me, Zor. Are you just jealous that you are single and lonely on this freezing winter night?" Sloane taunted, reaching up to wipe a smear of Rose's lip gloss from her own chin.

"I am not jealous at all, especially when I see the attitude Rose has to put up with." I flashed her a patronizing grin and shoved my phone into my jacket pocket.

Sloane and I practically shared blood. We grew up running through the same woods, fighting in the same dirt. She was a lethal bombshell with glossy brown hair, sharp hazel eyes, and a ruthless athletic build, but she was a sister to me. Rose was her opposite. Petite, soft curves, ash-blonde hair, and a calming presence. They found each other at the mating ball a year ago. Rose had been the perfect remedy for Sloane's destructive temper.

Sloane narrowed her keen hazel eyes, her smirk fading into a calculating stare. She studied the tension in my shoulders and the dark circles under my eyes.

"You had the nightmare about the witch again." Sloane did not ask. She stated it as a cold fact.

Rose shifted on the sofa. She reached out and rested a gentle hand on Sloane's knee, looking up at me with sympathetic grey eyes.

"Maybe your recurring nightmare is fueled by your own deep-seated guilt, Zoran." Rose kept her tone careful and quiet, offering a gentle observation.

I kept my jaw locked in heavy silence. The tension stretched between us, uncomfortable and thick. I stared at the dark screen of my phone, refusing to meet their probing eyes.

Internally, the bitter truth clawed at my chest. It was indeed guilt. It was a suffocating guilt that never gave me a moment of peace. I constantly felt like my silence, my nod, and my sheer presence had pushed that severely traumatized young witch right to the jagged edge of that cliff. To our werewolf kind, witches were considered nothing but disposable trash. They were tools to be used and discarded. Our people conveniently forgot the truth. Without Vespera's monumental sacrifice, without the desperate help she provided, so many more of our kind would be dead and rotting in the dirt right now. She saved us, and we let her die broken and alone.

"Do not overthink it, Zor." Sloane broke the silence. She wrapped a strong arm around Rose's waist and pulled the petite blonde right back down into her lap. "You and Cillian should have just gone to the mating ball. You need a distraction."

"Thanks for the reminder. I will keep that in mind." I offered a mocking, hollow laugh, turning on my heel.

"Go find some privacy at a club or somewhere else so we can resume our night." Sloane waved a dismissive hand in my direction, her attention already shifting back to the soft curve of Rose's neck.

I turned my back on them and walked toward the heavy oak front door. I pulled it open and stepped out of the penthouse.

The elevator ride down to the lobby felt painfully slow. I needed to move. I needed the biting cold of the winter air to shock my system awake and clear my head.

I pushed through the revolving glass doors and stepped out into the freezing night. The icy wind cut through my jeans and hit my face, carrying the harsh scent of exhaust fumes and freezing rain. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets and stared down the dark street.

The haunting memories of the cliff edge still lingered at the edges of my vision. A skeletal body falling into the endless abyss. I needed a strong drink. I needed the cheapest, burning liquor this city had to offer to drown out the ghosts in my head. I picked up my pace, heading straight toward the neon lights in the distance.