Not a dream
I am standing in the kitchen, the scent of woodsmoke and something else… something metallic and sickeningly sweet, clinging to the air. Alpha Caden enters with Thomas, their faces grim, the back door swinging shut behind them like a death knell. "The rogues attacked," Thomas snarls, his eyes burning holes in me. "It's all your fault." The words hit me like a physical blow. It *is* my fault, isn't it? My reckless actions, my impulsive decisions… I'd known the risk, pushed it aside for a thrill, a selfish need to prove myself. Thomas grabs me, yanking me away from Amelia, her face a mask of heartbreaking sorrow.
"Help me!" I plead, the words catching in my throat. But the plea is choked by a bitter self-accusation. *You deserve this.* "No one will help you," Caden says, his voice like ice. "You're going to the cell, White Wolf." The title, once a source of pride, now feels like a brand. "Wait… what?" I stammer, the fear clawing at me, battling against a burgeoning anger. Why the cell? Why this sudden, brutal judgment? And Killian… where is he?
My heart hammers. I scream his name as Thomas drags me towards the basement, the sickening sweetness intensifying. Then Caden points. Killian… kissing another woman. My breath hitches. The betrayal is a physical wound, sharper than any blade. No. It can't be. It's a lie. He wouldn't… could he? T
he agony tears through me, more potent than the fear. This is my punishment, isn't it? To witness his treachery, to suffer this agonizing truth. This is worse than the cell. My eyes snap open. I'm in bed, Killian holding me, his scent – yes, the metallic tang of rogue blood – clinging to him. The relief is momentary. The dream, horrifically real, lingers, twisting my gut. I fight against him, desperate to escape this proximity that feels both comforting and abhorrent.
He finally releases me, but in my panic, I fall, hitting the floor with a thud. He reaches for me, and a terrible choice slams into me. Do I let him comfort me, let him hold me despite the betrayal I just witnessed? Do I push past the fear and seek solace in his arms despite my suspicion of his involvement? Or do I harden my heart completely, let this chasm of distrust grow into an impenetrable wall? I scramble back, against the wall. "Stay away," I hiss, the words tight and brittle. He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. "You were having a nightmare," he says, his voice soft. But his words are drowned out by the monstrous question echoing in my mind: *Can I ever trust him again?* The answer, a terrifying admission of my own weakness, threatens to shatter me. I've made a choice – a terrible, isolating choice. And I know, with a sickening certainty, I'll regret it.
The rough stone of the wall dug into my back, a cold, unyielding comfort compared to the burning shame inside. Rogues. They'd dragged me here, their accusations echoing in my ears like a death knell. Amelia, my supposed friend, hadn't lifted a finger. And Killian… the memory of another wolf's lips on mine, a taste as alien and bitter as rogue blood, clawed at my throat. It had been a dream, he insisted, his voice a low caress against the storm raging within me.
But the scent clinging to my skin, the phantom pressure of another's embrace – it was real enough to shatter my faith in everything I believed. He was close, his hand a feather-light touch on my cheek, a stark contrast to the brutal reality of my situation.
The kiss… I yearned to push him away, to scream the truth. I had *wanted* it, hadn't I? . And so I kissed him back, a desperate, drowning gasp for something – anything – that wasn't the suffocating weight of my guilt. My body responded to him with a traitorous willingness that filled me with self-disgust. Each touch, each murmured word of affection, felt like a brand seared onto my soul, a permanent mark of my failure. The kiss ended, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. My question, "Why do you smell like a rogue?"
"I would never hurt you, River," hung in the air, a fragile promise I desperately wanted to believe, but couldn't quite grasp. The fear coiled tight in my stomach – the fear wasn't of him, but of the darkness I'd glimpsed within myself, the darkness I had willingly embraced. The nod I gave him, the silent acquiescence to his offer, felt like a surrender, a final, irrevocable step toward a future I couldn't bear to contemplate.
The air hung thick and heavy in the cramped closet, a stifling humidity clinging to my sweat-slick skin. My underwear felt clammy against my thighs. Killian's shirt, soft cotton smelling faintly of his scent – sandalwood and something musky, uniquely *him* – lay in my hand. Hesitation warred with desire. A low growl, a rumble deep in my chest, not mine, vibrated the air. "Put it on," a voice, rough and low, commanded. My fingers fumbled, the fabric cool against my skin. Only then did I realize I was completely exposed. I whirled around. Killian stood there, a silhouette against the dim light, grey sweatpants low on his hips, his bare chest gleaming, muscles corded and taut under the dim light. A jolt, pure electricity, arced from my toes to my core. I clenched my thighs, a silent plea against the pulsing heat blooming between my legs. Another growl, this one laced with something primal, something hungry. "What are you thinking about, little wolf?" he breathed, his eyes burning into me. My hand flew to my mouth, silencing the involuntary words that escaped my lips. "*Licking your muscles…*" The confession hung in the air, unsaid, yet palpable. Before I could stammer an apology, he scooped me up, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His lips claimed mine, a fierce, possessive kiss that stole my breath. The mate bond flared, a wildfire in my veins. He kissed my jaw, trailed a scorching path down my neck, and then, a searing brand on the tender skin beneath my ear, a shuddering moan escaping my lips. The cool air of the bedroom hit me as he gently laid me on the bed. Desire battled with trepidation. I wasn't sure I was ready, yet…the craving was undeniable. A sharp rap on the door shattered the charged silence. "Carter and Amelia," a muffled voice said. Killian's growl, laced with frustration, vibrated against my skin. His attempt at a serious look only made me giggle. Amelia and Carter walked in, oblivious. "We're not done, little wolf," Killian murmured against my hair, his voice a low purr.
Killian' ask me to explain my dream again. Another tear, hot and bitter, traced a path down my cheek as I relived the nightmare. The images seared themselves onto my retinas: the snarling teeth, the glint of steel, the chilling certainty of death. Amelia's snarl was a physical thing, a palpable wave of fury. "I'd shred them," she hissed, her eyes blazing, "and *him*," she added, a venomous flick of her gaze towards the King's The scent of her rage – ozone and fear – filled the air. Amelia's protective hand clamped down on my arm, the pressure a fierce comfort. Killian's hand found mine, his fingers tightening possessively. The rough fabric of his tunic scratched against my skin, a strangely soothing contrast to the turmoil within. Carter, his eyes narrowed, addressed Killian, his voice sharp as shattered glass. "You don't think it was… you know…" Killian's jaw clenched. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tight with a barely contained fury. "But a white wolf… it would explain it. Especially the rogues. How else would she know?"
A choked sob escaped me. "I'm *right here!*" I screamed, my voice raw with desperation, shattering the tense silence. Killian's touch, stroking my cheek, was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the lethal energy thrumming around us. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "But it's been whispered… some white wolves possess premonition.
It's possible… Alpha Caden orchestrated the rogue attack." The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating: *orchestrated.* "The *what*?" I breathed, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. Killian's low voice described the attack, the near-miss, the desperate fight – the sheer brutality of it, the agonizing near-loss. The royal guard, outnumbered, overwhelmed… Carter and Killian fighting like demons to save the pack, to prevent utter annihilation. A wave of nausea washed over me.
"Why would Alpha Caden do that?" I whispered, the question a choked sob. Killian's growl resonated through the room, a primal sound that made Amelia flinch. Even Carter paled. "He wants *you*," Caden's voice echoed in my mind, cold and calculating, a voice I knew intimately, even through the terror that gripped me. Killian's response was a low, guttural snarl. "I'll rip him apart." The words were a promise, a threat, an unbearable truth. My voice trembled, tears blurring my vision.
"You… you were kissing another she-wolf. In the dream… If it was a premonition…" His denial cut me off, sharp and swift. "That will *never* happen," he snarled, his eyes blazing with possessive fury. "Unless they put a spell on him." Carter's voice, calm but firm, cut through the charged air. "You drink nothing we don't prepare, Killian." Amelia nodded, her eyes mirroring the unwavering loyalty and unspoken fear that bound them together. The unspoken threat hung heavy between them – a pact made in blood and fear, a promise to protect me at all costs.
"We are not leaving now," Killian growled, the words a ragged rasp against the gnawing anxiety in his gut. "We need to get to the bottom of this, make sure River is protected at all costs. Two guards, and one of us with her at all times.