He was gone

I felt him lean closer.

A moment later, his fingers brushed against my shoulder, tucking a strand of hair back, letting it trail along the curve of my neck.

I gasped when I felt the warm press of his breath against my skin.

My body reacted before my mind did. I instinctively took a step back, only to freeze when his hand found the small of my back.

He didn't push.

He didn't pull.

But the weight of his palm burned through the thin fabric of my nightdress like heat, grounding me, shaking me.

I hated that it made me feel safe.

I hated even more that it made me want more.

"Don't touch me…" I said, but the words escaped too soft, too breathy.

It didn't sound like a warning. Instead, it sounded more like an invitation.

He chuckled. A deep, velvet sound that slid down my spine.

"Your heart is racing," he said smoothly, "and I can smell your desire."

His voice dipped lower.

"You want my touch. You shouldn't deny it."

"No…" I whispered.

But the word felt hollow even to me. I cursed myself for it.

"No?" he echoed, almost amused.

His hand, still resting lightly on my back, began to move. Slow. Purposeful. His fingers trailed upward, sliding over the fabric of my nightdress, brushing the bare skin of my upper back where it dipped low.

I sucked in a breath.

His touch wasn't aggressive. It wasn't forceful. But it stripped away every illusion of safety. Not because I feared him… but because I feared myself.

"Why would you say no?" he whispered. "This is only a dream."

His fingers reached the nape of my neck.

"There's nothing wrong with indulging yourself a little."

Indulging.

The word curled in the dark like temptation itself.

I shivered, not from cold, but from the weight of everything unsaid. The heat of his hand. The way my body betrayed me with every rapid beat of my heart.

Oh, right.

This wasn't real.

It was all a dream.

Just a strange, vivid, far-too-intimate illusion stitched together by my exhausted, lonely mind.

This man, whoever he was, wasn't real.

He was just a figment. A shadow pulled from the depths of my longing. My confusion. Maybe even my hunger for something more than this caged life I was trapped in.

But there's something about him that made me want to cling to this deam. Made me want to stay trapped in it…

I woke with a gasp.

My chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, the fabric of my nightdress clinging to my damp skin. 

For a moment, I didn't know where I was. I could still feel the ghost of him. His breath against my neck, his fingers trailing up my back, the low hum of his voice.

But he was gone.

The room around me was cold and still, and the dream, so vivid just moments ago, was already slipping from my grasp. I blinked slowly, my vision adjusting to the faint moonlight bleeding through the windows. Familiar shadows settled into their rightful places, revealing the corners of the room in Alpha Finn's residence.

Not my room in my family's house. Not the warm illusion of memory.

I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself. My hands were freezing. I rubbed them against my arms, seeking comfort that didn't come.

When I closed my eyes again, I could still remember the warmth.

His warmth.

I was scared and confused in my dream, but a part of me was disappointed I'd woken before I could feel more of him.

***

Morning arrived with a pale sun and a knock at the door. I expected Stella to enter with the usual tray of food and warm tea, but instead, she stepped in with a strange look on her face.

"Alpha Finn has requested for you to join him for breakfast," she said gently.

I sat up, brushing my hair back from my face. "In the dining hall?"

"In the garden," she replied. "I'll help you get ready."

A short while later, I stepped outside with her, and the early light greeted us with a breeze that tugged at the soft ends of my dress. The garden behind the residence was quiet, trimmed to perfection like everything else in the estate. At the far end stood a long table set for two, overflowing with food I had no appetite for.

Finn sat at the head of it, dressed in his usual dark clothes. His dark brown hair was combed back, his posture was rigid, his face unreadable.

I took my seat in silence, keeping my gaze low as I reached for the utensils. I hadn't seen him up close in days, and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to speak first.

He didn't touch his food. Just watched me.

"It seems you didn't sleep well," he said, breaking the silence. His tone was clipped and cold, like an accusation rather than concern.

I paused, then slowly nodded. "No, I didn't."

"Remember," he said, his voice sharpening slightly, "it's your duty to take care of that body. Until you conceive my child, your health, your condition, is not just yours anymore."

I swallowed hard, the food in my mouth suddenly turning heavy and tasteless.

"Your body is a property of the Alpha," he continued without blinking. "Of the Pack. Everything you are belongs to something greater now. Don't forget that."

I couldn't swallow properly anymore.

The food sat untouched on my plate, and even the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat did nothing to stir my appetite. My jaw clenched. My throat felt tight. The words Finn had just spoken played over and over in my head like a cruel reminder of my fate.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from reacting. I refused to look up, afraid he'd see the fury tightening my eyes. I focused on the food in front of me and gave a small nod, voice even.

"Give it a few days, Alpha," I said, steady but hollow. "I'll be able to sleep better. It's just… homesickness."

There was a pause.

Then he asked, "What's that?"

I blinked.

I raised my eyes to meet his, unsure if I'd heard him right. "What do you mean?"

But he wasn't looking at me the way he normally did. His gaze was trained on the left side of my face.

"Let me see the other side of your cheek," he said.

It took a second before I realized what he was referring to. The bruise. I thought it had faded enough to go unnoticed. Or maybe I just didn't expect him to notice at all.

He leaned forward slightly, brows narrowing. "Don't tell me you bumped your face on something because of your clumsiness?"

His voice dropped, sharper now. "Answer me, breeder."

Breeder.

I hated that word with passion.

The way he uttered it made it even worse. He was very much disgusted. And yet I couldn't understand why he chose me to be his breeder when I disgusted him so much. I guess it's just to spite me. To push me more to submission.

I grit my teeth, rage simmering beneath my skin. My throat burned, not from fear, but from memory.

Once, long ago, he used to call me sweetly by my name. I could still remember how his voice sounded when we were young, when we'd play in the fields, when he'd grin and tug at my braid just to tease me. Before he changed. Before I became someone beneath him.

And stupidly, so stupidly, I adored him back then.

The ache of that old foolishness made me sick.