9

“Rough night?” she had asked me that morning when she saw my black hair messy with sleep and the crease from my pillow imprinted on my face, just below my cheekbone. “Did you dream of the girl with the ghostly eyes?”

I’d rubbed my face with my hand. It wasn’t uncommon for Mom to let herself into my cabin while I slept. It used to annoy me, but I had given up on telling her to keep away long ago. Besides, her visits didn’t interfere with my duties, so there was no reason for me to fuss about it.

“It’s too early for this, Mom,” I’d said with a sigh.

She had grinned, and her teeth shone in the morning light. Her hair was pushed back from her face; her small hands wrapped around one of my larger mugs. “I disagree. Now is the best time to talk about your dream while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

Reluctantly, I had admitted that yes, I’d dreamed of the girl again, and no, I was no closer to figuring out who the hell she was. As always, it was too dark in the dream for me to make out any details of her face. That last bit was particularly frustrating for me. I had perfect vision during the night as well as the day; why would these dreams take that ability away from me? Just to keep the identity of the girl a secret? Why?

“Ah, well, these things tend to be part of figuring out your divine destiny,” she’d said. “As you get closer to realizing your destiny, I’m sure your dreams will give you a little more to go on than just a beautiful girl whose face you can’t see.”

I’d glared into eyes that were as green as mine—but at the moment, hers were more playful. “Mom, be serious. You know I don’t believe in that destiny shit.”

She’d brushed past me, unbothered by my bad mood. “You’ll understand better eventually I’m sure, my dear. You’re on the cusp of something wonderful.”

I wasn’t so sure. Destiny had dealt me a shit hand a long time ago. There was no way it was making its way back around to grant me something good now.

“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe the dreams are telling me I need to put my plans into action.”

She’d paused, her shoulders stiff. “Maybe you’re right,” she’d said, the smile gone from her tone. “And if that’s the case…well, know that you’re not destined to be the same disaster your father was.”

I didn’t like to argue with her, but that was another subject that we disagreed on. Dreams, destiny, disaster…all of these things held the same negative connotations for me. Why should I let myself dwell on the “could be’s” when I had a pack to take care of? I was the one who had control of my life. Any risk I took, any chance I let slip away, those were my decisions to make. A pair of long legs, smooth, warm skin, and a pussy that tasted like salted honey shouldn’t have been enough to knock me flat on my ass.

Yet there I was, restless and distracted.

It was after midnight now, and I was wired with energy. I began to pace back and forth in front of the mantle. I didn’t have the mind for mysticism, and I didn’t have time to dwell on those dreams, but I could agree with my mom about my being on the cusp of something.

There was a different energy to the air—a tension. I felt it in my bones. Something was about to change for me and for my pack. I felt sure that whatever that change would be, it would finally put an end to the rule that the Kings had held over the land for decades.

A knock sounded at the door, and I whipped around, my wolf snarling inside me. I had very nearly shifted right then. Easy…easy, I soothed, and my wolf began to calm. There was a familiar scent coming from behind the door—my beta, Dominic Slate. As I got myself under control, Dom came inside.

I crossed my arms. “You haven’t learned your manners, Dom.”

He grinned. “Why bother learning them? It wouldn’t stop me from coming in when you need me.”

“Who says I need you?” I scoffed.

He chuckled. “I think we both know how lost you’d be without me, Night.”

I considered the man who was my beta, my right hand, and my best friend. Dom didn’t quite reach my height of six feet four inches, but he was only an inch or two behind. He had broad, muscular shoulders that made him look like a walking boulder and old scars running up and down his arms. He had those scars on display twenty-four-seven. As far as first impressions went, it would be reasonable for someone to assume that he was dangerous because of those scars. But that assumption went right out the door the moment you took in his dark brown eyes, ash-blond hair, and the damned dimples that came out when he smiled.

Dom was a walking contradiction, either pushing away those around him with his snark and his bluntness or pulling them in closer with that mischievous smile. He could befriend anyone, and unless they crossed him, he would never betray them. He was good at throwing people off their game, at figuring out what made them tick.

The worst part was, Dom knew the effect he had on people. When he wasn’t being a snide-ass, I even found those traits useful. We’d grown up together in the poverty of the Wargs’ territory. We fought together for scraps, and we defended each other when larger wolves ganged up on us. Dom was family, and as such, he was one of the few who were allowed to call me by my first name. Everyone else called me Alpha Night or Shepherd.

Dom walked up to me, and I uncrossed my arms. We gripped each other’s forearms and went in for a quick hug before he pulled away again. The smirk on his face had completely vanished—drawn eyebrows and the hard line of his mouth replaced the joking beta I was familiar with.