Chapter 1 — The Dream

Her eyes shot open to the sound of movements and voices coming from the hallway on the ground floor. A glance at the clock and it was still midnight. Lupe? She thought. She wasn't sure. He had less reasons to move around at night and even if he did, not as two or three male voices.

It had been just a week since she arrived at her hometown, and the isolated family mansion in particular, and four nights ago, she'd dismissed the two gammas that secured it insisting that she felt happier in solitude and could handle whatever dangers could come with it, much to the doubt of her aging uncle Lupe who remained an active caretaker of the mansion as it was beyond her powers to relief him or his family of their duties.

A few minutes back, she'd been in a dream with a lady who had blabbed a lot of beautiful things about their “betrothal”. Those "beautiful things" sounded less sensible to her now that she was woke but still made sense to her soul. Later on, she would be certain that it was a vision.

In the dream, she'd found herself waking up at about the same time at midnight, making her way down to pour herself a glass of water in the kitchen to cure her sudden thirst when she found herself in the hallway afterward gazing at the La Reina — the giant-sized portrait of a lady that dated back to five hundred years ago. The painting was of antique value and status.

The lady in the painting had seemed more beautiful and lively as a portrait figure and she had put off the lights to be sure of the seeming luminescent blue eyes. They'd turned out to be phosphorescent and right there in the darkness, she'd witnessed little rays of trapped light burst out of from behind the portrait's rectangular frame, weakly. The baritone of a slight rumble followed immediately, also coming from behind.

The painting had turned upside down, pushed itself backward, and slid into a side within. A door that had been the same size as the portrait revealed itself after the movement. Opening it, she found herself led downward by a spiral staircase into what seemed like a living room of some sort. Dressed in what seemed to be a style from a much earlier century, it'd smelt flowery in there. Extremely pleasant.

A door squealed open at a corner and then she came in — the lady in the painting. She was a young beautiful woman who looked like she'd just begun her thirties. Wearing a see-through white dress that seemed meant for indoors only, she carried a thicker wave of the scent that was heavily rested in the room.

“It's okay sweetie,” Scarlett hushed, “don't get worked up. It's me, Scarlett.” she stooped to ruffle Winter's mane on approach making her aware of the fact that she was in wolf form at the moment. She hadn't noticed the shift taking place on her way down the stairs.

“Beautiful beast,” Scarlett teased, ruffling her mane fondly. She made to kiss the wolf's snout only for it to dodge, by turning aside. She mistook the gesture as a playful act of teasing and was left puzzled when the same action was repeated on her second attempt. The confusion that had crept on Winter earlier on was now creeping in on her.

“It's me,” she said again. “It's me, Vinci. Your Scarlett.”

It was a futile attempt to awaken a shared memory.

“Scarlett?” Winter asked, raising herself to human form unconsciously to watch the spark of delight on Scarlett's face as she stood a foot taller. Her grey eyes were narrowed against the lady's bright blues.

Then a tear found its lonely way down the lady's eye as she found herself merely nodding to Winter's question with her hands slowly and shyly reaching for her chin. She could have already noticed the diamond-shaped face was different from Vinci's despite the resemblance but then she could recognize the soul. It was the same. It was what she'd been seeing the whole time.

“Yes, you are.” she finally said, as Winter caught hold of her approaching hands. Although she wasn't as masculine as she was said to be, she found herself feeling so towards the lady as in the gentle manner with which she held her wrists because they seemed so fragile in her grasp, and the look in her eyes, it showed that she couldn't be harmful.

“I'm sorry.” came the words. “You've got the wrong one. The name's Winter. Who are you and have you been trapped in here this whole time?”

Scarlett had her mouth open to speak but the words weren't forthcoming at first.

"Wait, you're the face in the painting," Winter said, studying her features, her eyes narrowed at the discovery.

"What painting?" Scarlett asked innocently.

"The La Reina."

Winter's eyes still ran around her face and indeed like the world usually acclaimed, Vinci had been a photorealistic genius. To have depicted those blue eyes exactly as they were in reality — whatever reality this was.

Scarlett had no idea of this famous painting as it was done a decade after her untimely death that had been due to post-delivery complications.

“It's me, Scarlett,” she said again humbly and weakly hopeful; despite the obvious fact that she had to reintroduce herself and even though the figure she saw in front of her was her lover Vinci.

Winter raised an eyebrow.

"It's me, Scarlett Pin. You loved me just as much as I did you and we had a time together. I died and you buried me here. You promised that you'd come to be with me at death, but you didn't, or aren't these yours?" Searching her blond hair, the lady pulled out a rose and raised her finger to reveal a ring.

"You gave them to me: the flower, the ring, and...the promise."

There was a pause as Winter, damn sure that she had no memories of such taking place, or her playing the said part in the said event still tried hard to see if there was any part of her mind in which those memory files lay. "Wait, you mean that I gave you these things?" The confused expression on her face grew thicker.

"You did."

"Look, I'm not trying to say that you're a liar or that any of these is a lie, but the thing is, I don't seem to know any of these things you're talking to me about. I'm not whoever you're taking me to be. My name's Winter, not Vinci and I'm a girl and not a man —”

"Yes, the body changed. Because It's just a house. The soul is the same and I can see it. I could never forget it even if it had passed through a thousand reincarnations. The voice...you're him. You're my Vinci Gray. I waited. I waited so long for our shared time of reincarnation but then a promise is the most fragile thing in the world or isn't that what they say? It's always the easiest thing to break."

Vinci? Winter rolled the name silently on her tongue as well as her mind and goddamn! That was the name of the portrait's artist. He was her ancestor. The enlightenment shone on her like a bright bulb as she exclaimed almost unconsciously, in the eureka moment: Vinci Gray, the great artist!

"Yes, you do recall? He painted."

"Well, I do remember but not quite. You see, I only know him as my ancestor on the most intimate level. He's mostly remembered as one of the greatest painters of his time all around the world, and to the packs, he was one of us." Winter said. What she didn't know about Vinci however, was what she didn't know about herself. That she was his reincarnation and that standing before her was an unfinished business from a past life. His own life.

Vinci Gray had been an extraordinary wolf, her parents had told, and the folks and Yellow Moon history said and would say the same when asked. He was the first come of a Sigma among the packs. His strength had been enough to make him a grand leader of the thirteen packs but he had forged his path of life. One that was away from the usual struggles for identity and positions among the packs.

Scarlett then asked about the painting that Winter kept repeating — what it was.

"It's called the La Reina. It's a giant portrait of you that is placed on the wall just behind the door." She pointed towards the direction she'd come in from.

"You made a painting of me?" Scarlett gushed, placing a hand on her chest, with a beautiful spark in her eyes. A one that had Winter run onto defensive cover again.

"Not I, he did. Vinci made a portrait of you," she replied.

Then Scarlett gave a deep sigh. "Vinci, you've hurt me. Much more than you can imagine. More than I can show for the sake of the love I have for you and the one we both shared but you must redeem your promise. You must find me and fulfill your promise. I'm in the town already sweetheart. Find me..."

There was a lump growing in Winter's throat as the lady pulled away, a pleasant smile playing on her lips and she swallowed it hard.

"Reincarnated?" She blew the question softly and almost rhetorically, suddenly coming to terms with who she was said to be, getting lost in the lady's withdrawing ocean eyes and beauty. Those eyes... looked like they could play the role of expensive diamonds on a multimillion-dollar-worth necklace. The lady...she had rosy cheeks, an oval face, fragile milk-colored skin, a well-cut nose, thin graceful brows, lush lashes, and a thin pair of strawberry lips. How romantic she seemed. How dreamy and unreal...

She'd nodded softly in reply as she pulled away, fading into the air, theatrically, and that was the dream.