ZALE's POV;
The room was drenched in shadows, the dim light barely casting enough illumination to see her clearly, but the tension was unmistakable. Every fiber of her being was in a state of distress, her body thrashing about as if she were locked in combat with an invisible foe. The sheets, which should have been a source of comfort, were clenched so tightly in her fists that her knuckles stood out stark white against the dimness. It was as if those thin pieces of fabric were the last thing tethering her to reality, and without them, she would spiral into whatever torment held her captive. Her chest heaved violently, each breath a struggle, shallow and ragged. Watching her, I knew immediately—this was no ordinary dream. She was ensnared in the grasp of a nightmare, one so potent that even in her unconscious state, her body fought it.
"What in the hell has she been through?" The question echoed in my mind, gnawing at my insides as I stood there, helpless for a moment too long. There were shards of glass scattered all over the floor, a testament to her restless thrashing, but that wasn't my concern right now. The broken glass was the least of my worries. My only focus was on her, on the pained gasps escaping her lips, on the torment twisting her face into an agonized mask.
"Help her, mate. Mate is suffering. Help mate."
Lace, my wolf, was growling within me, his voice a persistent, urgent drumbeat in my mind. His need to protect her was suffocating, almost overwhelming, but I knew I had to keep him in check. Not now. She didn't know about us yet—didn't know what I was, what we were. If I let him take over, she'd be terrified, and the last thing I wanted was to add to her fear.
"Stay back, Lace. She doesn't know. You don't want her to freak out more than she already is, do you?" I pushed him down, my control slipping for just a moment as his growl rumbled louder. But I couldn't let him take over. Not yet. Not like this.
I moved to her side in an instant, my heart hammering in my chest as I knelt beside her, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Amora? Amora, it's okay. Breathe… breathe, you're safe," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to ground her, to bring her back from whatever dark corner of her mind had ensnared her. My thumb brushed over her skin in slow, deliberate strokes, trying to soothe her. Comforting someone wasn't exactly in my skill set, and I felt clumsy, unsure. I didn't know how to make the fear stop for her, didn't know how to ease the terror that had taken root.
Her body jerked suddenly, a violent motion that made her bolt upright as though someone had commanded her to wake. Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, her chest heaving as if she had just run a marathon. Sweat poured from her skin, her hair damp and sticking to her face. She was still trapped in the residual effects of the nightmare, her breathing erratic, her gaze darting around as if expecting the horror to still be there, lurking in the corners of the room.
"I… I…" she stammered, her voice shaky and raw.
I placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to steady her. "What was your nightmare about?" I asked gently, my voice soft but probing, desperate to know what haunted her so fiercely.
Her eyes flicked to mine, filled with confusion and surprise. "How did you know I was having a nightmare?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if she couldn't comprehend how I had known.
I stared at her, almost incredulous. Did she really think I wouldn't notice? Could she not feel the intensity of her own distress? "Did you think I couldn't tell the difference between a nightmare and a dream?" I asked her, a hint of exasperation creeping into my tone. I gestured toward the broken glass scattered across the floor. "The mess you made is evidence enough."
Her face crumpled with guilt as her eyes shifted to the shattered glass, her brow furrowing in concern. "Oh no, did I do that?" she asked, her voice tinged with sorrow, as though the broken glass were some precious artifact she had destroyed. Her reaction was almost heartbreaking in its innocence. She was worried about something so trivial when the true concern should have been her well-being.
Before I could respond, she was already trying to get out of bed, swinging her legs over the side with a determination that made me grit my teeth. What the hell was she thinking? Did she believe she was made of stone? Did she not realize how fragile she was at that moment?
"Amora, if you so much as put a toe on the floor, I swear I'll tie you up," I growled, my voice hard and unyielding. There was no room for negotiation, no space for argument. She needed to rest, to recover, not go around trying to clean up the mess she had inadvertently made. She paused, her eyes widening at the seriousness in my tone, and reluctantly settled back onto the bed, conceding to my demand.
"You need to take a bath first,"I will help you to the bathroom;I said, the words spilling out before I had a chance to think. Her eyes widened even further, shock and confusion flashing across her face. I mentally kicked myself. What was wrong with me?
"You… you'll what?" she stammered, clearly taken aback by my sudden outburst.
"You're weak," I said, again without thinking. Damn it. I needed to control myself, to stop the careless words from slipping out. I saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes and quickly backtracked. "I mean, you can't move around on your own right now. You need to rest."
Her expression softened slightly, though she still seemed wary, unsure. "I don't have a change of clothes…" she said, her voice trailing off as though she wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.
"You can wear mine for now," I offered, hoping that would be enough to put her mind at ease. She nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer, though the tension between us lingered.
"Do you want something to eat?" I asked, eager to change the subject, to divert her attention away from the strangeness of the situation.
"Anything is fine," she whispered, barely audible. She looked so small, so fragile in that moment, and the mate bond pulsed between us, a current of energy that made my skin hum every time I touched her. It was torture, pure and simple.
I helped her into the bathroom, my hand resting lightly on her waist, though even that innocent contact sent a bolt of electricity through me. The bond between us was a living thing, an entity that surged with every breath she took, every soft whisper of her skin against mine. It took every ounce of control I had to keep myself in check, to stop from giving in to the primal urge to hold her closer.
I mindlinked Wilder to have the chef prepare something for her to eat. No one in the pack knew she was here, save for a select few who had been with me since childhood. They were loyal, and they knew better than to reveal anything to anyone. The medical team had been given strict orders to remain silent, and I trusted them implicitly. For now, her presence was a secret, and I intended to keep it that way until I could figure out how to explain everything to her.
I left her to change and returned to my office, needing a moment to clear my head.
Thirty minutes later, Wilder mindlinked me to let me know that the food was ready. "Take it to her," I instructed, "and make sure there's a guard posted outside the door." I had work to finish and couldn't be interrupted.
It was almost midnight by the time I finally wrapped up everything I needed to do. The pack had pressing issues that required my attention, not least of which was tracking down the traitor who had sold our information. I needed to find him, to make him pay for the betrayal, but first, I needed to check on Amora.
The lights in my room were still on as I approached. When I entered, I found her sitting on the bed, a book in her hands. She looked up at me, startled, and quickly set the book aside, sitting upright. She was dressed in my clothes, the fabric hanging loosely on her small frame, making her seem even more delicate.
She shouldn't be here, I thought to myself, not in this world. She was too fragile, too human. The moon goddess must have made a mistake—surely, she should have made Amora a wolf. Even a weak one, I could have trained her, taught her to protect herself. But the girl sitting before me was no warrior. She was someone who didn't belong in the chaos of my life.
"Why are you still up?" I asked, my frustration slipping through. She was supposed to be resting.
"I… wanted to ask you something," she said quietly, her voice hesitant.
"You could've waited until tomorrow," I replied, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. The doctor had made it clear she needed rest.
"I'll sleep after you answer my questions," she insisted.
I sighed. "You have five minutes," I growled, giving her permission to speak.