CHAPTER 97: CHAPTER 97

Joan and Elara had fallen asleep hours ago. Their soft breaths filled the omega quarters, steady and rhythmic, but my own refused to fall into that same calm pattern. My mind was still caught somewhere between fear and disbelief, between the echo of his voice and the truth I didn’t dare accept.

A wildflower by the roadside.

The words had burrowed into me like a thorn. They didn’t belong to him not to that man whose eyes were colder than winter steel, whose voice could strip the courage out of anyone who dared to meet his gaze. Alpha Zach Varyn didn’t see people. He judged them, broke them, ruled them. Yet for one strange, impossible heartbeat, I had heard something human inside him.

Something that shouldn’t exist.

I turned onto my side, clutching the rough blanket closer to my chest. The wind outside moaned like a wounded beast. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe this cursed ability hearing his inner voice was twisting my sanity again.

But deep down, I knew I hadn’t imagined it. The words were too vivid, too raw, too warm in contrast to everything else about him.

And that warmth terrified me more than his cruelty ever had.

I shut my eyes, trying to force myself into sleep. But the darkness had other plans.

It came for me slowly.

At first, it was just the faint outline of a room the Alpha’s room forming behind my eyelids. The heavy curtains. The scent of cedar and smoke. The silver light from the moon slipping across the marble floor. I tried to shake it away, but the image deepened until I could almost feel the chill of that place against my skin. And then I heard him.

"Ellie."

The voice was low. Too close. I turned sharply, heart leaping, and there he was.

Alpha Zach — standing before me in the half-dark, his shirt undone at the collar, his eyes gleaming with that strange, dangerous calm that always preceded chaos.

"This is a dream," I whispered, stepping back instinctively. "It’s not real."

He didn’t answer. He just stared that steady, unreadable stare that seemed to peel back every layer of me until I was bare and trembling.

When he finally spoke again, his voice wasn’t cruel. It was soft. Too soft.

"You shouldn’t hide from me, wildflower."

My breath hitched. The word wrapped around me like a spell, dragging me deeper into the dream. He took a slow step closer, and the ground beneath my feet felt unsteady, like water trying to swallow me whole.

I tried to move to run but my body wouldn’t listen. My hands trembled at my sides as he reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch burned.

"Why are you afraid?" he asked, his tone more curious than mocking. "Is it because of what you hear in my head or what you want to hear?"

I shook my head, unable to breathe.

"I don’t— I don’t want—"

But the lie died halfway through. Because I could feel it the pull. The awful, magnetic pull that kept me standing there, caught between dread and something that felt dangerously close to yearning.

He leaned down, his breath ghosting against my ear. "You heard what I called you. You didn’t forget."

I could barely speak. "You didn’t mean it."

His hand tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Didn’t I?"

The air between us thickened until it hurt to breathe. My heartbeat thundered in my throat, and I could taste fear metallic, bitter on my tongue.

Then he smiled. Slow. Sinister. Beautiful.

"You’re trembling," he murmured. "Do I frighten you that much?"

"Yes," I breathed.

His thumb brushed across my lower lip. "Good."

Something shattered inside me then the fragile boundary between hate and hunger. He leaned in, his lips a whisper away from mine, and I felt the world tilt. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to scream. But the moment his mouth touched mine, all the noise inside me dissolved.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t kind. It was dark, consuming, like being pulled into a storm I couldn’t escape. The taste of him smoke, power, danger filled my senses until nothing else existed. My knees buckled, and his hand caught the back of my neck, holding me there like he owned every breath I took.

Somewhere, in the distant part of my mind still capable of thought, I knew this wasn’t real. I knew I was dreaming.

But the dream felt too vivid, too cruelly alive.

When he finally pulled back, the world seemed to sway. His eyes burned into me, molten and unreadable.

"You don’t belong in my world, Mine." he said quietly. "And yet you keep finding your way into it."

He turned away, his shadow stretching long across the floor, and I reached out I don’t know why but before my hand could touch him, the world cracked apart.

I woke up gasping. The air in the omega quarters was cold, damp with early morning fog. Sweat clung to my skin, and my hands were shaking violently. I pressed them to my lips they were still tingling, as if the dream had followed me back into reality.

It took me a long time to remember how to breathe.

I sat up slowly, my chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of Elara shifting in her sleep. I glanced toward the window; dawn hadn’t come yet. The world was still dark.

My reflection stared back at me faintly from the cracked mirror across the room wide eyes, tangled hair, flushed cheeks. I looked haunted.

Because I was. That dream had felt too real. It was too real As if he had been there.

I pressed my fingers against my temples, trying to calm my racing thoughts, but the echo of his voice still lingered in my head. You keep finding your way into my world.

No. It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

And yet, as I sat there in the dark, I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin.

By morning my nerves were shredded.

I barely managed to keep my hands from trembling as I dressed and tied my apron. Joan noticed, of course. She always did.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," she said, handing me a small piece of bread. "Didn’t sleep again?"

I forced a weak smile. "Something like that."

Elara yawned, brushing her hair. "If you keep skipping sleep, your eyes are going to turn into bruises. He’s not worth the wrinkles."

I tried to laugh, but it came out hollow.

If only they knew.

When I told them what had happened not the dream, but the compliment they both froze.

"He what?" Joan whispered, eyes wide. "He called you a mine?"

I nodded slowly.

Elara blinked, then burst out laughing in disbelief. "Oh, that’s rich. The psycho Alpha the same man who once broke a warrior’s arm for looking at him wrong called you mine?"

"Quiet," Joan hissed. "Someone might hear."

Elara shrugged, still smirking. "If he did, I’d ask him what kind of flower exactly. A wild one? Poisonous, maybe?"

I didn’t answer. I just stared at the floor, feeling the weight of their words settle like stones inside me.

Joan’s humor faded when she saw my face. "Hey," she said softly, touching my hand. "Don’t think too much about it, Ellie. Maybe he didn’t mean it."

"I know," I whispered. "But what if he did?"

The silence that followed was heavy.

Elara frowned. "Then that’s worse."

And she was right.

Because if Alpha Zach truly meant that word if he truly saw something fragile or beautiful in me then everything became more dangerous.

I didn’t want his attention.

I didn’t want to matter to him in any way. Because people who mattered to men like him... they didn’t survive long.

I was careful. Every movement was measured. Every breath quiet. When I carried his breakfast tray through the corridor, my steps barely made a sound. My heart was a trapped bird, beating itself against the cage of my ribs. I told myself I wouldn’t look at him. I wouldn’t listen to him. I’d leave the tray and go.

But when I entered his chamber, he was already awake. As always. The morning light caught the edge of his profile — sharp, unforgiving, beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. His eyes flicked to me, expression unreadable.

"You’re early," he said.

My throat tightened. "Yes, Alpha."

He gestured to the table. "Set it down."

I obeyed quickly, keeping my gaze on the silver tray. I didn’t want to meet his eyes. I didn’t want to hear his voice inside or outside my head.

But silence was dangerous too. Because in silence, I started to wonder what he was thinking. And wondering led to listening. And listening led to madness.

Still, the whisper came.

"Inner voice: She looks pale again. Did she dream?

My blood ran cold.

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know.

I bit my lip, keeping my head down, pretending to adjust the cutlery. The whisper faded as he moved behind me, his presence a weight that filled the air.

"Look at me," he said suddenly.

My body obeyed before my mind could protest. I turned, heart hammering, and met his gaze.

For a moment, he just studied me. Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, his inner voice slipped through again.

"Inner voice: She really is like a wildflower. The more I try to ignore her, the more she grows in places she shouldn’t.

I froze, breath catching in my throat. He frowned. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," I whispered. "I just... I just remembered something."

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. He turned away, and I took that moment to escape. My hands were shaking as I left the room, my chest tight with a hundred unspoken fears.

Because the dream hadn’t been just a dream.

Because his thoughts had mirrored it.

And because, deep down, some part of me knew the line between his world and mine was beginning to blur.