Chapter 13 Nightmares and Comfort
Jolie POV
I wake up screaming.
Again.
My throat burns raw and my sheets are soaked with sweat. The nightmare clings to me—Thorne's hands reaching for me, Gio's cold smile as he counts money, the sound of pack wolves howling for my blood.
"Just a dream," I whisper to the darkness, my voice cracking. "Just a dream."
But my body doesn't believe it. My heart hammers against my ribs and I can't stop shaking. These nightmares are getting worse, coming every night now like some twisted routine. I press my face into my pillow, trying to muffle the sobs that won't stop coming.
A shadow fills my doorway.
"Jolie?" Ryder's voice is rough with sleep, concern visible through the exhaustion.
I freeze, mortified. How loud was I screaming? Did I wake the whole compound?
"I'm sorry." I choke out the words between gasps for air. "I'm okay. Go back to sleep."
Instead of leaving, he steps into my room. The floorboards creak under his weight as he moves closer to my bed. I brace myself for impatience, for him to tell me to get it together.
"Can I sit?" he asks quietly, gesturing to the edge of my bed.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The mattress dips as he settles on the very edge, careful to leave space between us. He doesn't try to touch me or demand explanations. He just sits there, solid and real in the darkness.
"Same dream?" he asks after a moment, his voice gentle.
"Different versions of the same thing." I wipe my face with the back of my hand, still trembling. "Thorne. Gio. Running but never getting away."
"It tells me about the first bike I ever rode," he says suddenly, leaning against the wall.
I blink at the change of subject. "What?"
"My first bike. Do you want to hear about it?" He asked.
I nod my head in a yes as he settles back like he has all night, his presence filling the room. “I was fifteen when I found this beat-up Honda in a junkyard, it had more rust than metal. It took me three months to get it running."
His voice rumbles low and steady. Despite myself, I find my breathing starting to slow.
"Every bolt was seized. I had to heat them with a torch just to get them loose. One time I cut my hands to hell on the sharp edges." He flexes his fingers in the dim light, studying the old scars. "But when she finally started up, that first kick of the engine felt like freedom."
"Did it run?" I whisper, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"For about ten minutes before the transmission gave out." He chuckles softly, shaking his head at the memory. "But those ten minutes changed everything. I knew I'd never be the same."
He tells me about rebuilding that engine piece by piece, learning from scrap and trial and error. About the first time he hit the open road, wind cutting through his hair, leaving everything behind. His voice is hypnotic in the darkness, painting pictures of endless highways and star-filled skies.
My panic slowly recedes like tide pulling back from shore. The terror that gripped my chest loosens its hold. I'm still scared, still shaken, but Ryder's presence fills the room with something stronger than fear.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask when he finishes talking about a cross-country ride through the desert.
"Doing what?" His eyebrows draw together in confusion.
"Taking care of me. Staying up when I have nightmares. You could just ignore it." I wrap my arms tighter around my knees, making myself smaller.
He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than I've ever heard it.
"My mother used to have nightmares. After the attacks got worse, after we had to keep moving all the time." He stares at the wall, lost in memory. "My dad would sit with her just like this. Talk about anything except the fear."
"What happened to them?" I ask carefully, seeing the pain that crosses his face.
"They died protecting what they loved." His jaw tightens, muscles bunching with old anger. "I was fifteen, the same age as my first bike."
Something breaks open in my chest. All this time I've been seeing him as this untouchable alpha, this force of nature. But he was once a kid too, watching his parents suffer and learning to survive loss.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, meeting my eyes with fierce determination. "Whatever's coming for you, it has to go through me first."
"What if Gio comes back? What if he brings the Council?" My voice comes out small and scared.
"Then they'll learn why rogues survive where pampered pack wolves don't." His smile is sharp, dangerous and sure. "We fight dirty and we fight to win."
"What if I'm not worth it?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "What if you're risking everything for someone who's just"
"Don't." His voice silenced me through the darkness. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."
"But I am weak. Everyone says so. Even my own family" I start to argue, but he cuts me off.
"Your family is a pack of blind idiots who wouldn't recognize strength if it bit them on the ass." He shifts closer, his presence overwhelming in the small space. "You survived years of abuse that would have broken most wolves. You escaped on your own when they tried to sell you like livestock. You're still here, still fighting, still breathing. That's not weakness."
Tears spill down my cheeks, but they're different now. Not from fear or shame, but from something I haven't felt in years. Hope, maybe. Or just the relief of being seen as something other than damaged goods.
"Sleep now," he murmurs, his voice gentle as I've never heard it. "I'll watch over you."
I want to argue, to tell him he doesn't have to waste his night babysitting me. But my eyelids are heavy and his presence makes the darkness feel less threatening.
"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" I whisper into my pillow.
"I'll stay as long as you need," he says, settling back against the wall like he's planning to be here all night.