The Wolf in My Dreams 2
EMMANUELLE
I should have screamed.
I should have turned and run as fast as my legs would carry me. His face had shifted into something not quite human those glowing eyes, the claws, the raw, feral energy rolling off of him in waves. His voice wasn’t just deep it was otherworldly. A snarl wrapped in thunder.
But instead of fear, I felt still.
Like the world had gone quiet around me.
Like I had finally found something I didn’t know I was looking for.
My feet stayed rooted to the ground, my gaze locked on his.
Because I knew him.
Not from here, not from real life but from somewhere deeper. Somewhere strange. I’d seen him in the shadowy corners of my dreams. The silent guardian with wild eyes who stood between me and whatever nightmare chased me.
The wolf.
He was the wolf.
And suddenly, it all made sense. The feeling in my chest every time he was near. The instinct that told me I was safe, even when I shouldn’t have been.
He took a half step back as I reached for him. My fingers brushed against the coarse fur at his jaw, and something inside me lit up like a candle in a storm. A warmth spread through me, climbing up my arms, blooming in my chest like I’d come home after a long, lonely journey.
His muscles tensed beneath my touch, rigid like a coiled spring. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled.
I smiled, just a little. “I’ve seen scarier things than you.”
His eyes narrowed like he didn’t know whether to be insulted or intrigued.
Then I ruined the moment.
“I need your help.”
He pulled back instantly, shifting fast his claws disappeared, the fur retracted, and the boy returned. Cold, guarded, and utterly unimpressed.
“No,” he snapped, spinning on his heel and walking away.
Panic fluttered in my throat. I chased after him. “Just listen”
“No.” He didn’t even look at me.
I stopped. Watched him disappear between the trees, his back straight and cold and infuriating.
My heart beat faster. I couldn’t let him go. Not like this. Not when he was the first real chance I’d had in… forever.
“Okay, fine,” I called out. “Then I’ll pay you.”
He paused.
Turned, slowly. “Pay me?”
I swallowed hard. “I need a bodyguard.”
The look on his face said it all: Are you insane?
“I mean it,” I said, planting my feet. “You’re strong. Fast. You literally outran a bullet.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I’m not a damn mercenary.”
“But you’re a protector.”
His jaw flexed. That got to him. He didn’t respond, but something shifted in his eyes something wounded flickering behind the anger.
He didn’t know me, but I had a feeling he understood me. That maybe he knew what it felt like to lose things you never got the chance to fight for.
“My father took everything,” I said quietly.
He stilled.
“My mother’s company. My home. He killed the only person who ever loved me and dumped me on the street like trash. Now he sits in a glass tower while I serve coffee to people who don’t even know my name.”
The words were like glass in my throat. I hadn’t said it out loud before not like this.
“I never met my mom. Not once. I don’t even have a photo of her. But she built something good, something real. And he stole it like it was nothing.”
I took a breath, shaky and uneven. “I’m not asking for revenge. I just want my life back.”
For the first time, he didn’t look angry. He looked… conflicted.
His eyes drifted over me, and for a second, I thought he saw the bruises no one else had bothered to look for. The damage beneath the skin. The loneliness.
“So,” I said, quieter now, “I need your help.”
Silence.
I waited.
One second. Two.
He didn’t say yes.
But he didn’t walk away either.
And that was enough for now.