Chapter 5 The Truth in Dreams
(Thalia's POV)
"Explain." Mother stands by my window. "A Voss operative infiltrated our most secure residence, accessed your private quarters, and you claim you didn't see his face?"
"It happened so fast." I've been sitting on this same chair for two hours while security checked every vent, every crack, every possible entry point. "I was on the phone with Isla. Someone grabbed me from behind, covered my mouth. I struggled, pressed the beacon, and he ran."
"He spoke to you." It's not a question. Garrett stands behind Mother like a sentinel, his expression grim. "We found trace scent markers indicating extended conversation. At least ten minutes of close proximity."
My throat tightens. Of course they can tell. Werewolves can read a room's history through scent alone.
"He said..." I lick my lips, choosing words carefully. "He said my mother was lying to me. That I wasn't human. I didn't understand what he meant."
"What else?"
"That's all. He heard the footsteps coming and went out the window before I could see his face clearly. It was dark, I was terrified..." My voice breaks convincingly because part of it isn't acting.
"Double security on her floor," she tells Garrett without looking away from me. "Armed guards at both stairwells. Camera installation in the hallway. I want a manifest of everyone who enters or exits this building, cross-referenced with known Voss operatives."
"Already in progress, ma'am."
"And get me the full toxicology report on the intruder's scent signature. I want to know exactly which Voss wolf thought he could violate my home." Her jaw tightens. "When we identify him, we'll make an example that reminds every pack why you don't touch what belongs to Morrigan Thornewood."
The possessive phrasing makes my skin crawl. I'm not a person to her, I'm property. A valuable asset that needs better security.
"Can I at least go to bed?" The exhaustion in my voice is genuine. It's nearly three in the morning, and adrenaline has burned through my system, leaving me hollow and shaking.
Mother's expression doesn't soften, but she nods. "Petra will stay with you tonight. No arguments."
"Mother..."
"I said no arguments, Thalia." She moves toward the door, Garrett following like a shadow. "Your fiancé arrives tomorrow morning. I expect you well-rested and presentable. First impressions are crucial."
The door closes behind them with a decisive click, followed by the sound of a lock engaging. They've locked me in my own room.
I sit motionless for several minutes, listening to footsteps in the hallway, low voices discussing security protocols, the occasional crackle of radio communication. Eventually, the activity dies down to the quiet rhythm of guards pacing their routes.
Petra emerges from the bathroom where she's been lurking discretely. She's in her forties, efficiently neutral, the kind of woman who could fade into wallpaper when necessary.
"You should sleep, Miss Thornewood." She settles into the armchair by the door with a book and a thermos of tea. Making it clear she's not going anywhere.
I climb into bed fully clothed, pulling the duvet up to my chin. Close my eyes. Listen to Petra's quiet page-turning, the tick of the wall clock, my own heartbeat gradually slowing.
And beneath it all, that persistent ache where the mate bond pulls toward Lucien like a compass seeking north.
I don't expect to sleep. Don't want to sleep, really, because unconsciousness feels dangerous when my whole world is fracturing.
But exhaustion is a relentless adversary, and sometime around four AM, I surrender to it.
The dream starts the way it always does: I'm running.
But this time I'm not on two legs. I'm on four, powerful and sure, paws striking earth in a rhythm that feels more natural than walking ever has. The forest rushes past in a blur of moonlight and shadow, pine trees silver-edged, undergrowth alive with scurrying creatures whose heartbeats I can hear from fifty yards away.
I'm hunting.
The knowledge arrives instinctively, no thought required. There's prey ahead, a deer, young and injured, limping through a ravine. I can smell its fear, metallic and sharp, mixing with the copper scent of blood from a wounded leg.
My wolf surges forward, joy singing through every muscle. This is what I was made for. Not sitting in penthouses sipping tea, not playing the obedient daughter, not preparing to marry a stranger for political expedience.
This. Running. Hunting. Being.
I round a massive oak and the deer comes into view. But I'm not alone anymore.
Another wolf runs beside me, larger, darker, with fur like midnight and eyes that gleam gold in the scattered moonlight. Lucien. I know him the way I know my own heartbeat, the way I know which direction is north even with my eyes closed.
Moya dusha. His voice whispers through my mind, intimate as a caress. My soul.
We move together like we've hunted this way a thousand times before, circling the deer, cutting off escape routes, working in perfect synchronization. He drives it left, I drive it right, we close the distance with predatory patience.
The deer stumbles. I leap.
The deer's life fades in seconds, and I feel no guilt, no horror. Only satisfaction. The natural order completing its cycle.
Lucien's wolf presses against my side, his warmth seeping into me. You're magnificent.
I'm terrified. The thought escapes before I can stop it. This isn't real. I'm human. I can't...
You're not human. He nips gently at my ear, the gesture both playful and possessive. You've never been human, Thalia. You're a wolf wearing human skin. Just like me.
The forest shifts around us. Suddenly we're not in the ravine anymore but standing at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast territory bathed in moonlight. Miles of forest stretching in every direction, rivers threading through valleys, mountains rising in the distance.
This is what you could have, Lucien says. Freedom. Your true nature. A life where you make your own choices instead of having them made for you.
It's a dream. This is my wolf speaking, the part of me Morrigan has kept caged for nineteen years. None of this is real.
Isn't it? He turns to face me, and now we're both human again, standing naked at the cliff's edge. His hand cups my face with devastating gentleness. The bond is real. Your wolf is real. The only lie is the life your mother has forced you to live.
I want to argue, but his thumb traces my lower lip and thought becomes impossible. The mate bond thrums between us, stronger in this dream-space than in waking life, and I can feel his emotions bleeding into mine: desire, protectiveness, a bone-deep certainty that I belong to him as much as he belongs to me.
She's poisoning you. His voice drops to barely a whisper. Every day, every dose of those 'vitamins,' she's killing the wolf inside you. If it continues much longer, the damage will be permanent. You'll never be able to shift.
Why would she do that?
Because she's afraid of what you'll become. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath on my lips. A fully realized wolf can't be controlled, Thalia. Can't be manipulated or lied to or used as a pawn. Your mother needs you weak to maintain her power.
I don't want to believe you, I whisper.
I know. But deep down, you already do. He kisses me softly, and the touch ignites something primal and fierce in my chest. Stop taking the suppressants. Let your wolf out. See what you're truly capable of.
And then what? Run away with you? Abandon my responsibilities and let thousands die in the war that follows?
There won't be a war if you claim your power. His hand slides into my hair, grip tightening with barely restrained intensity. The Convergence doesn't bow to packs, Thalia. Packs bow to the Convergence.
I don't know what that means...