He shot up in bed…and fell hard on the cold floor of his room. A loud grunt escaped his lips as his head made an in-person introduction with the stone. He got up on one elbow as he massaged his skull. The ceiling crystals brightened quickly. He always wondered how it was that they seemed to sense when to dim because he was asleep and when they knew to brighten when he was awake.
Wiping his eyes with his free hand he groped around for the top of the bed and pulled himself up to a sitting position. His body was covered in a cold sweat. He shifted his weight and ripped his jeans out from under him. He threw the wadded pile of denim to land on top of his discarded shoes. His heart was still racing. Gripping his chest, he pulled up one of his legs and leaned on it.
What the hell was that? The images, the smells, the emotions were all so real. His other couldn’t be alive and outside of his body. That couldn’t be possible. On the other hand, who was he to call himself an expert of what was and wasn’t possible in the world. Up until two years ago he was confident in his belief that monsters didn’t exist. There was nothing hiding in his closet and there was no ghoul under his bed ready to eat his hands or legs if they slipped out over the side of the bed during the night. A year and a half ago many of his preconceptions of the world were changed. Three months ago, he learned that the world he thought he knew was just about as far from reality as Harry Potter.
He wiped at his hot face with his hand. His other, or himself, did it really matter? He had had dreams where he had done horrible things, his pack, dead because he hadn’t been there, friends dying all around him because he had refused or had been unable to act. But this was something darker and much more disturbing. He was no scout. He couldn’t see into the future. He shouldn’t let this nightmare get to him. But there was something very ominous in this dream that he just wasn’t ready to confront.
The most terrifying thing, and the most guilt inducing, was that somehow Achelois had found a way to get back into the city. She was dead. She had been killed outside the Whyte Plain. Was it possible that she was still alive in that place? Had she been fully absorbed into a shadow that they were now training to fight? If she was there and they came across her in battle, would he be able to kill her? Would any in his pack be ready to kill one of their own?
He ran his fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. He was too hot. He heaved himself away from his bed and lay down flat on the cool stone floor of his room. He threw his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the light. His breathing had slowed and he was noticeably calmer but he knew that sleep would be a long time in returning if he was even able to fall back asleep.
Stolen novel; please report.
An eighties song caught itself in his head. It was a woman singing but he didn’t know who or even what the song was called. He tried to shake it away but it remained, playing the same half remembered refrain and lyrics in his mind. He gave up trying to fight it. The dream was still fresh in his mind and he fought the urge to remove his arm and open his eyes. Instead, he kept his face covered and started to sing with the music, “listen to your heart, when he’s something something. Listen to your heart…”
His arm shifted and he started up from the cool floor. He had fallen asleep again. His back was sore from the hard surface and he looked around bleary eyed trying to get a bearing on what had happened. He slowly sat up, grabbing at the furs on the bed. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs he stood up. He flexed his body and stretched upwards toward the ceiling. He still had no idea what time it was. He slowly walked to his door and looked out at the cavern ceiling.
Damn. The crystals were brightening for the morning hours. He wasn’t going to get a chance to sleep anymore tonight. With a sigh and a massive yawn, he turned around and walked right back to his wadded-up pants. He pulled them on and grabbed his toiletries and walked out into the city to go to the bathroom.
He came back to his room slightly damp from his hot shower, not feeling in the least bit better since he woke up. The nightmare clung to him and wouldn’t let go. He kept reliving the fires, the smoke, the dead wolves and humans in the street. He saw the city as it was and the fires of his nightmare superimposed itself across his vision and he saw the city destroyed all over again. Thankfully he didn’t run across anyone this morning. He wasn’t sure he could have taken that just yet.
He threw his stuff on top of his dresser and lay back down on his bed. Seeing Achelois and hearing her mutilated voice so different yet still recognizable was the worst part. His other’s laughter was another. Was he capable of doing something like that to this place, to kill indiscriminately? It was a question that he hadn’t had to concern himself with for a while, but now it pounded on his psyche incessantly.
He wasn’t hungry. The thought of food made him a little nauseous and eating was the last thing he wanted to do. He stood up from his bed and dropped his pants to the floor. He pulled down his underwear and stood in the middle of his room, naked. He broke out in goose bumps again. He hadn’t been this nervous about anything in a long time. He closed his eyes and tried to find his center. He forcefully slowed his breathing and tried to relax. He kept his eyes shut tight against the light of the room and his own fears.
He opened his eyes and looked down.
His hands were claws once again. His was back in his werewolf form, tan fur and black streaks included. He heaved a huge sigh of relief. He hadn’t been entirely sure that he was going to be able to change forms. The dream left lingering doubts in his mind and he knew that it would be some time before he shook those doubts completely.