The Alpha's Daydream

Ariella was grounded for a month.

She didn’t feel upset or resentful towards her parents for the decision, because she knew she deserved it. Understanding it was for the best, Ariella put the extra time at home to use. She poured more energy into practicing her violin, planting an entire new section of herbs in the vegetable garden, helping her dad build a new fence for the chicken pen, and of course drawing and writing in her diaries.

Sitting on the swing that hung from the large and spreading oak tree in their backyard was one of her favourite ways to spend the afternoon, the last rays of sunlight splashing on the leaves above her before creeping up the trunk and disappearing as the sun fell below the horizon.

As she lazily pushed back and forth, daydreaming about everything and nothing in particular, her imagination would envision a handsome wolf coming to claim her as mate. His eyes a blue colour and inky hair to match the starry night sky, he’d sweep her off her feet and carry her into the violet dusk. Her dreams would overlap with reality, and she would watch with a tender smile as Charles wrapped his arms around Lexi’s waist, lifting her easily and spinning her around as they kissed as he came home after a long day of work.

Her days passed slowly, unable to go visit her friends or wander very far from home. For an unexplainable reason, Ariella was too uneasy to leave the house by herself anyway.

So a couple times a week, she would go into town with Lexi for shopping, social outings, or checkups with expecting mothers. She always enjoyed playing with the young children, and met two new babies who decided it was their time to greet the world. Watching the delight on the family’s face after the pack doctor and Lexi helped with the births always moved Ariella, and sent a thrill through her young heart.

What she wasn’t prepared for was actually being present for a birth, and when her mom gently pulled her into the room and placed the mother’s hand in her own, she suddenly blanked out and froze in shock. Coaxing the mother to take deep breaths and push at the right times were actions coming from somewhere outside her body, and Ariella watched as if absent from the terrifying yet completely natural and beautiful scene. Then when her mom grew excited and guided her hands to between the mother’s legs, she felt squeamish at the sight of blood. But that all changed when a warm little body wriggled in her hands, a gentle cry pierced the air, and Ariella held on dearly to the newborn pup. Tears pricked her eyes and she gasped, a smile splitting her shocked face as she held up the little squirming baby for his mother to see.

“You have a beautiful baby boy, Sandra! Congratulations,” Lexi cooed, and urged Ariella to place him on his mother’s chest. She was in awe as she watched the bond strengthen immediately, mother and child clutching each other in the miracle of life.

It filled her thoughts for the next few days, along with dreams.

They were mostly dreams of far away castles and daring princes, vanquishing dragons that watched over a princess entrapped in spells and enchantments. Carefully drawing the images of love and heroism in her diary, Ariella would block a vague remembrance of her own past, of her own birth mother and the pup she had been carrying at the time of her death. That notion of a lost baby brother or sister was too painful to fully recognise, so by staring at peaceful trees and meadow flowers, and the dreams on the back of her eyelids, Ariella managed to not think about it. A pang of loneliness stabbed her in the heart, but by paying attention to her dreams, she saw a little baby snuggled in the arms of the rescued princess, her prince holding them both wrapped in his arms as they lived a peaceful happily ever after. The prince’s blue eyes, framed by a tousled inky fringe, lingered in her mind as Ariella helped with household chores, relaxed in the evening with her parents, then slept soundlessly under a moonless sky.

Only when the sun spiked the horizon did Ariella awake and snap her eyes open, afraid to close them for fear of once more seeing the terrible nightmare. The haunted expression in those eyes that twisted at her very soul.

“Would you like to come with me and see how baby Elijah is going?”

“No, not really,” I whisper quietly over my bowl of cereal. The sunshine is pouring in through the window above the sink, but all I can see is darkness clouding the edge of my vision. It weighs heavy on my shoulders like a physical burden, and leaving the house is the last thing I want right now.

“You’re not grounded anymore, you know,” Mom reminds me gently, eyeing me carefully as she washes the few dishes from breakfast. I was up early, however my dad still beat me and was already gone by the time I stumbled downstairs, my hair in wild braids and my mind in frantic motions.

“I know,” was all I mumble, afraid to meet my mom’s eyes in case she senses the turmoil behind them. The fear that whispers across my cheek with cold fingers. I can’t seem to get last night’s nightmare out of my head no matter how many times I try to think of something calming.

“Alright then. I’ll be back before lunch,” she says cheerily while placing a kiss on my head.

I lean into the soft touch and nearly clutch at her for a hug. I’m being childish, and shake my head with determination as I watch her walk down the path and disappear into the safe forest, heading towards the main pack grounds.

I take a warm shower to ease my tense body, letting the water wash over me and soothe me. Drying my hair, I study the bleached ends and see the colours fading. The fuchsia and lavender tips were something I experimented with when I finished school a while ago, and I liked the prettiness so much I kept it by using permanent colour. Some called it silly or quirky, but I didn’t care. I loved bright and pastel colours. My bedroom walls were painted blush pink, my clothes were all sorts of pale and soft hues, and the fresh flowers that always adorned my desk were a constant reminder that life continues to bloom even from the brownness of trampled and forgotten soil.

So why do I feel this pall of death hanging over me?

Suddenly feeling boxed in by the walls of the house, I snatch up my bag of books and pens, and trudge down the path to my favourite meadow. I realise maybe the only way to understand my dream is to interpret it as I do everything else. I need to visualise it, draw it, look at it from different angles and in shadows, breathe it, listen to it. I need to give it life before it drags me under by its intangibility.

When I reach the wide open space I call home, the blue sky stretching over the soft green grass that waves in the gentle breeze, the little violets and wild dandelions welcome me as if they have missed me. The line of trees to the north is a barrier against whatever lurks across the border, but I don’t let it bother me. The real threat is in my head.

I open my book and begin drawing. The smooth lines of his face are chiselled, his hair is tangled where it rests on his forehead, his eyes stare at me with angst even as I draw the parted lips that allude to a sorrowful groan.

I draw his shoulders, so broad yet sagging with pain, and his chest is clutched by pale hands. Between his fingers is blood. My breath hitches as I draw a blackness swallowing the cavity of his chest and stomach, red ink seeping down his shirt and disappearing into the dirt below his knees. He is kneeling amidst trees. He is dying.

I am almost in tears for this man, this stranger who has been apart of my dreams for so many days now. I cannot help him even as I wish for the opportunity. He is only a picture on a page of white paper, a figment of my imagination that is surely laughing at me as it tugs on the lonely strings of my heart.

That’s all this is— my imagination finally snapping and taunting me, playing into my emotions so I get even more wound up and emotional over nothing. Over nothing real. For what I am seeing can’t be real. This perfect man dying on the canvas of my mind and the pages of my book, his black wings hanging limply—

Black wings?

I stare at the picture just to be sure, and see the feathers falling to the ground even as my pencil draws them. It startles me, this image that has become so real I don’t even know where reality ends and fantasy begins.

I snap the book shut.

Closing my eyes, I lift a dandelion to my nose and inhale the sweet scent, letting it fill my senses and calm me. The golden sun is warm overhead, and the breeze ruffles my loose hair. When I catch a faint scent on the air currents, I am instantly curious. It is different, yet familiar at once. A soft chestnut scent that sets my heart to quicken and my feet to urge me forwards. It leads me down the hill and into the forest, across a stream, and just as I look up from the moist stepping stones, I see him.

A lone man, standing not too far off, his feet keeping him firmly planted on a jagged rock overlooking the stream.

I recognise his silhouette in the mid morning sunlight as it streams down through the fir trees around us. He is the same man from that night not too long ago that caused me to be grounded; he is the same solitary figure who piqued Luci’s interest yet sent tingles of fear across my skin.

His posture stiffens, and I know he has noticed me, perhaps caught my scent as I caught his. My heart thuds, sending blood streaming through my veins and echoing in my temples. I hold my breath, suddenly afraid of who he is, and what he will do to me if he finds out I am watching him.

When he turns to look at me, I gasp.

I am staring into icy blue eyes, framed by black hair as inky as the night sky.