The Feral Alpha's Captive

Chapter 51: Nightmares

🦋ALTHEA

For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant.

Then sensation rushed back all at once—too sharp, too bright—and I realized my fingers were trembling.

I wiped my mouth quickly, too hard, smearing red across my skin before scrubbing it away with the back of my hand.

"Oh," I said.

The word felt borrowed. Distant.

I stared at the floor, grounding myself in the pattern of stone, in the rhythm of my breathing. In the fact that this was a body. A wound. Something practical.

Not him.

Not this.

"I didn’t notice," I murmured, because it felt safer than admitting my mind had gone blank again.

Silence pressed down on me.

Then it shifted.

Not heavy—cold.

I felt it before I saw it, the air drawing tight as a blade. When I lifted my gaze, Thorne was already closing himself off, the warmth from moments ago sealed away behind something hard and deliberate.

His expression went flat. Controlled.

The bond quieted. Not gone—never gone—but leashed.

"I didn’t mean to—" I began, the apology slipping out of reflex, automatic and small. "If I overstepped, I’m sorry. I was just—"

"There’s no need."

His voice cut in, cool and final.

Not angry.

Worse.

Dismissive.

My mouth closed.

He didn’t look at me now. His attention had turned inward, posture stiff, shoulders squared despite the bandages. Whatever softness had flickered between us was gone, shuttered like a door slammed against a storm.

"You’ve done enough," he said. "Get some rest."

The words were an order wrapped in civility.

Sleep. Leave. Go.

I nodded, because that was what I did when I didn’t know where else to put myself.

I turned toward the door.

My hand hovered over the latch.

The letter burned in my thoughts.

Kael’s letter.

The one hidden in my shackle. The one written in blood that wasn’t mine. The one that had dragged me into chains and suspicion and silence.

If I told him now...

My mind spun too fast—him believing me, his anger turning elsewhere, his shadows tearing the wrong throats out. Or worse: him thinking it was another lie, another manipulation, another mark against me.

Damning myself.

Staying silent damned me too.

My chest tightened.

"Alpha," I said suddenly, the title tumbling out before I could stop it.

The word tasted like distance.

He turned halfway, irritation flickering sharp and quick across his face. "What."

Not a question.

A wall.

Every scrap of courage I’d scraped together leaked out of me at once.

I swallowed.

"I—" My fingers curled into the fabric of my sleeve. "I was wondering... if I might be allowed to attend the Solstice."

That got his attention.

He turned fully now, eyes narrowing. "How do you know about the Solstice?"

My heart kicked, hard.

Think. Don’t panic.

I kept my voice steady. Neutral. Careful. "I heard others speaking about it. In the halls. The guards don’t whisper as quietly as they think."

A beat.

Two.

His gaze searched my face—not like before, not with heat or confusion, but with suspicion sharpened by instinct. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"You’re not required to attend," he said slowly.

"I know," I replied. "But I thought... if I’m to remain here, it might be better not to be hidden away. People talk more when they think you’re harmless."

A pause.

Something unreadable crossed his expression.

"You’re asking for permission," he said.

"Yes."

"And you expect me to believe this is idle curiosity."

I didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was louder than I dared say.

"I expect you to decide," I said instead.

His jaw flexed.

For a moment, I thought he might refuse outright.

Then, quietly: "We’ll see."

Not yes.

Not no.

Just enough to keep me suspended.

He had to let me go for the plan to work.

I slipped back into the small bed he’d had prepared—too neat, too untouched, the sheets still carrying the faint scent of cedar and iron that clung to everything in his domain. Across the room, Thorne lay on his own bed, broad frame already turned away, one arm tucked beneath his head like he meant to sleep and be done with it.

No more words.

No more almosts.

One by one, the candles were extinguished.

Darkness rolled in, thick and absolute, swallowing the space between us until I could no longer see him—only feel the distant, leashed presence of the bond, quiet as a held breath.

Sleep took me immediately.

Too quickly.

____________________________________

I was standing in a field—

No, I was walking.

Bare feet pressed into earth that was too cold, too soft, sucking at my heels like it wanted to keep me. Each step felt delayed, as though my body were moving seconds behind my will.

Ahead of me, something small crawled unsteadily.

A child.

Tiny hands dug into the dirt, fingers slipping, skin smeared brown as the ground seemed to drag at them, pulling them back inch by inch.

"Wait," I called.

My voice sounded wrong. Thin and warped, just distorted enoug. As if it had passed through water before reaching my ears.

The child didn’t turn.

Panic stirred low in my stomach, not yet sharp, but spreading, blooming outward until my breath shortened. I followed, skirts catching on thorns that tore at my legs. I felt the sting, the wet warmth of blood, but I couldn’t see it.

Then air changed, shifted and suddenly the scent of iron forced its way into my air ways, and then smoke.

Breathing turned to labour, my eyes watered

Something copper-sweet and rotting that coated my tongue.

The field broke apart.

Stone walls rose where grass had been. Timber collapsed in roaring sheets of flame. Wolves ran through the smoke—not wild, not feral, but ordered. Their movements to precise and coordinated. They looked like part of an army.

Some smoke cleared and the watering of my eye became tolerable enough to see past a couple yards.

My stomach dropped and I wish I had been blinded instead

Hoards of people knelt, all in tattered, burnt clothes, bodies riddled with fresh wounds, some bleeding, other oozing pus.

It shouldn’t have been possible, these many people—

No one was healing.

Where were the healers, the deltas?

Their ash covered hands lifted,voices broken.

"Mercy."

"Please."

I turned, frantic now, searching for the child—

Gone.

In its place stood the overlord.

Tall. Encased in dark armor etched with sigils that twisted when I tried to look at them too closely. Wolves stood behind him in endless ranks, still as statues, eyes burning.

"Burn it," the overlord commanded.

The voice struck me like a slap.

My mother’s voice.

"No," I whispered. "That’s not—"

The overlord lifted both hands and slowly, deliberately, removed the helm.

Metal scraped.

The sound crawled down my spine.

The face beneath was mine.

Not distorted. Not monstrous.

Mine.

My eyes stared back at me from beneath the armor, expression calm, almost serene. My mouth curved into a smile that did not belong to me.

I stumbled backward, breath tearing in my chest.

"No," I sobbed. "That isn’t me. That’s not—"

A cry cut through the air.

Wren.

I turned.

She was being dragged forward by the figure in armor—by the thing that wore my face. Wren’s hair was tangled in its fist, her small hands scrabbling uselessly against stone.

"Stop," I screamed. "Please—stop—"

I ran.

But the ground thickened beneath my feet, heavy as tar. My body slowed, lagging, as if the world were pushing me back.

The armored figure halted.

It looked at Wren.

Then at me.

And smiled.

Slowly, deliberately, it lifted one hand.

Bones cracked.

Skin split.

Claws erupted where fingers should have been—long, curved, gleaming.

"No—no—please—"

The claws closed around Wren’s throat.

She gagged.

Her eyes found mine, wide and shining, desperate.

"Althea—"

I screamed—

—

—and woke up choking.

My body surged upright, lungs burning, heart battering against my ribs as if it wanted out. Shadows pressed in immediately—thick, cool, alive—wrapping around my wrists as I flailed.

"No—don’t—!"

They held me fast.

I sobbed, fighting, nails scraping against nothing I could see.

"Let go—please—please—"

"Althea."

The voice cut through the panic.

Low. Firm.

Real.

The shadows loosened.

I sucked in a shuddering breath as the room bled back into focus—stone walls, low firelight, the weight of blankets tangled around my legs.

Thorne knelt beside the bed, one knee on the floor, one hand still shadow-wrapped around my wrist.

"You’re awake," he said quietly. "You’re here."

My strength gave out all at once.

I folded forward with a broken sound, shaking so hard my teeth rattled.

"I couldn’t stop it," I gasped. "I was right there and I couldn’t—"

"I know," he said.

No sharpness. No command.

Only certainty.

"You’re safe. Nothing is touching you."

The shadows withdrew completely.

But his hand did not.

"Please..." I didn’t know what I was asking for, the vision of my face with that cold, hard expression, then the savagery—I flinched like I had been struck.

Then the burning returned—

I opened my mouth to howl, but his hand was there, forcing the pain back with his touch.

I quivered under the weight of relief, darkness came back for me again.