Page 8 of Wolf Fated

But even as the tendrils of sleep claim me, my dreams take on a strange, unsettling quality. I find myself running through a dense forest, the trees looming overhead like silent sentinels as I weave between their gnarled trunks.

The sound of howls echoe all around me, haunting and untamed and send shivers of fear racing down my spine. I can sense them closing in, these unseen hunters, their hot breath ghosting against my neck as they draw ever nearer.

Just as I feel the first brush of fur against my skin, the dream shifts, and suddenly, a massive russet wolf lopes beside me. He's magnificent, with a thick coat that glows in the dappled sunlight and intelligent eyes that regard me with an intensity that borders on reverence.

As our gazes lock, that same inexplicable sense of familiarity washes over me, a bone-deep recognition that steals my breath away. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the dream shatters, and I'm jolted back into wakefulness, my heart thundering in my chest and my body drenched in a cold sweat.

For a disorienting moment, I can't catch my breath, the weight of the dream lingering like a shroud around my shoulders. But gradually, reality reasserts itself, and I become aware of the soft mattress beneath me, the gentle caress of the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, scrubbing a hand over my face as I try to make sense of the jumbled images and sensations that still cling to the edges of my consciousness. What the hell was that all about?

Before I can dwell on it further, my body calls for its morning coffee. With a sigh, I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my mind already turning toward the prospect of finding some much-needed sustenance.

I look around the room and can’t remember what Cindi said about amenities and my stomach falls when I don’t see anything in the room. Maybe there’s a central kitchen where guests can help themselves somewhere along the corridor?

As I make my way to the door, I can't help but feel self-conscious. I’m only dressed in my sleep clothes, but one glance outside tells me it’s early. Probably too early for other guests to be up and one cup is all I need before I step in the shower and leave town for another day on the road.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob, steeling my resolve before pulling it open and stepping out into the empty corridor. It feels strange, but the need for coffee before leaving town and driving all day is too overwhelming. I’ll need a dose of caffeine in my system before I do that, and preferably as strong as possible.

I pad down the silent corridor, my arms instinctively crossing over my chest as a self-conscious flush steals over me. The thin fabric of my sleep shirt does little to conceal the pebbling of my nipples in the cool air, a fact that has my teeth sinking into my lower lip as I try in vain to preserve some sense of modesty.

It's a futile effort, I know, but old habits die hard. Years of Mark's sneering comments and disdainful glances have left their mark, eroding my confidence and cementing the belief that my body is something to be ashamed of, something to be hidden away from prying eyes.

"Those tits are obscene," he'd sneer, his gaze raking over my ample curves with undisguised disgust. "Can't you do something about them? They're gross."

The memory sends a fresh wave of bitterness washing over me, and I have to fight back the urge to curl in on myself, to shrink and disappear from sight.

How did I not see who he was before that night?

Still, the silence of the empty corridor is unnerving, and I can't help but wonder if I'm the only guest currently occupying the hotel. The thought is both reassuring and unsettling, a strange dichotomy of emotions that leaves me feeling off-kilter and adrift.

As I round the corner and descend the stairs to the main floor, the rich, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee assaults my senses, sending my taste buds into a frenzy of anticipation. My steps quicken, driven by a need for that first, glorious hit of caffeine to kick-start my system.

The scent grows stronger as I near what I assume must be the kitchen. Without a second thought, I grasp the handle and push open the door, already envisioning the steaming mug of bliss that awaits me.

What I'm not prepared for is the sight that greets me.

He's leaning against the counter, one hand curled around a mug of his own as he stares out the window, his broad back to me. Even from this angle, his presence is undeniable, a palpable force that fills every inch of the room with a suffocating intensity.

As the door swings open, he tenses, his shoulders squaring as he turns to face me. And then, our gazes collide, and the world shifts on its axis.

Heat blooms in the pit of my stomach, an insistent ache that has my thighs clenching instinctively as desire courses through my veins like liquid fire. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the air between us crackling with a tangible tension. His gaze rakes over me, lingering on the curves barely concealed by my skimpy sleep clothes and it’s not disgust that flares in the depths of his eyes. It’s heated interest. A flush creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.

Part of me wants to shrink away, to flee from the intensity of his regard and the confusing riot of emotions it stirs within me. But another part, a deeper, more rudimentary part, wants nothing more than to step closer, to bask in the scorching heat of his presence and surrender to the raw need that simmers beneath the surface.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I was looking for…” Just as I'm about to turn and bolt, to retreat to the safety of my room, he moves. It's a subtle shift, a mere flexing of his powerful frame, but it's enough to stop me in my tracks.

"Good morning," he rumbles, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that reverberates in the very depths of my soul.

The words are innocuous enough, a simple greeting, but the way he says them, the weight and timbre of his tone, transforms them into something else entirely. A promise, perhaps. Or a challenge.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as I struggle to find my voice. "I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just looking for…" I manage, the words emerging as a breathless rasp. My gaze skitters around. The kitchen is cozy with plates and jars scattered over a bench bulging with food.

His lips quirk, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he regards me with those smoldering eyes. His gaze drops to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat before flicking back up to meet my eyes. "Let me guess. Coffee?"

Oh god, he’s gorgeous.

“This isn’t a guest kitchen, is it? I’ll go back to my room. I guess I didn’t see the kettle or amenities in there.” I’m mortified. I need to get out of here and yet my feet remain glued to the floor. Through sheer force of will, I move one foot over the threshold.

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