Being back in his room felt nice. Being so close yet so far away from her was bittersweet. He loved the fact he could cross that hall and be there if she needed him. But he hated that he had to cross the hall.
He laid down in his bed and closed his eyes, knowing sleep often eluded him, but he had a ritual. If only he could use the spells Callum taught him on himself. Things would be so much easier. His mind drifted to her, as it always did.
This girl was going to be the end of him. She brought him peace. He didn't deserve to be at peace. But he was.
He didn't register when he had fallen asleep, but he knew he was as soon as he saw him.
His father looked just like he had when he died, just with fewer white hairs.
"Harlan."
They were at the old house in his study. He was kneeling in front of him. He demanded others kneel in his presence like he was some sort of crooked king.
"Did you do what I asked?"
He looked down at his blood-stained hands.
"I did." He had murdered that innocent man and felt nothing. "For you, Father."
"Good boy," he said, coming closer, petting him on the head like an animal. The thing that made him sick was how loved and appreciated he felt at the moment.
"And the girls?"
He looked away. "They escaped," with Damien's help, he found out later.
The hand on his head stopped, and he trembled because he knew what would come next.
"You pathetic, useless child," he uttered in disappointment, slowly moving to grip him around the neck. He did it so hard he was having a hard time breathing.
"Father, please," he started, his voice barely coming out.
Soon enough, his beta and strongest gamma came in and dragged him. Down, down, down.
And into the dungeon he came. Chains around his wrists and ankles, and an injection filled with aconite so that he couldn't fight. Couldn't do much of anything, really.
The liquid burned as it circulated throughout his body, making every nerve react to the pain. He wished this was the worst part, but he knew what came next.
The torture.
Breaking his bones and not resetting them, and they healed crooked. So they broke them again. And again.
"This will make you stronger," his father always said while he did it. As if this had any excuse. As if this was a good thing.
All he could feel was the pain. Everything hurt so much. Everything burned.
"Stop!" he screamed, but they didn't.
"Please," he begged, but they continued.
"Harlan."
He heard the faintest voice. He knew that voice.
"Harlan!"
He clung onto that voice as if it was a thread that could bring him back.
"Harlan!"
The voice, her voice, sounded desperate and worried.
"Maya," was all he could say before he opened his eyes and jolted awake. There was a figure peering over him, and before he could think about what he was doing he grabbed it and pinned it to the bed.
"Harlan," the figure; girl, said calmly, hands pinned above her head. "You are safe. It was just a dream."
He was confused, and he examined her face. Her soft features, her almond eyes, her curly hair.
Maya.
His father was dead. This was Maya.
And he was pinning her to the bed.
"Maya," he said as he got off her and sat on his legs.
Fuck. He was an idiot.
"I'm sorry," he looked around, further convincing himself he was no longer in that awful dungeon.
"It's okay."
She got up and came closer, stroking soothing circles on his back.
He started grounding himself.
This was the pack house. This is our room. What? No. This was his room.
"What are you doing here?"
"I heard you screaming from my room. I got worried," she said with a concerned look.
"You have to stop worrying about me. I'm fine," he lied.
"How often do you have nightmares this intense?" Suddenly she was in doctor mode.
"Not often." Just every night.
"I don't believe that at all," she confessed, grabbing his face and looking deep into his eyes.
"What are you doing?"
"You were so dissociated I bet you had no idea where you were. It took you longer to realize you were not in a dream, yet right now you seem unfazed. Are you used to it?"
He really didn't want to talk about this.
"I'm fine, Maya. You can go back to bed now," he said, rolling his eyes and scooting away from her.
"Fine." She stared at his chest for a moment. "Don't you get cold?" She blushed, and he remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt.
"Nope, I'm hot all the time." He smirked, and she looked extremely flustered. Suddenly all of the remaining panic subsided. It was like she was a beacon of light sending his shadows away.
"Good night," she said, getting up from his bed.
God damn him for what he did next.
Before he could think about it, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back to the bed. He now hugged her to him as he whispered,
"Stay."
He could hear her heartbeat. It was faster than normal, and his heart was beating faster too. He knew he was going to regret this. That this wasn't okay. That the more he indulged his obsession the more he would want to be near her.
But he kept promising himself.
Just for tonight.
"W-why?" she asked, her thoughts racing.
"Because you keep the shadows away."