Chapter 77: Echoes of Fire
Trishelle’s POV
The surgery was a success. The words washed over her raw nerves like a cool balm, bringing blessed relief. Orderlies wheeled Bradley into his private room, his face pale and still beneath the lingering influence of anesthesia. Trishelle clasped her hands together, offering a silent prayer of thanks, then brushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. Her fingers trembled slightly as they made contact with his skin. He was alive. He was going to be alright. The knot of fear that had been tightening in her chest for hours finally began to loosen. She nodded her thanks at Lorenzo, who swayed on his feet, looking ready to collapse.
She crossed to Sam, who had just returned to the room. "Is there somewhere the doctor and his wife can rest?" Her voice came out soft but clear, despite her exhaustion.
Sam nodded, gesturing down the hall. "Of course, Luna. I’ll see to it." He led the exhausted couple away, giving quiet instructions to a pair of warriors to escort them to the hotel. Lorenzo paused at the doorway, his gaze serious and professional despite his obvious fatigue. "Call me the second he wakes up. Or if anything - anything at all - happens that shouldn’t."
"I will," Trishelle promised, giving a small wave before slipping back into the room.
James stood there, leaning against the far wall like a dark sentinel. He wasn’t sure if he should remain, but the thought of leaving her while she was so distressed was unacceptable to his wolf, to the man. Every protective instinct he possessed demanded he stay.
Trishelle moved to Bradley’s bedside and slowly sank into the plush chair beside him. Her body felt heavy, weighed down by the emotional toll of the past hours. It was over. Now all she needed was for him to wake up and give her that cocky, charming smile that made her heart do a little flip. James approached, his presence a warm shadow, and gently squeezed her shoulders. The simple gesture of comfort nearly undid her composure. She turned her head slightly, placing one of her hands over his, squeezing back. He tried to coax her back to the couch, but she shook her head, a stubborn set to her jaw. She had been separated from Bradley for long enough.
"I’m going to talk with Sam about our rooms and see if there are any updates on the attack," James said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Trishelle just nodded, unable to tear her gaze from Bradley’s still form. James leaned down, placing a lingering kiss on the top of her head. The paternal gesture brought fresh tears to her eyes, though she blinked them away. She knew Bradley would be asleep for hours yet, so she wriggled deeper into the chair, determined not to move from that spot until he awoke. Nothing short of another attack would drag her away from his side.
***
Trishelle’s POV
She found herself in a beautiful garden, one that felt achingly familiar, like a half-remembered song from childhood. Colorful streamers were woven through the trees and strung on poles, fluttering in the gentle evening breeze. It was somebody’s birthday. She could hear laughter, smell something sweet baking. She turned this way and that, seeing lots of tall people, but their faces were blurred, smudged like a watercolor painting left in the rain. A familiar voice called her name, warm and loving, but she couldn’t place it. It sounded like an old friend, or perhaps something more.
She ran, her little legs pumping with childish excitement, and the person - a woman with a warm laugh that felt like home - scooped her up and spun her around. Joy, pure and unadulterated, bubbled up inside her, making her giggle with abandon. She felt safe. She felt loved. But in the next breath, the sky turned black, choked with smoke, except for an angry orange glow that grew with every passing second. The transformation was instantaneous, violent. It grew bigger and bigger until a roaring wall of fire consumed everything in its path. She could hear the screams of so many people, their terror piercing the air, and the stench of blood and burning wood filled her nostrils. The trees that were moments before so colorful and festive were now black skeletons bathed in fire and smoke.
She cried, calling for someone, someone who mattered, someone important who would make the scary world alright again, if only they would come and hold her like they did before. Her small voice cracked with desperation.
Trishelle could feel the searing heat of the flames on her skin even as her cheeks cooled with her tears. Her eyes burned from the smoke, and she wiped at them with a small fist, trying to see better through the chaos. Her small voice was drowned out by the cacophony of screams, but then, one by one, those voices stopped. The silence that followed was somehow worse than the screaming. A dark figure emerged from the smoke and fire, heading straight for her with purposeful strides. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that "it" was not a friend. Terror seized her small body. She turned and fled into the darkness of the nearby woods, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.
The light from the blaze helped at first, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to chase her. But as she got further away, an impenetrable darkness swallowed her tiny body. She tripped over an exposed root, falling hard enough to scrape her knees and palms, but a voice inside her head - a voice that wasn’t her own - kept telling her to run. And she did. She didn’t know the voice, but she knew it could be trusted. It was the only thing keeping her from giving up entirely. Finally, her exhausted body found a hollow tree, and she ducked inside, curling herself as small as possible. The rough bark pressed against her back. She silently cried for the one person she wished for desperately, the one person who could make everything better. "Mama...."
***
Bradley’s POV
Bradley was dragged from the white, painless void by the sound of small whimpers and the incessant, nagging pull of his wolf. His wolf was agitated, pacing and growling, demanding he wake up. The first thing he noticed as consciousness returned was the pain - a deep, throbbing fire in his side that made him want to sink back into oblivion. The second was the scent of his mate, and her fear. That scent cut through the pain like a knife, sharpening his focus instantly.
His eyes flew open. He turned his head carefully, taking a moment to piece together the past few days - the attack, the silver burning through his system, the surgery. The memories came in fragments, disjointed and hazy. He felt a slight weight on his hand and realized Trishelle had fallen asleep in the chair, her head resting on the edge of his bed, her hand clutching his as if afraid he might disappear. She whimpered again, her body trying to curl into a tight ball despite the awkward position.
The door burst open, and James rushed in, a look of sheer panic on his face. His eyes fell on the sleeping woman, and worry etched deep lines onto his brow. At Bradley’s sharp, questioning look, he lifted one shoulder in a helpless gesture. "I could feel my pup’s distress through the bond," he explained, his voice rough with concern.
Bradley’s retort died on his lips as she whimpered again, the scent of her fear sharpening in the air, becoming almost palpable. It was the kind of fear that spoke of true terror, not just a simple nightmare.
Both men looked at her, wondering what kind of nightmare could cause such profound terror. Bradley reached out, pushing the damp hair from her face, shocked at the tears that streamed silently down her pale cheeks. Her skin was clammy to the touch. James stepped closer, gently shaking her shoulder. "Trishelle. Wake up," he said softly, trying not to startle her.
She whimpered again, a small, broken sound that tore at both their hearts. "Mama..."
James pulled back as if he’d been struck, his shock mirroring Bradley’s own. The word hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. All he knew was that she was found alone in the woods as a small child. In all the years she’d lived at Bloodmoon, he’d never heard her speak of her parents. They all just assumed she was abandoned, a tragic but not unheard-of fate for an omega pup. But this - this sounded like something far worse than simple abandonment.
James shook her again, a little more firmly this time. "Trishelle, wake up. It’s a dream. You’re safe."
Her eyes flew open, wide and dark with lingering shadows of whatever horror she’d witnessed. Trishelle rubbed at them, the hazy darkness of the nightmare fading slowly in the gentle light of the room. For a moment, she seemed confused, disoriented, her breathing rapid and shallow. But at the sound of Bradley’s voice, rough and weak, calling her name, she turned to him. Recognition flooded her features. She launched herself out of the chair and into his arms, careful of his injured side but unable to restrain herself any longer. She began to cry, but this time it was in relief, in the overwhelming joy of him being awake at last.
Grabbing his face in her hands, she gave him a long, deep kiss. It was a kiss that held all her relief, all her fear, and all the desperate longing of the past weeks. She poured it all into him, right there in front of James, uncaring of propriety or decorum. Bradley’s body responded instantly, a fire that had nothing to do with his wounds stirring in his gut. He enjoyed it, savored the taste of her, but he pushed her back long before he wanted to. He needed to know what haunted her dreams. The fear he’d scented was too real, too visceral to ignore.
With one last, soft kiss, he gently pushed her far enough away to look into her tear-filled eyes. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, wiping away the moisture there. "I’m glad to see you too, my mate," he said, his voice raspy from disuse. "But what I want to know is what you were dreaming about." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Why were you crying, calling for your mother?"