Addicted to her scent

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere

The night was unnaturally quiet. No crickets sang. No wind stirred the branches. The forest surrounding the village had fallen into a silence so deep it pressed against the ears of the lone boy trudging home. He couldn’t have been older than six—barefoot, with dirt caked on his knees, clutching a stick he’d turned into a sword earlier that day.

Abel.

He shouldn’t have been out so late, but he’d lingered too long at the stream, skipping stones until the sky turned purple. By the time he realized how far he’d strayed, the shadows had already stretched too long.

That was when she found him.

A ripple in the air, like heat bending the horizon, and then Skylar stepped into his path. Cloaked in black that swallowed the moonlight, her eyes glimmered a sickly green. To the boy, she looked like nothing he’d ever seen—too tall, too pale, and her smile stretched just a little too wide.

“Lost, are we?” Her voice was velvet wrapped around a blade.

Abel froze. He knew in his guts that this women was danger. Upto no good. He felt it in his bones. The chill... the coldness she carried. Something inside him screamed run, but his legs betrayed him. She crouched low, her long fingers brushing the ground, and tilted her head, studying him like a predator studies prey.

In a blink, the shadows around her coiled like snakes, wrapping around his limbs. His stick-sword clattered uselessly to the dirt. He thrashed, whimpered, but the darkness pulled him toward her.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she whispered as his cries were swallowed by the forest. “You’re not lost. You’re chosen.”

Somewhere in Ithaca

The night was still, painted in silver and shadow. Rosaline Bennett lay tangled in soft white sheets, her chest rising and falling with the calm rhythm of sleep. Her room, a delicate blend of warmth and quiet elegance, breathed with her. Pale curtains swayed faintly by the open window where the cool autumn breeze slipped inside, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and the distant hush of the lake.

Her bed sat beneath that window—carved wood, simple yet timeless, covered in cream linen and a throw the color of dusk. Books were stacked neatly on the nightstand, a journal resting open with half-finished thoughts scribbled in hurried handwriting. A lamp with a soft golden glow stood guard, unlit, as moonlight spilled across the wooden floorboards, casting soft silver patterns.

If she leaned out the window in daylight, she could see the lake—a wide expanse of blue framed by reeds and stone, always just a short walk away. Tonight, it seemed to call to her even through dreams, its waters rippling in the darkness.

Rosaline herself looked peaceful—hazel eyes shut against the world, lashes brushing pale skin, lips slightly parted. Her dark brown hair spilled like ink over the pillow, and the oversized cotton shirt she wore as sleepwear slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her collarbone.

But peace was only on the surface.

The dream began softly, as though she had waded into it without noticing. She stood barefoot on the edge of the lake. Mist curled above the water, pale and heavy, swallowing sound and sight. The world was quiet—too quiet. Even the usual chorus of frogs and crickets was gone.

Something stirred beneath the surface. Ripples spread toward her toes. She tried to step back, but her body wouldn’t move. The water’s reflection began to shift, and instead of her own image staring back, she saw eyes—brilliant, glowing, the color of molten gold. They locked onto hers with a weight that made her chest ache.

Then came the whispers. Countless voices overlapping, carried on the mist, their words broken and impossible to piece together. Yet one stood out, clear and sharp, a woman’s voice—calm but commanding.

“Awaken.”

The lake turned dark, a violent churning black. Lightning flashed across the sky, though no storm had been there moments before. The ground trembled beneath her feet, and she felt heat surge through her veins, unfamiliar and terrifying, like her blood was no longer her own. The golden eyes surged closer—no longer trapped in the reflection but rising from the water itself, coming straight for her.

Her scream tore from her throat—

Rose jerked awake.

The room was still, moonlight spilling softly through the curtains. The faint hum of night sounds returned, and her sheets clung to her skin, damp with sweat. Her breaths came uneven, shallow, and for a long moment, she didn’t move. Her hazel eyes darted to the window, where the lake—distant but visible—glimmered faintly in the darkness, as if mocking her dream.

She pressed her palms against her racing heart. Just a dream, she told herself. Only a dream. But something inside her whispered otherwise.

Morning light seeped through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the wooden floorboards. Rose stirred beneath the covers, her body heavy from restless sleep. She lay still for a moment, listening to the chirp of sparrows and the gentle rustle of trees in the breeze. It should have been a perfect morning—but fragments of the dream clung to her, shadowy and insistent.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up, brushing tangled strands of dark brown hair from her face. The oversized cotton shirt she had worn to bed hung loosely on her frame, and her worn slippers slid onto her feet. She folded the blanket neatly at the end of the bed before heading to the hallway.

The scent of breakfast—freshly baked bread, sizzling eggs, and a hint of rosemary—wafted up the stairs.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Maria’s voice called as Rose stepped into the kitchen. Her mother stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, her long dark hair pinned back carelessly as she plated scrambled eggs. Maria’s olive-toned skin glowed in the morning light, and her calm smile radiated warmth, making the kitchen feel like home.

“Morning, Mom,” Rose murmured, trying to shake the heaviness from her chest. She pulled out a chair at the wooden dining table, sunlight spilling across her hazel eyes.

“You look like you wrestled a storm in your sleep,” Maria teased without looking up. “Rough night?”

Rose blinked, hesitated. “Just… weird dreams.” She rubbed her eyes quickly, brushing it off.

Salina breezed in from the pantry, balancing a stack of toast with ease. Her forest green eyes sparkled, a playful grin on her lips as she said, “Finally! Sleeping Beauty decides to join us.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “More like Nightmare on Elm Street.”

Salina smirked. “That would explain the hair.” She slid into her chair, her loose sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder. “Seriously though, did you pull an all-nighter? You look like you were fighting dragons in your sleep.”

Rose gave a faint smile. “If I was, I clearly lost.”

“Mm. Well, at least you showed up for breakfast,” Salina said, reaching for the butter.

The sound of boots at the door drew their attention. Darian stepped inside, brushing dust from his hands, the morning chill clinging to his dark jacket. His muscular frame and sharp features softened the moment he looked at the girls. “Truck’s acting up again,” he muttered, setting his tools by the doorway. “But breakfast smells too good to miss.”

Maria arched a brow. “You spend more time with that truck than with me.”

Darian leaned down, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “The truck doesn’t complain as much.”

Rose and Salina groaned in unison.

“Ugh, gross,” Salina muttered, covering her eyes dramatically.

“Seriously,” Rose added, wrinkling her nose. “We’re trying to eat here.”

Maria only laughed, setting down the last dish—fluffy eggs steaming in a cast-iron pan. “All right, enough. Sit, Darian, before the girls faint from hunger.”

“Too late,” Salina said, already piling eggs onto her plate.

“You’re not starving, drama queen,” Rose muttered, reaching for the butter.

Darian chuckled, settling into his chair. “Every morning, same war over food. You’d think Maria doesn’t feed you enough.”

“She feeds you too much,” Salina countered with a grin. “You’re the reason we’re always short on bread.”

“Hey now,” Darian said, feigning offense. “A man needs his strength.”

“And we don’t?” Rose arched a brow, passing Maria the salt.

Maria shook her head, amusement shining in her eyes. “Eat, all of you, before this turns into another debate.”

Salina winked at Rose. “Bet you can’t beat me to the last piece of toast.”

Rose grabbed a slice with a triumphant grin. “Challenge accepted.”

Darian groaned, shaking his head. “You two are hopeless. I give up.”

The kitchen buzzed with laughter and chatter. Sunlight streamed across the wooden floor and cabinets, highlighting the rustic charm of the room—the smooth oak countertops, the copper pots hanging above the stove, the soft cushions on the dining chairs. Plates clattered, eggs were passed, and toast disappeared faster than it could be buttered, even as Maria joined in teasing her children between spoonfuls.

Rose let it all seep into her bones, the familiar rhythm of family grounding her. Yet the dream lingered at the edge of her mind, flickering like smoke in a still room, impossible to chase away. She kept it close, a secret tucked beneath her smile, letting the comfort of family wash over her—if only for now.

The morning sun filtered gently through the tall canopy of pines, scattering golden light across the mossy floor of the woods. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant song of birds. Rose tightened the laces of her sneakers, her breath puffing lightly in the cool air, while Selena stretched beside her, already brimming with energy.

The forest clearing was familiar ground, worn smooth by years of sparring. Rose rolled her shoulders, hearing the faint pop, while Selena bounced on her toes, restless and eager.

Darian planted his feet in the center of the clearing, the same way he had since they were ten. His voice carried its usual commanding weight, but beneath it lay the quiet pride of a guardian who had watched them grow.

“Alright,” he said, sweeping his gaze over them. “You know the drill. Counterstrikes. Selena, you attack. Rose, you defend and redirect. No running, no hesitation—flow like we’ve practiced.”

Selena smirked, cracking her knuckles. “I get to hit her first? Finally.”

Rose groaned. “You always get too much joy out of this.”

“Less talking,” Darian cut in, though his mouth twitched with amusement.

“Feet apart. Weight balanced,” he instructed, nudging Rose’s heel with his boot until it slid into place. “A fighter isn’t a tree to be toppled. You bend, you shift, you strike—but you never lose your ground.”

Selena dropped smoothly into position, flashing Rose a smug grin. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” Darian said with approval.

Selena lunged, sharp and quick. Rose blocked, twisting her wrist just as Darian had taught her, redirecting the blow to the side. Their movements were fluid, practiced, almost like a dance. The forest floor bore the scuff marks of a hundred such sessions.

But the next time, Rose was too slow. Selena feinted and jabbed, and Rose flinched, her guard late.

Darian exhaled through his nose. “Again. Don’t just react. Anticipate. Trust yourself.”

Rose tried, but her movements lacked conviction. Her mind kept slipping away—back to the shadows of last night’s dream, the strange whisper she couldn’t shake.

Selena darted forward again, fist cutting through the air. This time Rose didn’t retreat. She pivoted on her heel, caught Selena’s momentum, and slammed her palm into her shoulder with just enough force to send her stumbling.

Selena laughed in surprise. “Whoa! Didn’t see that coming.”

Darian’s lips curved into the faintest smile, pride flickering in his eyes. “Better,” he said firmly. Then his expression sharpened. “But you hesitated before the counter. Your body knows what to do, but your mind is wandering. Why?”

Selena lowered her hands, her teasing edge gone. Her forest-green eyes narrowed with concern as she studied Rose. “You’re distracted. You’ve been off since breakfast. What is it?”

Rose hesitated, lowering her fists as the breeze stirred her dark hair. The dream’s fragments surged—shadowed faces, a pull in her chest, the echo of a voice that wasn’t hers. Her heart skipped.

“It was just… a dream,” she whispered, then shook her head. “No, not just a dream. It wasn’t like anything I’ve had before. It felt… real. Too real. Like something was there with me, but I couldn’t see them. I just felt them—calling me, pulling me somewhere I didn’t recognize.”

Her fingers curled into her palms, knuckles whitening. “When I woke, it didn’t fade. Usually dreams slip away, but this one… it followed me into the morning. It’s still clinging to me. And I can’t shake the feeling that it meant something.”

Selena’s face softened, all humor gone. She reached out, brushing Rose’s arm. “That’s not nothing, Rose. That sounds like more than just a nightmare.”

Darian’s expression darkened, the smallest crease forming between his brows. His voice was steady, but there was a weight in it Rose had never heard before. “A dream that lingers is rarely without meaning,” he murmured, almost to himself. His gaze fixed on her, sharp and searching. “Don’t dismiss it. But don’t let it rule you either. Strength isn’t just in your fists—it’s in your clarity.”

Rose swallowed, her chest tight but her spirit steadied by their presence. Selena gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, smiling softly. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone.”

The woods seemed to breathe with them, the rustle of leaves echoing Darian’s next command. “Back to stance. Rose, this time you lead. Show me the fire you’ve got hidden inside.”

Rose inhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders. For the first time that morning, her fists didn’t feel so heavy. With Selena at her side and Darian guiding, she stepped forward, ready to try again.

Selena grinned, shaking out her arms. “Show me you’re still awake in there.”

Rose exhaled, lifting her guard. Selena charged. Instinct surged through Rose—her body moving before thought could interfere. She sidestepped, pivoted, and drove her palm into Selena’s shoulder with sharp precision.

Selena stumbled back, laughter spilling out of her. “Okay! That’s more like it.”

Darian’s eyes gleamed, his approval unmistakable. “Better,” he said again, this time with pride. “That’s the Rose I know.”

As the echoes of laughter faded and the forest settled into quiet again, a sudden chill ran down Rose’s spine. She glanced at the lake visible through the trees in the distance, and for a fraction of a second, the surface seemed to ripple—not from wind, but as if something beneath it had stirred. Her pulse quickened, and a whisper, faint and indistinct, brushed the edges of her mind..

Its surface rippled once.

Then again.

But this time, the water didn’t just move; it parted.

For an instant, she saw a boy there—barefoot, knees dirty, clutching a stick like a sword. He was staring back at her with wide, terrified eyes. She didn’t know his name, yet somehow she did, the way you know a memory that isn’t yours.

Her breath caught.

The whispers returned, curling in her mind like cold smoke.

Rose staggered back, heart hammering. “Did you hear that?” she blurted, looking between Darian and Selena.

They both froze—Selena mid-step, Darian’s expression tightening into something she’d never seen before. Not fear, not confusion, but recognition.

“Rose,” Darian said carefully, stepping toward her. “What did you hear?”

But she couldn’t answer. The boy in the lake was gone, the water calm again, reflecting only sky and trees. Yet the echo of his wide eyes—golden now, glowing—burned behind her lids.

Rose’s fingers curled into fists. She could still feel the pull, the same invisible thread from the dream, tugging at her chest.

Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, a boy’s scream tore through the dark.

And Rose—standing in the sunlight of Ithaca—heard it as clear as if he were right beside her

She shook her head, trying to dismiss it. Just your imagination, she told herself. Yet deep down, a prickle of unease lingered. Whatever had reached for her … it wasn’t done.