I Met My Fated Alpha Inside a Dream

The rest of the school day passed in a blur of paranoia. I avoided Owen in the halls, bolted out the front doors at the final bell, and hid in my bedroom until the sun went down. Exhaustion finally dragged me under.

My eyes snapped open. The heavy scent of damp wood and rain hit my nose.

I sat in the ragged armchair. The storm still raged outside, rattling the thin glass of the cabin windows.

Owen crouched right in front of me. His fingers hovered over my torn shoulder, holding the battered tin box of paste. He hadn't moved an inch. It was the exact position we were in when the clock struck one the night before. Like a paused video game.

"Have you been waiting here this whole time?" I blurted out.

Owen blinked, lowering his hands. "No. I just fell asleep in my dorm."

"So it resumes right where it left off."

"Looks like it." He scooped a fresh glob of the foul-smelling medicine and pressed it to my skin.

I winced, gripping the armrest. "I thought you were done."

"Almost." He wiped his fingers on his dark jeans. "What's your full name?"

"Vivian. Vivian Miller." I watched his jaw clench. "Why?"

"Because if we're stuck in this shared hallucination, I need to know who I'm dealing with. I'm eighteen. I graduate next month."

"From Oak Creek High?" I challenged. "Because you just transferred there."

Owen shook his head, leaning back on his heels. "Oak Creek is my cover. My real school is an academy for our kind. Everyone there shifts."

"Into wolves."

"Yes." He crossed his arms, his golden eyes scanning my face. "It's a strict hierarchy. Alphas lead. Betas enforce. Omegas serve. If you went there, you'd be at the absolute bottom. An Omega who can't even shift? You'd be a joke."

I shoved myself out of the chair, ignoring the dull throb in my shoulder. "You think you're so superior."

"I'm an Alpha."

"You're a freak!" I shouted, pointing a finger at his chest. "If you turned into a giant, hairy beast in the middle of Oak Creek High, nobody would bow to you. They'd call animal control. You'd be isolated. A monster."

Owen stood up. He towered over me, his expression twisting into a harsh sneer. He stepped into my space, casting a long shadow over my face.

"Watch your mouth, Vivian."

"Or what? You'll bite me?"

His hands curled into fists at his sides. The air between us grew thick and hot. I refused to back down, lifting my chin to maintain eye contact.

"Enough," he snapped, turning his back to me. He paced toward the dusty table. "Fighting wastes energy. We need to figure out why this is happening."

"Do you have any brilliant Alpha ideas?"

"I know how we get out," he said, tapping the wooden surface. He pointed up at the rusted clock above the doorframe. "I watched it last night. The second the minute hand hits the twelve, the dream ends."

I followed his gaze. The hands read 12:45.

"One o'clock," I murmured.

"Exactly. We just have to survive until one."

"There's no Rogue outside tonight," I noted, listening to the relentless rain.

"Then we sit here and wait."

I sank back into the armchair. Owen leaned against the opposite wall. Neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by the ticking clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The minute hand clicked onto the twelve.

The cabin dissolved into absolute blackness.

***

I woke up staring at my bedroom ceiling. My alarm blared. 5:00 AM.

I threw off the covers and marched straight downstairs. My parents sat at the kitchen island, sipping coffee.

"Mom. Dad. I need to see a doctor."

My mother set her mug down, her brow furrowing. "Vivian? Are you sick?"

"I need a psychiatrist," I stated, pulling out a stool. "I'm having recurring nightmares. Shared nightmares. I think I'm losing my mind."

My father exchanged a worried glance with her. "Shared with who?"

"A boy from school. It's too real. I feel the pain when I wake up."

By three o'clock that afternoon, I sat on a leather couch in a sterile, white office. Dr. Aris clicked his pen, adjusting his silver glasses.

"High school is a demanding environment, Vivian," he said in a calm, practiced tone. "Transfer students can disrupt the social dynamic. Your brain is translating that daytime stress into a nighttime narrative."

"He turns into a wolf, Dr. Aris. He patches up my wounds."

"Classic anxiety manifestation. The wolf represents your fear of the unknown. The healing represents your desire for control." He scribbled on a prescription pad and tore off the sheet. "Take one of these before bed. It will suppress the REM cycle. No dreams."

I took the paper. "Thank you."

***

The pills didn't work.

That night, I opened my eyes to the same damp cabin, the same endless storm, the same golden-eyed boy.

"Medicine didn't help?" Owen asked, smirking from his spot against the wall.

"Shut up."

We fell into a bizarre routine. Every night, I took the doctor's pill. Every night, I woke up in the cabin. We didn't try to leave. We didn't fight the Rogues. We just sat on opposite sides of the room and waited for the clock to strike one.

"Do you ever get tired of the rain?" I asked on Thursday, staring out the grime-covered window.

"It washes away the scent of predators," Owen replied, sharpening a piece of broken wood with a pocketknife. "I prefer it."

"You prefer sitting in a rotting box?"

"I prefer not getting eaten."

By Sunday, the fear had faded into sheer boredom. A full week of sitting in the dark, waiting for the clock to save us.

"Do you think we'll be doing this when we're eighty?" I asked, tracing a circle in the dust on the armrest.

Owen sat on the floor, tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it. "I'll be an Alpha running a territory. I won't have time to sit in a cabin with a human."

"I'm not human, remember? I'm an Omega."

He caught the pebble and held it tight. "You don't act like one."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I glanced up at the rusted clock. The hands read 12:59. "Well, time to go back to reality. See you in history class."

"Don't copy my notes tomorrow," he warned playfully.

The minute hand ticked forward.

It hit the twelve. One o'clock.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the familiar plunge into darkness. I braced myself for the blast of my 5:00 AM alarm.

Nothing happened.

The heavy rain continued to drum against the roof. The cold draft swept across my ankles, raising goosebumps on my skin.

I opened my eyes.

I was still sitting in the armchair.

Owen was still sitting on the floor.

He stared at the clock, his posture completely rigid. The pebble slipped from his fingers and clattered against the wooden boards.

"Owen?" My voice trembled.

The minute hand ticked past the twelve. 1:01.

We didn't wake up.