An Alpha and a witch, one cruel, one kind. Who will win and who will lose in this mateship? Will they come out of it hand-in-hand or part ways when the truth is revealed?
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My dreams were filled with bluebirds.
They were fluttering with excitement and chirping sweetly and continuously as if they were trying to pass along a message while they whizzed back and forth between the treetops, their deep blue feathers and rusty bellies a stark contrast against the emerald leaves.
I raised my hand with my palm facing the sky and watched in awe as a small male thrush hovered over it briefly before resting on my fingertips. He chirped softly and pecked at my skin as I lifted my other hand cautiously to pet his back.
And the moment my fingertips made contact with his soft plumage, I knew exactly who this bluebird belonged to.
Uncle Amos.
He used to call me his little bluebird, a sign from the angels that not all the rays of light in his life had dimmed with the death of his wife. It was the reason I had gotten a little bluebird tattooed on my hip; it was a symbol of hope, happiness, and prosperity.
And I knew this was his way of telling me that everything was looking up and that he would be beside me every step of the way, if not physically, spiritually.
As my bluebird of happiness.
***
My eyes flickered open, and I found myself staring at the clean white ceiling of my hospital room with a tiny smile on my face.
I was finally at peace.
But my moment of self-realization came to an end as the door swung open and an extremely excited Reece filled my sight.
"You're awake!" She exclaimed, helping me up as she saw me struggling to sit up straight. She pushed the pillow upright against my back and leaned me back slowly.
I blinked as the light hit me from a new angle and cleared my throat, "Wa–water."
"Way ahead of you," she smiled, holding up a paper cup with a metal straw. I took it from her hands and pulled the straw up to my lips, relishing in the fresh water as it soothed my dry throat.
As I guzzled the water down, I glanced at Reece from under my eyelashes with a questioning look, silently asking her what had happened.
"The doc cleaned your neck up," she explained, pointing at the gauze, "He said the skin may heal, but only time will tell since you're not exactly a werewolf. But other than that, your vitals look good, and you should be up and running in no time."
I nodded slowly and placed the cup on the table beside me, stretching lazily, "It'll take more than a heat cycle to take me out."
"We honestly thought we lost you," she said, shaking her head grimly, "It's practically unheard of for a mark to disappear."
My fingers trailed to the wound on my neck, and I furrowed my eyebrows, recalling the scorching sensation that had become unbearable at one point.
I dropped my hand back into my lap and shuddered lightly, "I'd rather not remember it."
