The Messenge (Iva and Nick) novel Chapter 385

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Facing Her Nightmate

Facing Her Nightmare

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e evening settled over the abbey like a soft blanket, the last rays of sunlight fading into a deep, velvety blue. The sounds of the nuns’ evening prayers drifted through the ancient stone walls, a gentle hum of devotion that usually brought Iva a sense of peace. Tonight, however, the familiar sounds did little to calm the storm within her.

She stood by the small window in her room, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes fixed on

the darkening sky. The weight of Sister Margaret’s words pressed on her mind like a stone, heavy

and insistent.

*In the end, it’s just a dream. It cannot hurt you.*

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that the nightmare that had been haunting her for months was nothing more than a figment of her exhausted mind, a shadow that would dissipate if she simply had the courage to face it.

But the thought of facing that dark presence sent dread coursing through her veins.

She turned away from the window and crossed to the small crib where Youssef lay sleeping. Her son’s face was peaceful, his tiny lips parted, his chest rising and falling with the gentle rhythm of

sleep.

He looked so innocent, so untouched by the darkness that haunted his mother’s nights.

Iva reached down and brushed her fingers against his soft cheek.

“Sleep well, my little love,” she whispered. “Mama will be right here.”

She changed into her sleeping clothes and climbed into bed. The sheets were cool against her skin, the pillow soft beneath her head.

She lay in the darkness, her eyes open, her mind racing.

She thought about Nick. About her father. About the life she had left behind.

She wondered what they were doing, if they were looking for her, if they had given up hope.

Leaving them had been the hardest decision she had ever made.

Despite everything-the pressure, the demands, the way they had tried to control her-they had been her family. Her only connection to the world she had known.

But coming to the human world, to the abbey, had been the best decision she could have taken. Here, there was no running. No hiding. No fear of being discovered. She was just another woman, another mother, another soul trying to find her way.

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Fang Her Nightmare

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She had no wolf. She was packless. She was on the run. That was no life. It was an existence, a

survival.

But here, she had found something else.

Peace. Stability. A chance to heal.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

The nightmare came as it always did.

She was in the forest again.

The trees rose around her, their branches twisted and gnarled, their leaves dark and foreboding. The air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

She knew she was dreaming. The recognition came to her immediately, a small flicker of awareness that she was not in the waking world.

But knowing it was a dream did not diminish the fear.

She felt it before she saw it-the presence, the intensity, the primal awareness of being watched. Her skin prickled, her breath caught, and she felt her heart begin to pound.

A low growl rumbled through the darkness, deep and threatening, vibrating through the ground beneath her feet.

And then, he appeared.

He emerged from the shadows, his massive form towering over her-two meters tall, maybe more, a wall of raw power and muscle covered in dark fur. His eyes glowed with a fierce, ancient light, and his aura was suffocating, pressing down on her like a physical weight.

A Lycan.

The sight of him sent a bolt of pure terror through her body, and before she could think, her feet were carrying her away, running through the dark forest, her lungs burning, her heart pounding.

The chase began.

She ran and ran, her legs pumping, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The creature followed, his footsteps heavy and relentless, his growls echoing through the trees.

*You cannot run from me.*

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Faung Her Nightmare

The words echoed in her mind, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of something else.

*Stop.

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The advice from Sister Margaret surfaced in her mind, a small voice of reason in the chaos of her

fear.

*In the end, it’s just a dream. It cannot hurt you. What if you stop and face it?*

She slowed her steps.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her body was trembling, every instinct screaming at her to keep running, to escape, to survive.

But she forced herself to stop.

She turned slowly, her breath hitching in her throat.

He was right behind her.

The beast loomed over her, his massive form blocking out the pale light of the moon. His eyes burned into hers, dark and intense, and she felt a painful squeeze in her chest as she recognized

them.

They were the same eyes as her son’s.

Youssef’s eyes.

This man-this creature-was his father.

The realization hit her like a thunderbolt, stealing her breath and making her knees weak.

She had always known, on some level, that the presence in her dreams was connected to her son. But seeing it face to face, seeing the undeniable resemblance, was like a wound being ripped

open.

He stepped toward her, his gaze never leaving hers.

She wanted to run. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to get away, to protect herself.

But she forced herself to stand her ground.

He took another step, and she took one step back.

A low growl of disapproval rumbled from his chest, a warning that made her blood run cold.

Before she could react, he moved.

His arm shot out, powerful and unyielding, and pulled her against his chest. She felt the heat of his

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Fang Her Nightmare

body, the strength of his grip, the raw power that radiated from him like a furnace.

A scream of surprise tore from her throat.

And then, she woke up.

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Iva sat bolt upright in bed, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon.through the window.

The sheets were twisted around her legs, and she was trembling violently.

She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thud of her heart.

She had faced him.

She had stopped running.

And he had grabbed her.

The feeling of his arms around her was still fresh, still vivid, still terrifying.

But beneath the fear, there was something else.

Something she couldn’t quite name.

She looked at the small crib where Youssef slept, his face peaceful, his breathing steady.

“Your father,” she whispered. “I saw him.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

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