Ours To Protect

POV - Hazel

“DEREK! WAIT!” I scream at the top of my lungs—my voice so shrill it barely sounds like my own. He’s sprinting down the stairs of what looks like a subway station, his grip on my wrist iron-tight, practically dragging me along as my feet scramble to keep up with his breakneck pace.

The screechy sound of an incoming train meets us at the bottom of the stairs, and Derek speeds up even faster in the direction of the platform, swiftly avoiding the to-be-passengers who are hurrying in the same direction.

Screams erupt behind me. I risk a glance over my shoulder, praying I won’t trip at this deadly speed—and freeze. People in black, guns raised and ready to fire, are barreling down the stairs. Their target? Us.

“DEREK! THEY’RE HERE!” I shout again. But this time it feels strange. That’s not what I was going to say at all, I was thinking something on the lines of “what the fuck is going on?”.

It’s a surreal, out-of-body sensation: I’m here, but I’m not in control. Like I’m watching myself through a fog.

Derek shoves me through the train’s sliding doors, yanking me back to the present. I scramble for the nearest pole, barely avoiding a face-plant on the grimy floor.

The train’s warning chime blares—doors closing soon. But instead of climbing in beside me, Derek pauses. He gives me a smile—sweet, loving, and laced with soul-crushing regret—before spinning around and pulling his gun out.

I open my mouth to call him, but the doors slam shut. He sprints toward our pursuers, firing three quick shots. One man drops, a crimson stain blooming on his chest, but the other two keep coming. Before I can track the movement, Derek is thrown to the ground—too fast, too brutal for me to see how.

NO, NO, NO, Derek, get up! Why isn’t he shifting?

“DEREK!” I yell again, in that same high-pitched voice, not caring about the stares that I get from the other passengers, all I can see is him, prone on the platform.

The train lurches forward, metal wheels scraping against tracks. Horror roots me to the spot as the two men pin Derek down. One presses a gun to his forehead. He struggles, muscles straining, but before he can break free, the woman pulls the trigger—no hesitation, no mercy.

The gunshot echoes through the underground station, loud enough to feel like a dozen. In less than a second, the love of my life is gone.

Derek lies limp, blood gushing from the wound in his head, soaking his white shirt crimson. The train picks up speed, and his body shrinks into a blur as we pull away. His killers sprint toward the tracks, firing wildly—at me, at the train, desperate to stop us—but it’s too late. We disappear into the dark tunnel leading to the next station.

I wish they’d hit me. Because as the reality of what just happened sinks in, I’m not sure I can survive this agony.

“Derek.”

…

I jolt awake in my plush bed, face and hair soaked with tears. Confusion and disorientation wash over me, followed by a gut-wrenching ache. What was that? A dream? Goddess, please—don’t let it be a premonition. Don’t let it be a mission. I beg you.

I roll onto my side, craving my mate’s comfort, but his spot is empty. Cold.  He left a while ago.

The dream floods back—Derek in a pool of his own blood—and terror clamps down on my chest. But it’s short-lived. The bedroom door slams open, and Derek bursts in, fists clenched, ready to fight any threat.

When he sees only me, he crosses the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed. He checks me for injuries, his hands gentle but urgent. Satisfied I’m unharmed, he cups my face, his voice tight with worry. “Are you okay? What happened? I felt your fear.”

Relief crashes over me. He’s alive. I throw myself into his arms, hugging him so tight I’m afraid I’ll crush him, not saying anything, just basking in his delicious and comforting scent.

“Now I’m really worried.” He presses his lips to my hair, rubbing my back softly. “What’s wrong, kitten?”

I hesitate. It might’ve just been a dream—no sense scaring him over nothing. But if it was more… he needs to know. He needs to be alert.

“I had a dream…” I start uncertainly, and he immediately pulls back to stare into my eyes.

“A dream… or a vision?”

“Well, about that, I am not sure. Everything was so chaotic, and it felt real, but I don’t know, I had a different feeling from my previous visions. This time, I wasn’t just a shadow witnessing things, this time I was me, and you were there too, and when they shot you…” A sob escapes me. “The pain was so bad it felt like I was choking.”

Derek lifts me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me in a protective embrace. “I’m here. I’m fine. Tell me everything.”

And just like that, I told him everything I had witnessed, I struggled a little with the part where he died, but I kept reminding myself that it didn’t actually happen.

While recounting the facts, little details came to my mind, stuff that didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t know, I feel like there are too many incongruences to be a vision. For starters, why haven’t we used our powers to defend ourselves? Why haven’t we shifted? We could have definitely outrun them, if they were indeed humans. And a normal gunshot, even to the head, can’t kill a werewolf,” Derek explains patiently, trying not to make my concern sound silly, but still laying it all out there.

“I know.” I nod, wiping my tears. “The subway looked weird, too—older than the ones here. And my voice… it was so high-pitched. Not mine. You looked older, too.”

“So, maybe, it was just a dream,” Derek says hopefully.

“Yeah, probably it was,” I reply a little resignedly. It’s not that I want this to be a vision, but I just feel like there’s more to it, call it a sixth sense or something, I just can’t shake that feeling away.

“But, I will be careful, I promise; I won’t take the subway for a while.”

“You never take the subway.” I snort, teasing him to lighten the mood. “You have drivers. A helicopter. I doubt you’ve ever set foot on one in your life. Silver spoon baby.”

“Hey, here I am soothing you because you had a bad dream, and you go all meany kitten on me. That’s not fair. And, by the way, we both know that dream has very little to do with your powers and much to do with the Mission impossible’s marathon you had going on yesterday evening. I couldn’t sleep for hours with all the explosions.” He nuzzles my neck. “And werewolves are way cooler than that secret agent poser.”

He's cute when he gets all worked up, I can’t help teasing him a little more.

“True. But that tailored black suit? The motorcycle? Kinda sexy, don’t you think?” I bat my eyes innocently.

“I wear suits every day, and I can ride a motorbike too!” he protests indignantly.

“Can you?” I murmur, sliding into a straddling position. My fingers trace the lines of his firm chest. “What else can werewolves do?”

His expression sobers. His strong hands wrap around my wrists, holding them gently but firmly. “You’re teasing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” I grin, laughing softly.

“Then I’ll show you what else werewolves can do!”

In a heartbeat he has me flipped on my back on the bed, his large frame hovering over mine. His glowing blue eyes want to devour me, and I immediately feel that thrill of fear and excitement that always preludes our intimate encounters.

“Show me what you can do, Wolfie,” I taunt.

And he doesn’t disappoint.