Chapter 2: Dreams and Confessions
Rey jolted upright, a gasp tearing from her throat. The phantom sensation of hands—large, warm, impossibly gentle—still burned on her skin. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, trapped thing. The small room was silent except for the ragged sound of her own breathing. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, painting silver stripes across her tangled comforter.
It had felt so real. The weight of him, the heat. The low, resonant murmur of his voice in the dark, words she couldn’t quite grasp but whose meaning had seeped into her bones, promising a surrender that should have terrified her but instead left her aching and hollow. She pressed the heels of her hands against her closed eyes, as if she could push the memory out. It was just a dream. A stupid, biological reaction to a dominant Alpha’s pheromones. That was all.
She swung her legs out of bed, the worn floorboards cool under her bare feet. She didn't bother with the light. In the kitchen, she gulped down a glass of water, trying to wash the taste of him from her mouth. It didn’t work.
Hours later, the sun was a harsh glare on the oil-stained concrete of the garage bay. Rey fumbled with a torque wrench, her grip slippery. The bolt she was trying to loosen on the ancient X-wing engine didn’t budge. She swore under her breath, her hands trembling with a fine, persistent shake that had nothing to do with the stubborn machinery.
“You’re going to strip the head if you keep that up,” Maz’s voice came from behind her, calm and knowing.
Rey dropped the wrench into the toolbox with a loud clatter. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm, leaving a smudge of grease. “It’s stuck.”
“The bolt isn’t the only thing that’s stuck.” Maz leaned against the workbench, her gaze sharp behind her thick glasses. She didn’t say anything else, just waited. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of city traffic.
The words tumbled out of Rey in a rushed, quiet confession. “I went to that fight club. The one in the old warehouse district.”
Maz’s expression didn’t change. “I know you did, kid. I can smell the desperation on you from here. What happened?”
“There was… an Alpha.” Rey’s throat tightened. She looked down at her greasy hands, focusing on the lines of her palms. “He wasn’t fighting. He just… watched. And he knew. He looked right at me and he knew. Through the blockers and everything.”
“Kylo Ren.” Maz said the name like it was a fact, not a question.
A cold dread trickled down Rey’s spine. “You know him?”
“Everyone in this sector knows of him. He’s not the kind of man you want noticing you.” Maz pushed her glasses up her nose. “What did he do?”
“He called me ‘Little Omega.’ Told me I didn’t belong there.” Rey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He told me to run along home. Said he’d be seeing me soon.” The memory of his low, possessive whisper sent a shiver through her that was entirely separate from fear. That was the worst part.
Maz let out a long, slow breath. “Well, that’s that, then.”
“What’s that?” Rey asked, her chest constricting.
“You’re his now. He’s made his claim. An Alpha like that doesn’t make idle threats. It’s a statement of intent.”
“No.” The denial was immediate, fierce. “I’m not anyone’s. I don’t care what he says or what he smells. I’m not property.”
“It’s not about property, Rey. It’s about nature. His nature, and yours. You can fight it, but it will cost you.” Maz’s tone was gentle, which made the words cut deeper. “He’s not going to forget you.”
As if on cue, a shadow fell across the open bay door. A car, long and sleek and black as a deep-space void, idled at the curb. Its windows were tinted to opacity, but the one closest to them was rolled down just a crack.
Enough.
The scent hit her first, even from twenty feet away. Dark coffee, cedarwood, and something else, something wild and electric that was uniquely, undeniably him. It cut through the garage’s smells of oil and metal like a knife. Her body went rigid. Her lungs seized. Every instinct she had screamed at once—to run, to hide, to bare her throat.
She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his gaze. It was a physical weight, a brand.
Then, with a soft, almost silent purr of its engine, the car pulled away from the curb and slid into the flow of traffic. It disappeared around a corner, leaving behind only the fading echo of its presence and the chilling certainty in the pit of Rey’s stomach.
Maz looked from the empty street back to Rey’s pale, frozen face.
“Told you,” she said, her voice dry as dust. “He’s not the forgetting kind.”