The Lycan Pack's Luna

The lingering scent of blood, warm and metallic, still clung to Cassandra's senses, even after she jolted awake. Her room was a cavern of familiar shadows, but the nightmare's grip felt as real as the sweat plastering her red hair to her face. She reached for the lamp, her hands trembling, and the dim light cast her reflection in the mirror.

Her green eyes, usually sharp and defiant, were haunted, mirroring the terror she'd seen in her five-year-old self in the dream. The image of her mother's lifeless eyes, resting in her small, bloody lap, was burned into her memory.

With shaky fingers, she dialed the only number that could ground her. It rang twice, then Damon's groggy yet alert voice answered. "Hello?"

A sob caught in her throat. "Damon..."

His voice sharpened instantly. "Cassandra? Cassie, what happened?"

"Nightmare," she managed, the single word unleashing the floodgates of her suppressed fear. She clung to his voice, his steady presence, as exhaustion finally claimed her. As she drifted back to sleep, a single thought echoed in her mind: "One day, my miracle will come too."