The grass is cool under my bare feet—no time for shoes when staging a confrontation—and the front door looms ahead.
I reach for the handle expecting resistance, maybe an alarm system, but it's unlocked.
Which is either incredibly convenient or the opening scene of every horror movie where the stupid girl dies first. I slip inside anyway, and the silence hits me like a physical thing.
The main floor is magazine-perfect—pristine living room, spotless kitchen, not a single thing out of place.
"Hugh?" I call softly, my voice swallowed by the house.
Nothing. But somewhere upstairs, a sound that makes every hair on my arms stand up. Low and rough. Almost like a growl.
It's probably pipes. Or the heating system. Or literally anything my overactive imagination isn't suggesting.
I climb the stairs anyway, each step creaking its betrayal.
"Hugh?" Louder this time, trying to project confidence I definitely don't feel.
Still nothing. But that scratching sound is coming from his bedroom—like something with claws dragging across hardwood. On the stairs, illuminated by moonlight, I see something that makes me stop.
Hair. Gray-brown animal hair scattered across the steps, too coarse to be human.
The rational part of my brain suggests leaving. Immediately.
The rest of my brain keeps climbing. His bedroom door is ajar, warm light spilling through and I pause, pulse thundering.
"Hugh?" One more time, quieter, because suddenly I'm not entirely sure if I want an answer.
I push the door open anyway.
And when I see a massive gray wolf standing in the center of the room, my brain flatlines completely.
The wolf's head snaps toward me, lips pulling back to reveal teeth that could probably tear through bone. Its amber eyes lock onto mine with predatory intensity, and a low, rumbling growl fills the air.
"Oh god," I whisper, stumbling backward. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."
The wolf takes a step forward, head lowered, shoulders hunched. Every line of its massive body screams predator, and I'm very clearly prey.
Pure terror floods my system and I back up frantically, my hands feeling blindly behind me for the door, for escape, for anything. My back slams into the door with enough force to rattle my teeth, and I hear the latch click shut behind me.
Trapped. Fuck!
"Stay back," I whisper, pressing myself against the door. "Please stay back."
The wolf moves closer, and I can see every detail now.
The silver threading through its gray fur. The way its muscles bunch and shift under its coat. The fact that it's absolutely enormous—bigger than any wolf should be, bigger than any animal I've ever seen outside of a zoo.
I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die, and it's going to be because I broke in for a confrontation about ghosting me after giving me orgasms.
The irony would be hilarious if I weren't about to become a chew toy.
The wolf reaches me, its massive head level with my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Bracing for pain, for teeth, for the end of my very short and apparently very stupid life.
Instead, something warm and impossibly gentle brushes against my cheek.
My eyes fly open. The wolf is nuzzling my face with the tenderness of a house cat. Its previously terrifying growl’s replaced by a sound that's almost like purring. It presses closer, running its muzzle along my neck, my jaw, like it's trying to… comfort me?
"What..." I breathe, my hands coming up instinctively to sink into its thick fur. "Good... good wolf?"
My fingers move on their own, sinking into thick gray fur that's softer than I expected. The wolf makes that rumbling sound again, pressing closer, and its tail actually wags.
Then a car door slams somewhere outside, and everything goes to hell again.
The wolf's head snaps up, ears flattening, its entire body going rigid. The gentle purring stops, and its lips pull back, revealing those massive fangs. The growl that rumbles from its chest is pure, protective fury.
"No, no, no…" I gasp, and then I see the window.
It's open, just a few feet away. I can make it. I can!
I bolt toward it, adrenaline making me faster than I've ever been in my life.
When I get one leg over the sill, cool night air hitting my face, freedom just inches away… something clamps down on the back of my jeans, yanking me backward with irresistible force.
I hit the floor hard, face-first, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. The wolf's massive weight immediately settles on top of me, pinning me completely, its body covering mine from shoulders to legs.
That's when my last shred of composure completely disintegrates.
"HELP!" I scream into the floorboards, my voice cracking with pure terror. "SOMEONE—"
A huge paw presses against the back of my head—not hurting, but definitely keeping me in place with implacable pressure.
"Please," I sob into the hardwood floor, hot tears streaming down my face. "Please don't eat me… I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'll leave and never come back, just please don't—"
Then suddenly, impossibly, the crushing weight disappears.
Warm arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against a chest that's definitely not covered in fur. Strong hands lift me upright, cradling me against solid warmth that smells like cedar and safety.
"Shh," Hugh's voice, rough and desperate in my ear. "Don't scream. Please, Claire, don't scream."
His arms hold me tight, one hand splaying across my chest right over my hammering heart, his own heartbeat a frantic rhythm against my spine.
As I open my eyes and dare to look over my shoulder… He's naked.
Completely naked, his body solid against mine, his face inches away. Moonlight catches the muscles of his arms around me, his so familiar and handsome features.
And no wolf anywhere.
"You're safe," he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot and shaky. "I swear, you're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you. I've got you… I've got you."
"The wolf," I gasp, still shaking so hard my teeth are chattering. "There was a massive fucking wolf, it pinned me down, it was going to…"
"Claire, breathe. I need you to breathe for me." His arms tighten around me, other hand splaying across my stomach. "Focus on my voice. You're safe."
"I'm not making it up!" My voice cracks with hysteria. "There was a huge wolf in this room! And now it's gone and you're here and you're naked and I don't—"
"I know." His voice is barely a whisper. "But you're safe, I promise you're safe."
"It was going to kill me! Where—" I gasp, still shaking so violently I can barely form words, barely breath. "How are you—"
"Claire, look at me." His voice cracks completely. "Please, sweetheart, I need you to look at me."
He turns me in his arms, and the sight of him nearly stops my heart all over again. His face is ravaged with something that looks like agony, his gray eyes wild and desperate, like he's watching his entire world collapse in real-time.
"The wolf didn't go anywhere," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "The wolf was me."
I stare at him, not comprehending. "No." I shake my head frantically. "No, that's not… People don't just turn into animals, that's not how the world works—"
"It is how my world works." His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears.
"That's not real… Werewolves aren't real."
"They are." His voice is barely a whisper. "We are."
My brain refuses to process this. Werewolves. Like in movies. Like in fairy tales.
"I would never hurt you," he says urgently, like this is the most important thing in the world. "Never, Claire. Do you understand? The wolf would never hurt its mate."
The word lands like a physical blow.
Mate.
I don't know what that means, but the way he says it—desperate and almost reverent—makes something deep in my chest ache.
"This is insane…" I'm still sobbing, the words barely coherent. "This whole thing is completely insane."
"I know, sweetheart. I know." His forehead drops to mine, and I can feel him shaking too. "But I need... Goddess, Claire, please tell me you're not afraid of me. Please. It's killing me that I might be scaring you."
I take inventory of how I feel.
Confused beyond belief? Check. Overwhelmed to the point of mental breakdown? Absolutely. But afraid? With his arms around me, with his voice soft and broken in my ear?
"I need you to tell me you're okay," he says quietly, desperately. "That you feel safe with me. I need to know that, Claire. If you're afraid of me, if you can't—"
"I'm not afraid," I whisper, and realize with startling clarity that it's true. "I'm not afraid of you."
The relief in his exhale is so profound it's almost painful to witness.
"Okay." He breathes out slowly. "Okey, let me just… I’ll get dressed, and we'll talk."
He stands carefully, moving to grab clothes from a drawer while I stay on the floor a moment longer, staring at the spot near the door where a wolf purred under my hand minutes ago. Then he offers me his hand and I take it, my legs unsteady beneath me.
Werewolves are real. Hugh is the one.
And apparently, I'm his mate.
Whatever that means.