I'm sitting on Hugh’s bed while he tells me werewolves are real, and honestly? This isn't even the weirdest thing that's happened to me this week.
"So," I start, because apparently my coping mechanism for existential crisis is rapid-fire interrogation, "how long have you been a werewolf? Is this like a recent development, or…"
"My whole life." He's pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, keeping careful distance between us on the bed. "I was born this way. It's genetic."
"Born this way. Like Lady Gaga, but with more fur?" The joke falls flat even to my own ears, but I can't seem to stop my mouth from running. "Does my father know? About the whole... wolfy situation?"
Hugh nods slowly, like he's weighing each word. "Richard is one of a handful of influential humans who know the truth about our kind. He chose to work alongside us."
"Work alongside…" I shake my head, trying to process. "So when you two have your mysterious business meetings, you're what? Negotiating werewolf contracts? Discussing full moon schedules?"
That actually gets me a ghost of a smile that I’ve never seen before on his unfairly handsome face.
"My security consulting firm employs members of my pack.” He watches me with careful eyes. “We provide services to your father's company, which keeps my people financially stable and gives them legitimate identities in the human world."
"Your… pack." I latch onto the word. "So there are others. How many? Are we talking about a small support group or a full-blown society with secret handshakes and membership cards?"
"There are packs across the country. Across the world." He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from wherever wolves go when they're not being wolves. "We live among humans, hidden in plain sight. Have for centuries."
My brain is doing that thing where it tries to reconcile everything I thought I knew with this new reality.
It's not going well.
"And you're an important member of your pack, I assume. Like... a leader?"
"Yes. I make decisions for my people, protect them, provide for them. It’s called ‘an Alpha’." His jaw tightens. "It's a responsibility I take seriously."
"Hence the whole stern, stoic, emotionally-unavailable thing. Very on-brand for a wolf pack leader."
I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
"Earlier. You called me your…"
"Mate." The word comes out rough, reluctant.
"Right. That." My heart is doing something complicated in my chest. "What does that mean, exactly? Because I've seen enough nature documentaries to have some serious concerns."
Hugh shifts on the bed, putting another inch of distance between us.
"There are two kinds of mates in our world. Chosen mates—where a wolf commits to a partner by choice, like a marriage. And fated mates."
He pauses, something painful crossing his face.
"Fated mates are... predetermined. A connection that exists whether you want it or not. Like soulmates, if soulmates were an actual biological imperative."
"And we're… the second kind?" It's not really a question. I can feel it, that pull toward him that's been there since before I understood what it was. "Fated mates."
"Yes." The word sounds like it costs him physical pain to say. "Fated mate bonds between werewolves and humans are unheard of. I've never encountered one in my lifetime, never even heard of one that wasn't ancient legend."
"So I'm a statistical anomaly. Great. Really making me feel special here." I'm deflecting with humor because the alternative is crying, and I've done enough of that tonight. "Is that why I got sick? At my birthday party? The fever, the... everything?"
Hugh's eyes meet mine, and there's guilt there, swimming beneath the surface.
"What you experienced is called a heat. It's something female werewolves go through—a biological imperative tied to mating and…” He waves his hand, trying to find the best description. “Reproduction. Humans don't experience heat. They shouldn't be able to."
He swallows hard. "But I think the bond awakened something in you. Triggered a response that shouldn't have been possible."
"So the whole fever-from-hell situation was basically my body going haywire because of our supernatural connection? That's actually less embarrassing than what I thought was happening.” I laugh, but it comes out slightly hysterical. “At least it wasn't just me being pathetically obsessed with a man twice my age."
"The pull you feel toward me is real," he admits quietly. "The bond creates an attraction that's... difficult to resist. For both of us. But that doesn't mean we should act on it, because—"
"Because that would be too easy." I finish for him, I can hear where this is going. "Right."
"Claire."
"You didn't seem too concerned about maintaining distance on my birthday, though." The words come out sharper than I intended as leaning forward in his direction, looking straight into his shameless eyes.
"When you had your hands all over me and I was begging you for more. When you ‘licked me clean’ after making me come countless times.” I turn my body towards him, pinning him with my gaze (at least, I hope it looks as intimidating and accusing as I want it to). “Where was the 'we shouldn't act on it' philosophy then?"
His expression shutters, pain flickering across his features before he locks it down.
"That was different. The bond made it almost physically painful not to help you through the heat. I couldn't…" He breaks off, jaw clenching. "Even knowing I had no right to touch my friend's daughter, I couldn't leave my mate suffering. It’s against my nature."
"How fucking noble of you."
I know I'm being unfair, but the hurt is rising in my chest, demanding an outlet.
"And afterward? When you disappeared like I was some shameful mistake? When you avoided me for days and pretended nothing happened?"
He doesn't answer or defend himself. Just sits there with his shoulders tight and his eyes on the floor, accepting the accusation.
"You ran away like a coward," I say flatly.
"Yes." The admission is quiet, devastating. "I did."
The honesty takes the wind out of my sails, because I expected denials, justifications. Anything but this raw acknowledgment.
Before I can figure out how to respond, his phone buzzes, shattering the moment. Hugh's whole demeanor shifts as he checks the screen—tension coiling through his body, his eyes sharpening with focus.
"What is it?" I ask, suddenly afraid.
"Security alert." He's already standing, moving toward the door. "Something triggered the perimeter sensors."
"Wait—how do you have access to my father's security system?"
"My business designed it," he says shortly. "I added myself to the alert notifications for emergencies."
"And this is an emergency?"
He doesn't answer, which is answer enough. His hand closes around my elbow, firm but gentle, guiding me toward the door. "We need to get you back to the main house. Now."
We cross the dark grounds quickly, his body angled protectively between me and the shadows. The night feels different now—full of possibilities that aren't all friendly.
When we reach the main house, he escorts me all the way to my bedroom door.
"Lock your room," he says, his voice brooking no argument. "Don't open it for anyone except me or your father. Wait for my text."
"Hugh." I grab his arm before he can leave. "What's out there?"
His jaw tightens, amber flickering at the edges of his gray eyes. "I don't know yet." He covers my hand with his, just for a moment, the contact sending warmth flooding through me. "But I'm going to find out."
Then he's gone, disappearing into the darkness like he was born to it.
Which, I suppose, he was.