Chapter Three
1373 Words
I woke up in a bed that definitely wasn’t mine, which was a shock because I’d basically sworn off strange beds for the rest of my life after walking in on my boyfriend discovering his inner Casanova with someone who wasn’t me.
For a few seconds, I just stared at the wooden ceiling above me, brain buffering like a busted WiFi router. My body felt heavy, my head was pounding, and everything smelled like pine, cold air, and… wolf? Wet wolf? Whatever. My eyes drifted around the room.
It was a cabin. A familiar cabin.
And that’s when the memories hit me like a flying brick to the face: the park, the rogue wolf, the giant one that tackled it, the shift, the snow, the blood, the pain, the absurdity, the overwhelming “what the hell” of it all… and him.
My best friend’s dad.
Saving me.
Carrying me, apparently, because there’s no universe in which I remember using my feet after the whole “wolf teeth in my shoulder” situation.
My stomach swooped into my toes, which seemed rude considering I was already dizzy. I sat up way too fast and instantly regretted my entire existence. The room spun. My shoulder screamed. My spine cracked like a glow stick.
Love that for me.
Still, I recognized the place. The wallpaper, the old rocking chair, the chipped table with the weird crochet doily that looked like a giant snowflake. My best friend, Nia, brought me here a few times for movie nights when her dad was “away on pack business,” which apparently meant “not in human form, doing wolf things.” And the man had just… never told us. Cool. Love when the universe gaslights me.
There was a small fire going in the corner fireplace, quiet but warm. Comforting, in a way that made me want to collapse again. Someone had taken my ruined coat off and left me in one of those oversized plaid flannels that scream “emotionally repressed lumberjack.”
I tugged the sleeve up. My shoulder was wrapped neatly, no more blood, no more skin gaping open. Just pressure. And a faint tingling that I didn’t like.
Footsteps approached outside.
My heart sprinted cardio in under a second.
The door creaked open, and there he was.
Kael.
The man who’d saved me.
Nia’s dad.
Six-foot-something of broad shoulders, cold winter eyes, and an expression carved straight from stress itself.
He looked at me like I was both made of glass and glowing radioactive. Not great for my nerves.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice low, calm, annoyingly soothing. “Good.”
“Yeah, well, almost getting eaten tends to ruin nap time,” I muttered, hugging the flannel tighter.
His jaw flexed. Either he was guilty, mad at the rogue, mad at himself for bringing me here, or constipated. Hard to tell with men.
He stepped inside and shut the door with a careful click. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Oh just incredible,” I drawled. “Ten out of ten. Would get mauled again.”
He gave me a look, the type dads give their kids when the kids say something unhinged but technically accurate.
“You’re safe here,” he said.
“Safe from what exactly? The mansplainy wolf nature documentary you forgot to give your daughter and her best friend for the past decade?”
His eyes flickered. “Lyra—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I cut in. “I just need a second to absorb that werewolves are real, that you’re one, that last night wasn’t a stress-induced hallucination, and that I didn’t just die in a park like the world’s worst cautionary tale.”
He exhaled slowly, like he’d been preparing for this conversation since the dawn of time.
“You were attacked,” he said quietly, “because rogue wolves can scent vulnerability. And you… you were overwhelmed.”
“Which is code for emotionally destroyed,” I said. “You can just say it.”
His gaze softened in a way I absolutely did not have the emotional bandwidth to process.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Sure.”
He hesitated at the edge of the bed, then pulled up the rocking chair to sit across from me. The fire crackled. The silence got obnoxious.
Then he said, “You’ve been here before.”
I nodded. “Nia brought me. When you were ‘gone.’”
“That’s why I brought you here,” he said. “You’d remember it. You’d feel less afraid waking up in a place you knew.”
The words were simple, but something in my chest tightened. Unhelpful. Way too intimate. My life was currently a dumpster fire, not a romance novel.
“It worked,” I murmured, looking anywhere but at him.
Another silence. Cold wind rattled the window, and the fire popped.
Then a flashback hit me, vivid and uninvited.
Me and Nia, fourteen, running around outside this very cabin while snow came down heavy enough to swallow footprints. Kael standing on the porch, arms crossed, pretending not to smile as we tried to build a snow wolf. We kept shaping the snout wrong. He knelt silently beside us, adjusted the snow with patient hands, and walked away without saying a word.
I blinked hard, throat tight.
Life was so stupid sometimes.
I shifted on the bed, wincing as my shoulder complained again. He leaned forward instantly, all protective energy and sharp attention.
“Don’t strain yourself,” he said. “You lost a lot of blood.”
“Oh perfect,” I said flatly. “Love that for me.”
He didn’t even fight the tiny sigh that escaped him.
“I cleaned the wound. Wrapped it. It’ll heal faster than you think.”
“Because… werewolf magic?” I gestured vaguely.
“Something like that.”
He didn’t elaborate, which was great because I barely understood the fundamentals anyway. Two hours ago, I was living a normal human life consisting of heartbreak, coffee spills, and being overworked for minimum wage. Now I was apparently a character in a supernatural survival arc.
My eyes narrowed at him.
“Why were you there?” I asked. “At the park. At that exact moment.”
His shoulders tensed. Not dramatically. But enough to catch.
“I sensed trouble.”
“That’s a creepy answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give you right now.”
I stared at him. He stared back like he was bracing for impact, and I suddenly hated how vulnerable he looked. Like he knew something he wasn’t ready to say. Like he was terrified of how I’d react.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” I blurted.
He blinked. “I’m not scared of you.”
“You look like I’m a bomb.”
He swallowed, gaze sliding away.
“If I look that way,” he murmured, “it’s because I’m trying not to overwhelm you.”
Something sparked in my stomach. I ignored it with the strength of a thousand stubborn mules.
“Okay,” I said finally, rubbing my temples. “So… what now?”
“You rest. Then we talk.”
“I don’t want to rest.”
“You need to.”
“I really don’t.”
“Lyra.”
The way he said my name did something traitorous to my spine.
I groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the pillows.
“Fine. I’ll rest. But when I wake up again, you owe me explanations, a ride home, and maybe a therapy referral.”
A faint, reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “Fine.”
He stood to leave.
But at the doorway, he paused, glanced back, and his voice dropped just slightly.
“You’re not alone anymore.”
I pretended that didn’t hit like emotional shrapnel.
I pulled the blanket up, shutting my eyes.
“Whatever you say, wolfman.”
He left quietly, closing the door behind him.
And despite the confusion, the fear, the heartbreak, the absolute chaos of the past 24 hours… I slept.
For the first time in weeks, I actually slept.
- Writer
