Fated to a Human

Chapter 5

Nathan tore through the Redwoods like a force of nature, his massive black paws thundering against the damp forest floor. Branches snapped beneath him. Leaves scattered in his wake. His pitch-black fur blurred against the shadows as he weaved between towering trunks, faster than any natural creature should have been able to move.

The towering trees stretched endlessly above, ancient and silent, their canopies blotting out most of the light. Mist clung low to the ground, wrapping around his limbs like ghostly tendrils. The sharp scent of pine, moss, and wet bark filled his lungs, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

His wolf was furious—with him, with her, with the world.

Nathan growled low, a rumble that echoed off the trunks like distant thunder. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, instincts, and urges. The run had helped clear the fog, but the fire still burned underneath it all. The mark. The bond. The need.

He leapt over a fallen log effortlessly, landing with a grunt and skidding to a halt beside a shallow stream. Steam rose from his body as he drank in the cold air. His chest heaved. His claws dug deep into the soil.

What the hell is happening to me?

He’d never shifted so suddenly. Never lost control like that.

Even the first time he’d transformed at thirteen, when the rage and confusion boiled over, it hadn’t been this. This had felt… inevitable.

All it took was one touch. One gasp. One girl.

Rory.

Even her name made his wolf twitch.

He paced along the stream, his glowing blue eyes narrowed, ears pinned back. His reflection rippled in the water—dark fur, sharp teeth, the embodiment of power—but his expression looked shaken. Unsteady.

He didn’t feel powerful right now.

He felt vulnerable.

The Redwoods should’ve calmed him. They always did. Out here, surrounded by centuries-old trees, time slowed down. It reminded him how small he really was. How big the world was. It helped him forget… everything.

But not this time.

He stepped into the shallow stream, letting the ice-cold water numb his paws. He tilted his massive head up to the canopy, exhaling in a huff of steam.

No matter how far he ran, her scent clung to his memory like smoke. Her body. Her voice. That tiny tattoo. Her gasp.

Nathan snarled and slammed his claws into a nearby tree, ripping a chunk away in one brutal swipe.

The wolf wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself.

He’d lost control.

What if he hadn’t pulled away? What if he’d marked her? Bitten her? Changed her entire life forever without consent?

He’d almost done it.

And the worst part? It felt right.

That scared him more than anything.

After a while, his pacing slowed. He curled up beneath a thick fern-covered tree, letting the weight of his body settle into the damp earth. His ears flicked at every distant sound—birds, distant wind, the scurry of wildlife—but nothing dangerous. Nothing like him.

His breathing finally began to steady. Slowly. Deliberately.

The earth was cool beneath him. He pressed his nose into it, grounding himself. His fur twitched as the last tremors of adrenaline faded.

You can’t lose control like that again, he told himself.

Not around her. Not around anyone.

He didn’t know what Rory was or why the bond hit so hard. It wasn’t supposed to. Not with a human. It was supposed to be rare—impossible, even. Stories told around bonfires. Cautionary tales passed between packs.

And yet… he felt it.

The imprint.

The soul-marking connection that tied a wolf to their other half.

It was supposed to be beautiful. Unbreakable. Sacred.

Instead, it was unraveling him.

Nathan shifted back slowly, the fur receding into skin, his bones reforming, his body returning to its human shape. He lay there, naked, steam rising from his skin in the cold air. His body ached from the violent shift. He felt raw. Exposed.

His fingers clenched in the dirt.

He lay back and stared up at the sky breaking through the trees.

His heart still thudded.

His soul still burned.

And in the silence of the ancient forest… he whispered her name.

“Rory.”

He didn’t know what to do with that name yet.

But he knew one thing for sure.

He couldn’t run from it forever.

Nathan lay in the quiet hush of the Redwoods, his bare back pressed against the cool earth, the canopy of leaves shifting gently above him in the breeze. His heartbeat, which had thundered in his ears like a war drum, had finally slowed. The madness that had driven him out here—the overwhelming desire to mark Rory, the unbearable heat in his chest—had faded to embers.

His body ached from the shift, from the sprint, from holding everything in. But his mind... for the first time in hours, it was still.

He closed his eyes and listened.

To the distant caw of a raven.

The trickle of the stream nearby.

The hum of wind threading through the trees like a lullaby.

He took one slow, steady breath. Then another.

The earth here was grounding. Powerful. It reminded him of who he was. Of what he was. Not just a beast, not just a hormonal eighteen-year-old with a dangerous secret. He was alpha blood. The son of a pack leader. A wolf born of legacy and instinct, power and control.

He'd run. He'd panicked. But he hadn't given in.

That had to count for something.

Finally, he sat up with a groan, rolling his stiff shoulders. His body still trembled faintly with leftover adrenaline. But the burn behind his eyes was gone. His fangs had receded. His pulse was... manageable.

The rage had passed.

And the guilt?

Still there. Sitting like a stone in his gut.

He needed to clear his head before seeing anyone. Before talking to Peter. Before even thinking about Rory again.

So, without a sound, Nathan let the shift take over once more.

The change rippled through him like lightning. His muscles clenched. Bones cracked and reshaped. Skin stretched, fur erupting across his form like wildfire. His jaw lengthened into a muzzle, teeth sharpening into white blades.

And within seconds, the man was gone.

In his place stood the wolf.

Pitch black from nose to tail. Massive, easily over six feet tall at the shoulder. Broader than any natural predator. Muscles rippled beneath the dense, jet-dark fur, his paws the size of dinner plates. His eyes glowed like arctic flames—icy, electric blue, cutting through the dim forest with a wild, intelligent gleam.

Long, white fangs protruded from his powerful jaws. His ears were sharp and alert. Every inch of him radiated silent, feral dominance.

This was the wolf most werewolves dreamed of becoming.

This was the creature packs whispered about—stronger, faster, deadlier.

But right now, he wasn’t hunting or fighting.

He was just... going home.

With a huff, he shook out his thick fur and launched forward, leaping over mossy logs and weaving through the ancient trees with impossible grace for something his size. His massive paws barely made a sound. He was a shadow streaking through the woods.

Eventually, the trees began to thin. The scent of the ocean and asphalt returned. The sounds of civilization bled in around the edges—distant car horns, planes overhead, the low hum of traffic. The wild faded behind him, replaced by streetlights and sidewalks.

When Nathan finally reached the edge of San Francisco, the sun had dipped low in the sky. School was long over. He hadn’t gone back. Couldn’t risk it.

Instead, he made a wide arc around the populated areas, keeping to back roads and tree lines, moving like a phantom until he reached the outer hills and approached the sprawling Bennett estate.

Peter’s mansion was ridiculous. Italian villa-style, tall gates, perfectly trimmed hedges, marble columns, and a five-car garage with a fountain out front. It looked more like a five-star resort than a house. But it was familiar. Safe.

Home, in its weird, bougie way.

Nathan trotted silently across the backyard, shaking out his fur before stepping up onto the back patio.

Inside, he could already hear Peter moving around—music playing, the clink of ice in a glass, someone laughing on TV.

Nathan nudged the glass door open with his nose and padded inside.

Peter was in the living room, drink in hand, wearing pajama pants and a blue tank top. He looked up casually… and immediately flinched.

“Jesus Christ,” Peter gasped, slapping a hand to his chest. “No matter how many times I see you like that, it’s still terrifying.”

Nathan huffed through his nostrils, the sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

Peter tilted his head and took another sip of his drink. “Seriously, dude. You’re a literal nightmare beast. You know that, right? Like—what the hell? You look like a freaking werewolf version of a tank. Six feet tall. Blacker than death. Those teeth.”

He pointed at Nathan’s mouth with the rim of his glass. “You’ve got like, sabertooth-level crap going on. I could ride you into battle.”

Nathan growled low—not menacing, just annoyed—and turned away, heading toward the hallway.

“Alright, alright,” Peter called after him with a smirk. “Go shower, you filthy beast. And then you’re telling me everything.”

Nathan disappeared into the hallway, his massive form shifting back once he was safely in the guest bathroom, his body steaming under the hot spray of the shower moments later.

But as the water ran down his back, one thought echoed louder than the rest.

He couldn’t avoid Rory forever.

The hot shower had helped. At least a little.

Nathan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, steam curling around him, towel slung over his neck as drops of water slid down his chest. His muscles still ached from the shift—tight from the long run and the adrenaline-fueled explosion earlier—but the heat had loosened most of the tension. His eyes were no longer glowing, his fangs fully retracted. He looked like a normal teenage guy again.

Well… as normal as a six-foot-two werewolf with alpha blood could look.

He slipped on a pair of soft pajama pants, the black cotton hanging low on his hips, and padded barefoot down the hall, still towel-drying his damp hair.

The sound of the TV buzzed faintly through the hallway. Some ridiculous reality show with dramatic music and way too much yelling.

Nathan stepped into the massive living room, still half-wrapped in the scent of eucalyptus body wash and forest air. He plopped down onto the plush leather couch beside Peter, who was lounging like a Roman emperor with a bowl of popcorn in his lap and a sassy scowl on his face.

Peter turned to him immediately.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to sit there all casual and hot after what you just pulled.” He narrowed his eyes and jabbed a finger at Nathan’s chest. “What the actual f**k happened? You just bolted out of the gym like a bat out of literal hell. Thought you were gonna Hulk out and destroy the place.”

Nathan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, slouching into the cushions.

“I almost did,” he muttered.

Peter blinked. “Wait—what?”

“When Rory bumped into me,” Nathan said slowly, like admitting it too fast would make it real. “I… I nearly lost it. Like full-blown shifted-in-front-of-everyone, bite-my-claim-into-her-neck kind of lost it.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically disappeared into his hairline. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Nathan said, groaning again, running both hands through his hair this time. “It was her scent… her body against mine… and then—she gasped. It wasn’t even anything, but it just—something about it hit different. Like… primal. My wolf wanted to claim her right there in front of everyone.”

Peter leaned forward, wide-eyed, the bowl of popcorn temporarily forgotten.

“That’s wild,” he muttered, then whistled under his breath. “Dude, she bumped into you. That’s, like, barely first base.”

Nathan gave him a half-glare. “Yeah, well, my wolf didn’t get the memo.”

Peter sat back again, shaking his head. “Damn. That’s intense. But… I get it.”

Nathan glanced at him. “You get it?”

Peter smirked, brushing some popcorn crumbs off his top. “Yeah. 'Cause I actually had a pleasant conversation with her after you disappeared like a Marvel character.”

Nathan’s brows furrowed. “Wait… you talked to her?”

Peter nodded, smiling now. “Yep. While everyone was buzzing about the hot captain losing his mind, I decided to introduce myself. Figured I should get to know the girl making my bestie go feral.”

Nathan groaned and dropped his head back against the couch with a thud. “Oh god.”

Peter snickered. “Relax. She’s not gonna bite. Unless you want her to.”

Nathan shot him a glare.

Peter waved a hand. “Anyway, she’s actually super cool. Like, scary cool. She’s smart—like, scary-smart. We were joking about the science teacher’s weird obsession with frogs, and she said something about how the dissection stuff is outdated and unethical, then pivoted straight into cracking a joke about me being a ‘Disney villain’s sassy sidekick.’ I kind of love her.”

Nathan narrowed his eyes. “You love her?”

Peter shrugged, unabashed. “Platonically. Chill. She’s funny. She’s got this whole dark, sarcastic, ‘don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-too-hot-for-this-school’ vibe, but then she laughed at my dumb banana joke. Like a real laugh. She’s kind of a unicorn, bro.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Unicorn?”

Peter grinned. “Rare. Magical. Possibly dangerous.”

Nathan sat up slightly, his voice more serious now. “What exactly did you two say about me?”

Peter’s smirk widened. “Oh, you know... how weird you are.”

Nathan groaned and dragged a hand down his face like he could erase himself from the entire planet. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything incriminating.”

Peter popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth and winked. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her you’re a supernatural predator who occasionally turns into a monster the size of a horse.”

Nathan deadpanned. “Comforting.”

“I did, however, mention how you have commitment issues, a hero complex, and an ego the size of California.”

Nathan groaned louder, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over his face.

Peter chuckled, nudging him with his foot. “Relax. I kept it light. Funny-weird, not serial-killer-weird.”

Nathan mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow.

Peter leaned closer, smug as ever. “But you know what she said after I told her all that?”

Nathan peeked out from under the pillow warily.

“She said…” Peter grinned like a devil, “‘Weird is kind of hot.’”

Nathan blinked.

Peter grinned wider. “Yeah. You’re screwed, bro.”

Nathan groaned again, louder this time.

Peter cackled, tossing popcorn at him.

And in that moment, surrounded by sarcastic laughter, junk food, and plush leather, Nathan almost forgot that his entire world was starting to unravel.

Almost.