Chapter 9
1514 Words
Nathan clenched and unclenched his fists, willing his wolf to settle. The creature inside him still paced like a caged predator, restless and stirred by the sight of Rory dancing—laughing, glowing, alive in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The word pulsed like a drumbeat in his skull.
He closed his eyes for a second, exhaling through his nose, trying to drown it out. This wasn’t the time. Or the place. She didn’t even know what she was to him yet. Hell, she probably thought he was a weirdo who couldn’t hold a normal conversation. But none of that mattered to the beast inside him.
It knew.
And it didn’t want to wait.
Nathan took another steadying breath, eyes locked on the flicker of firelight dancing across the sand.
Then the music changed. The pounding bass faded, replaced by something softer, smoother—low and slow, like the night had shifted gears. Conversations mellowed. The crowd thinned slightly, couples pairing off into swaying silhouettes near the flames.
From the shadows of the dancefloor, Rory emerged.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, chest rising and falling with light, quick breaths. A fine sheen of sweat glistened along her neck and her forehead, but she looked more electric than exhausted.
She grinned as she reached him. “Oh my God,” she breathed, laughing. “Peter’s crazy.”
Nathan chuckled. “Yeah… I should’ve warned you.”
They stood there for a moment, side by side, the music curling around them like smoke. The fire popped and cracked behind them, casting flickering shadows across the sand. It should have been easy to say something, anything—but the weight between them was heavy with unspoken things. Tension buzzed in the air, humming beneath his skin.
Nathan shifted on his feet, then cleared his throat.
“You, uh… wanna dance?”
Rory looked up at him, a crooked smile already playing at the corners of her lips. Like she’d been waiting for him to ask all along. “Sure.”
Nathan set his drink on a nearby log and stepped toward her. She met him in the center of the fire’s glow, the heat of the flames and the music wrapping around them like a cocoon.
She placed her arms gently around his neck, her fingers barely touching behind his head. Even on her tiptoes, she barely reached his chin—at 5'5, she was small compared to him, delicate in a way that made him feel bigger, more dangerous… and somehow more careful.
Nathan hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he slowly placed his hands on her waist.
His fingers brushed against her skin.
Warm.
Silky.
Soft like satin stretched over heat.
His pulse stuttered.
She was so close now. Too close. He could smell her—salt from the ocean, vanilla and lavender. Something that called to his blood and clawed at his chest. He held his breath and only breathed went the breeze pushed her scent away from him.
His hands stayed still, but it took effort.
Real effort.
Because every nerve ending was suddenly alive, every instinct screaming at him to pull her closer. His thumbs itched to stroke her sides, his arms ached to wrap around her, to hold her against him and breathe her in like oxygen.
She moved gently with the music, swaying with him, relaxed in a way that made him feel like this wasn’t new to her. Like she wasn’t affected at all.
But he was drowning.
Nathan struggled to stay in control.
He kept his grip loose, kept his breathing even, tried not to look at her lips. But when she smiled up at him, something inside him nearly broke.
Mine.
He gritted his teeth.
Not yet.
She had no idea what she was to him. No idea what kind of storm he was keeping barely caged behind his eyes. But she would. One day. He’d tell her everything.
But for now, he just held her. Gently. Carefully.
Like she was both a secret and a flame.
And he was the only one who knew how easily she could burn him.
Nathan’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He could feel every beat echoing in his ribs like a warning. Rory’s soft body swayed gently against him, her arms light on his shoulders, her fingers barely touching his neck… but it was enough. More than enough.
Her scent clung to him, warm vanilla and lavender, so soft, so clean—intoxicating. She didn’t even know what she was doing to him. How every second her skin brushed his, every time she tilted her head to look up at him, every innocent smile chipped away at the tight control he fought to maintain.
His hands flexed slightly at her waist, just enough to feel the shape of her. His wolf was coiled tight beneath the surface, snarling with want. Touch her. Hold her. Claim her. The commands pounded through his head like war drums.
He felt his canines throb. His muscles locked.
He was losing control.
“Are you okay?” Rory’s voice was soft, concerned, cutting through the haze.
Nathan blinked.
He didn’t trust himself to speak. Didn’t dare open his mouth, afraid of what might come out—afraid it wouldn’t be words at all. So he just nodded stiffly.
That’s when she slid both of her small, warm hands down gently cupping the sides of his neck.
His breath hitched.
The heat of her palms burned into his skin like a brand, and he trembled under her touch, a subtle shake he couldn’t hide.
Rory’s brows pinched together as she peered up at him. “You’re burning up… and trembling,” she said, concern deepening in her voice. “Are you gonna be sick or something?”
No. God, no.
It was so far from sickness. It was need. It was desire buried under centuries of instinct. It was every part of him straining toward her, body and beast screaming in unison.
Then—just as he opened his mouth to try to explain, or maybe beg her to step away—a soft ocean breeze rolled through, crashing over them.
And with it, her scent hit him full force.
Vanilla. Lavender. Rory.
His pupils dilated. His chest rose sharply.
He inhaled—deep, helpless—and the wolf surged to the surface like a tidal wave.
A low, involuntary rumble vibrated from deep inside him. Not quite a growl, not quite a purr. It was primal. Possessive. Feral.
Rory blinked, brow raised. “You better not throw up on me,” she teased, trying to lighten the tension.
But Nathan couldn’t answer.
He couldn’t move.
His hands trembled against her waist now, and his breath came too fast, too shallow. His bones itched. His skin burned. His vision shimmered with the hint of the shift.
He had to go.
Now.
Before she could ask another question, before she could get too close, before he snapped—he bolted.
One second he was in front of her, the next he was nothing but a blur of motion, tearing down the beach with supernatural speed.
“Nathan—?” Rory’s voice was lost to the wind behind him.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
Sand flew beneath his feet as he raced toward the darkness, away from the firelight and people, until there was nothing but moonlight and cold ocean air. He hit the black stretch of sand where the light didn’t reach, chest heaving, lungs burning.
Then it happened.
With a shudder and a snap, bones shifted, muscles tore and reformed, fur spilled from skin. His body collapsed forward into the sand as his wolf took over.
A massive black creature stumbled briefly, claws sinking into the cold beach, his back arching with a growl—half in pain, half in need.
His wolf snarled, head swinging back toward the direction he’d come. Toward Rory.
He wanted to go back.
To her.
To what belonged to him.
But Nathan dug deep, dragging what little humanity he had left from beneath the beast’s fury. He forced his thoughts into the creature’s mind.
No. Not yet. Not like this.
With a final growl of resistance, the wolf obeyed.
Barely.
He turned, claws scraping wet sand, and sprinted toward the pier. The creaking wooden structure rose out of the water like a beacon. He didn’t slow—just launched forward, sprinting down the length of it, paws slamming the wood until, at the end, he leapt.
The wind howled past his ears.
Then—splash.
Cold.
The water swallowed him whole.
The wolf surfaced seconds later, panting, fur slicked to his body, breath coming in heavy bursts. The ocean cradled him, chilled him, dulled the fire raging in his blood.
He stayed there, bobbing in the dark water, trying to get a grip on the pieces of himself that had nearly shattered in her arms.
He’d come so close to losing control.
And next time… he might not stop himself.
- Writer
