The Rogue’s Savage Claim on Me

Chapter 10 - The New Normal

ELOWEN

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of coffee I hadn't made.

Wait. No. That wasn't right. I didn't have a coffee maker that turned on by itself, and I definitely didn't have anyone to—

I sat up, heart hammering, and then remembered.

The wolf. The blanket. The door I hadn't locked.

I padded out to the living room, half-expecting to find him inside, curled up on my couch like an oversized dog. But the cabin was empty. The door was still closed.

I opened it.

He was there. On the porch, on the blanket I'd given him, watching me with those golden eyes. His tail thumped once against the wooden boards — just once, like he was trying not to seem too eager.

"Morning," I said.

He blinked at me. Slow. Deliberate.

I was smiling. When had I started smiling at the monster on my porch?

"Coffee," I muttered, retreating inside. "I need coffee."

The morning passed in a strange kind of peace.

I worked at the kitchen table, laptop open, pretending to focus on a new client brief while actually watching him through the window every few minutes. He'd moved off the blanket once the sun got high enough, settling in a patch of shade at the edge of the porch. Still close. Still watching.

Around noon, I made lunch — a sandwich, nothing fancy — and ate it on the porch steps while he lay a few feet away.

"I have to call Rowan," I told him. "She's going to lose her mind when I tell her about this weekend."

He tilted his head slightly. Listening. Understanding, maybe, or at least pretending to.

"She already thinks I'm crazy. This is just going to confirm it."

I pulled out my phone, stared at it for a long moment, then hit call.

Rowan picked up on the second ring. "Nah. Video. I'm not doing the dialogue thing again."

"What?"

"Video call, Elowen. I know you have it in your house by now. It probably sleeps on the end of your bed at this point. I want to see."

I snorted — and across the porch, the wolf's ears perked up at the sound. "He doesn't sleep on my bed."

"Yet. Video. Now."

I switched to video, flipping the camera around to show the wolf lounging on the porch before Rowan could even finish appearing on screen.

"Holy s**t," she breathed. "Is that a blanket?"

"I gave it to him last night. It was cold."

"You gave the murder wolf a blanket."

"He slept on it all night. Like a dog."

The wolf snorted loudly.

Rowan's eyes went wide. "Did he just—"

"Yeah. He doesn't like being called a dog."

"I know he's not a dog."

The wolf lifted his head, looked directly at the camera, and blinked slowly.

"Did he just—"

"Yeah. He does that."

"Oh my god." Rowan's voice was somewhere between hysteria and wonder. "He knows I'm watching. He's looking right at me."

"He's smart."

"That's not smart, that's terrifying. In a..." She paused. "Weirdly adorable way? I can't believe I just said that."

I flipped the camera back to my face. Rowan was staring at me, hair piled in a messy bun, expression caught between disbelief and something that might have been acceptance.

"Okay, walk me through this weekend," she said. "All of it. And keep the camera on him — I want to see his reactions."

So I did. I told her about Thursday night, about him walking me home, lying in the doorway, eating from my hand. I told her about the rain on Saturday, inviting him onto the porch, the door that stayed open. I told her about Sunday at the creek, about asking if he understood me, about the way he'd pressed against my leg and let me pet him.

I flipped the camera back and forth, showing her his reactions — the way his ears moved when I mentioned certain things, the slow blinks, the way he watched the phone like he knew exactly what was happening.

"He's listening," Rowan said. "El, he's actually listening to you tell me about him."

"I know."

"That's not normal wolf behavior."

"I know."

"What is he?"

"I don't know." I looked at him — really looked, taking in the intelligence in those golden eyes, the way he held himself, the sense of presence that radiated from him. "But I don't think he's just a wolf. There's something more."

Rowan was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You sound happier than you have in weeks."

"I feel happier."

"Because of the murder wolf."

"Because I'm not alone anymore." The words came out before I could stop them. "I know that sounds crazy. I know all of this sounds crazy. But Ro... I feel safer with him here than I've felt in a long time."

"That's either the sweetest thing I've ever heard or the opening line of a true crime documentary."

I laughed. "Probably both."

"Just... be careful, okay? He's still a wild animal. He could still hurt you."

"I know." I looked at those golden eyes, those massive paws, those teeth that could tear me apart. "But I don't think he will."

The afternoon brought clouds and a text from a number I'd been trying to forget.

Hey. Heard you've been calling out of work. Everything okay?

Trevor.

I stared at the screen, stomach clenching. How the hell did he know about my work schedule? Carmen wouldn't have told him — she knew our history, knew I wanted nothing to do with him. Which meant he was either guessing or...

Or he'd been asking around. Keeping tabs. Doing that thing he always did where he acted concerned while actually just keeping track of me.

At the edge of my vision, I saw the wolf lift his head. Watching me. He'd picked up on something — the change in my breathing, maybe, or the way my shoulders had gone tight.

I deleted the text without responding.

Five minutes later, another one.

El, I'm worried about you. Your mom said you've been distant. Just let me know you're okay.

My mom. Of course. She probably thought she was helping, mentioning to Trevor's mother that I seemed stressed, and Trevor's mother passing it along, and Trevor using it as an excuse to insert himself back into my life.

The wolf was on his feet now, padding closer. I felt his nose brush my elbow — cold, wet, questioning.

"It's fine," I muttered. "Just my ex being a creep."

This time I typed back: I'm fine. Please stop texting me.

The response came almost immediately: I just want to make sure you're safe. You're living out there all alone. Anything could happen.

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the wolf on my porch.

A low growl rumbled beside me. The wolf was reading over my shoulder — or at least looking at the screen, his golden eyes fixed on the glowing rectangle like he could understand the words there.

I'm not alone, I typed. Then deleted it. Then typed it again.

Sent.

What does that mean? Are you seeing someone?

I turned off my phone.

The wolf pressed closer, his big body warm against my side. The growl had faded, but I could feel the tension in him — the alertness, the readiness. Like he knew something was wrong, even if he didn't understand what.

"He's texting me again."

I said it out loud, to the wolf, because who else was I going to tell? Rowan already knew about Trevor, already hated him, and I didn't want to worry her more than I already had.

The wolf lifted his head. His eyes narrowed slightly — or maybe I was imagining it.

"My ex. Trevor. He's..." I searched for the words. "He doesn't take no for an answer. Never has. We broke up three months ago, and he still acts like we're just on a break. Like I'll come to my senses eventually and go back to him."

A low sound rumbled in the wolf's chest. Not quite a growl, but not friendly either.

"Yeah, I feel the same way." I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "He's not dangerous. Not physically, anyway. He's just... persistent. Controlling. The kind of guy who always knows where you are and what you're doing and who you're talking to."

The rumbling got louder.

"It's fine," I said. "He can't do anything. He doesn't know where I live — I mean, he knows the general area, but he's never been to the cabin. I made sure of that."

But even as I said it, I felt a flicker of unease. Trevor had a way of finding things out. A way of showing up where he wasn't wanted, all smiles and charm, acting like he belonged there.

I shook off the thought. He wasn't going to show up here. He had no reason to. I was just being paranoid.

The wolf was watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

"What?"

He held my gaze for a long moment, then rose to his feet. Crossed the porch in two strides. And pressed his massive head against my shoulder.

I froze.

He was warm. So warm, the heat of him seeping through my shirt. His fur was soft against my cheek, softer than I'd expected, his breath hot on my neck. And the sound he was making now — not a growl, not a rumble, but something softer. Something almost like comfort.

My hand came up, tangled in the fur at his neck.

"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. I'm okay."

We stayed like that for a long time.

Getting ready for work felt different now.

I showered, did my hair, applied my makeup — the same routine I'd done a hundred times. But tonight, I kept glancing at the window. Kept thinking about the walk ahead, the dark road, the wolf who would be beside me.

With me. Not stalking me. With me.

I grabbed my bag, checked for my keys, my phone (still off), my knife. The .22 stayed in the nightstand drawer. I didn't think I'd need it tonight.

When I opened the front door, he was waiting at the bottom of the steps. Alert. Ready.

"Let's go," I said.

We walked together.

The bus stop felt different with him beside me.

The shelter that had always seemed flimsy and exposed now felt almost cozy, his massive body blocking the wind, his presence turning the dark from threatening to protected. He sat at my feet, ears swiveling, watching the road.

When headlights appeared in the distance, he tensed.

"That's my ride," I said quietly. "You should go. Hide in the trees until it passes."

He looked at me, those golden eyes level with mine even though he was sitting. Full of something I couldn't quite name.

"I mean it. If the driver sees you, he'll freak out. Probably call animal control. And then neither of us will be happy."

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't move. Then he rose, gave me one last look, and melted into the shadows at the tree line. Silent. Invisible. Like he'd never been there at all.

The bus groaned to a stop. The doors hissed open.

I looked at the driver — the same one as always, giving me the same tired nod he always did. Nothing unusual. Just a woman waiting at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere at seven in the evening. Totally normal.

"I'll be back around three," I said softly as I climbed the steps, not looking toward the trees. "Will you wait for me?"

I didn't expect an answer. But as I found my seat and the bus pulled away, I caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of the trees. A flash of gold in the darkness.

He'd heard me.

He'd be there when I got back.

I didn't know why I was so sure of that. But I was.

The shift was normal. Blessedly, boringly normal.

I danced, I smiled, I collected my tips. Mina made her usual comments, Carmen asked if I was feeling better, and I said yes without having to lie. I was feeling better. Better than I had in weeks.

The only dark spot was my phone.

I'd turned it back on during my break, and the texts from Trevor had multiplied.

El, seriously, what does "not alone" mean?

Are you seeing someone? Who?

I thought we agreed to talk before either of us moved on.

We never agreed to that, I thought. You decided that. I never agreed to anything.

El. Answer me.

This is really immature.

Fine. Don't answer. But I'm going to find out what's going on.

That last one made my stomach clench. I could hear his voice in my head — calm, reasonable, hiding the steel underneath. Trevor didn't make threats. He made promises. And he always, always kept them.

I deleted the texts, blocked his number, and tried to focus on the rest of my shift.

But the unease lingered.

Three a.m.

The bus groaned to a stop at the end of the line. I gathered my bag, nodded to the driver, and stepped out into the cold.

He was there.

Right where I'd left him, at the edge of the trees. Waiting. His eyes caught the faint light from the bus shelter, glowing gold in the darkness.

Something in my chest loosened.

"Hey," I said. "Miss me?"

He rose, stretched, and padded toward me. Stopped a few feet away, close enough to touch.

I reached out. Let my fingers sink into the fur at his neck.

"Let's go home."

We walked together, side by side, through the dark. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't afraid of what waited in the shadows.

The only thing waiting was him.

And somehow, impossibly, that was enough.