My Stranger, My Wolf Violet
1007 Words
If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be hiding a naked man with glowing wounds and no memory in my tiny apartment, I would’ve laughed so hard I’d choke on my instant noodles.
But here I was wrapped in my grandmother’s oversized sweater, staring at a half asleep man on my couch who used to be a massive silver-black wolf.
Nope. Still not over it.
He looked... peaceful now. Long legs curled up awkwardly, hair tousled across the old pillow I gave him. His ocean-blue eyes had fluttered closed. His breathing, slow and steady. Almost like he wasn’t a walking mystery from a fantasy novel.
And I couldn’t sleep.
I sat cross legged on the floor beside the couch, a bowl of soup on my lap. My hands trembled slightly. Was it from fear? Confusion? Or was it because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone?
“You okay?” His voice was groggy, deep, soft like velvet soaked in moonlight.
I startled. “You’re awake?”
“Not really.” He cracked one eye open, a weak smile playing at his lips. “But I smell soup and I think it’s for me.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s instant. Don’t get your hopes up.”
He sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like I got hit by a train... or twelve.”
I handed him the bowl and watched him devour it like he hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Thanks,” he said, licking his lips. “That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I laughed. “You poor, tragic amnesiac. You don’t remember what real food tastes like, do you?”
He gave me a lazy grin. “Apparently not.”
Later that night...
He fell asleep again on the couch, curled into the blanket I had stitched a hundred times. I watched him for too long.
There was something heartbreakingly familiar about him something that tugged at a part of me I thought had died years ago. The way he furrowed his brow in his sleep. The way his eyes sparkled when he laughed. It reminded me of the boy in the woods all those years ago.
The one who saved me from the traffickers. The one who shared smoked fish with me under the stars.
The one who gave me his necklace.
I reached into the drawer beside my bed and pulled out the small wooden box I never opened anymore. The necklace was still there worn leather, with a blue crystal in the center. I never told anyone about it. I didn’t even wear it anymore. But I couldn’t throw it away either.
I clutched it tightly and whispered into the quiet air, “Is it really you, Ray?”
Rayn (POV)
The dreams were never clear.
Sometimes I was running through trees fast, too fast. The wind was alive around me, howling through my ears like voices calling my name. Sometimes I saw blood. Sometimes fire. Sometimes a little girl crying in the woods.
But tonight I saw her.
Brown hair like warm earth. Green eyes glowing like spring. A laugh like wind chimes.
I didn’t know her.
But I knew her.
Her name echoed in my head like a prayer.
Violet
The next morning was... interesting.
I woke up to the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen. I jumped out of bed, heart in my throat, and ran toward the noise only to find Mr. Mysterious Wolfman shirtless in my kitchen, attempting to fry eggs with the finesse of a blindfolded raccoon.
“What are you doing?!” I shrieked.
He turned to me, pan in hand, a victorious smile on his face. “I made you breakfast.”
The eggs were burnt.
“Ray...” I sighed, walking over to snatch the pan from him. “You’re going to burn down my house.”
His expression fell. “Sorry. I was trying to help.”
I melted instantly.
He looked like a kicked puppy. A giant, muscled, gorgeous kicked puppy.
I sighed again, softer this time. “It’s fine. Just... let me handle breakfast, okay?”
He nodded. “Okay. But... wait.” He tilted his head. “You just called me Ray.”
“I’ve been calling you that since yesterday.”
He blinked. “Oh.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “But it doesn’t feel right.”
“It doesn’t?” he asked, frowning.
I shook my head. “No. You’re too... cute. Clumsy. Kind of ridiculous.”
“Hey”
“I think I’ll call you RayRay.”
He stared at me like I’d grown wings.
Then he smiled.
Not the small, polite kind he’d given me before but a real, full smile, teeth and all. It made my heart hiccup.
“I like that,” he said quietly. “RayRay.”
A Weeks Later
Living with RayRay was like adopting a very sexy golden retriever who had no concept of personal space.
He followed me everywhere. To the kitchen. To the laundry room. He even tried to follow me into the bathroom once until I screamed at him through the door.
He never remembered anything at least, not consciously. But sometimes he’d say things he shouldn’t know.
Like how he knew to separate dark and light laundry.
Or how he could wield a hammer like a pro at the site when I helped him get a job.
Or how his hand moved with soldier-like precision when he saw a spider in my room and crushed it with a towel like a ninja.
“Are you sure you’re not secretly James Bond?” I teased one night as we sat on the couch eating popcorn.
“If I was, wouldn’t I have a British accent?” he replied, mouth full.
I grinned. “Fair.”
Sometimes I forgot he was a mystery.
He became normal.
He became mine.
My RayRay.
- Writer
