When Wolves Watch

Chapter Three –Face to Face

Fear wanted to kill me.

The town café was small, nothing fancy — a few wooden tables, the smell of bread always stronger than the smell of coffee. I went there often because it was quiet, because I could sit by the window and pretend the world outside wasn’t so heavy.

That morning, I told herself I needed to be normal. I needed to breathe, to feel human again after two nights of staring at my ceiling, seeing those eyes burn inside my head.

So I decided to order tea and sat down. My fingers tapped the edge of the cup, restless, while I tried to read a book I wasn’t really reading.

The bell above the door rang.

I didn’t look up at first. Just another customer, I thought. Someone wanting bread or coffee. The usual.

But the air changed direction.

The conversation at the counter softened, as if even voices knew better than to rise. A sudden silence spread like a swell. My heart stammered before my eyes lifted.

He was there.

The billionaire. The stranger from the forest.

He filled the doorway in his dark suit, coat draped across his arm, hair shining like black glass. People turned to look, then looked away quickly, as if staring too extended would burn them. Inside me “Mommy see oo.”

I froze. I should have left. I should have been out before he saw me. But my body betrayed me — I stayed rooted to my seat, chest increasing too fast.

He saw me.

Of course he did.

He walked toward my table, slow and certain, as if the café and everyone in it belonged to him. His shoes barely made a sound, but every step thundered inside my ribs.

He stopped right across from me. “Is this seat taken?”

I shook my head before my brain caught up. “N-no.”

He sat. Just like that. A man like him, worth more money than my whole town combined, sitting in a plain wooden chair across from my chipped cup of tea.

The silence pushed in until I couldn’t stand it. “Why… why are you here?” I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted.

His eyes studied my face, calm but unreadable. “Why are you here?”

My throat compressed. It wasn’t the answer I expected.

He leaned back, hands folded neatly on the table, movements smooth, controlled. “You shouldn’t wander the roads at night,” he said, his tone low but sharp. “You saw what was waiting there.”

My stomach turned out. I wanted to scream at him, ask him what he was, ask him if the eyes I saw burning in the forest were his. But the café was full. People sat all around them, pretending not to stare, pretending their hands weren’t shaking as they held their cups.

He was a stranger here, but not invisible. Everyone noticed him. Everyone feared him.

“You saved me,” I gossiped.

“Did I?” His lips twisted, almost mocking. “Maybe I only stopped what was mine from being taken too soon.”

My chest gripped. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he is forward, closing the space between them. The world shrank to his eye, golden even in daylight, though softer than in the dark.

“You should forget that night,” he said quietly. “Pretend it never happened. Pretend it never happened.”

My hands are shaking around the cup. “And if I can’t?”

Something flashed in his eyes. Not anger. No pity. Something more dangerous. Something like hunger.

“Then,” he said slowly, “the night will find you again. And when it does, there won’t be anyone to run to.”

Before I could reply, he stood. His chair rubbed lightly against the floor, his coat sliding over his arm as if even seriousness bowed to him. He nodded once — not at me, but at the silence that had fallen over the whole café.

Then he walked out.

The bell rang again, the door closed, and people breathed out, relief flooding the room like air returning after a storm.

I sat frozen, my tea cold, my body still shaking.

Face to face, he hadn’t touched me. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t shown claws or teeth.

But he had marked me all the same.