Almost
1462 Words
Reza
The packhouse feels different once the afternoon settles in.
Not quieter, just… looser. The sharp edges of morning discipline have softened into something lived-in. Wolves move without urgency now, conversations stretching instead of snapping shut, laughter drifting down corridors without being immediately swallowed by duty.
I like it better this way.
Starla does too. She’s uncoiled just enough to stretch, awareness wide but no longer braced for impact.
- This is the rhythm, she murmurs. The real one.
- I can see why they protect it so fiercely, I think back.
Lunch helped.
More than I expected.
Nancy had been sharp and observant as ever, but not overbearing. Stephany filled silences with stories that wandered halfway through before circling back, laughing at herself the whole time. Milly talked about her failed attempt to train a stubborn yearling wolf who’d apparently decided sitting down mid-drill was a valid form of protest. Carol complained about supply chains and how no one ever respected the importance of clean storage.
Normal things.
Human things.
Wolf things.
For a few hours, I wasn’t the new variable. I was just… Reza. Someone listening. Someone laughing. Someone who could complain about bad coffee and admit she still didn’t understand half the hierarchy cues without anyone bristling.
It helped more than I want to admit.
Now, back inside the packhouse, I take the long way toward the stairs. Past open doors and common rooms where wolves lounge with books or phones or each other. Someone waves. I wave back without thinking.
That still feels strange.
Being acknowledged without challenge.
Being seen without being measured.
I climb the stairs slowly, letting the sounds fade as I rise. The air shifts as it always does near the Alpha floor, not heavier, exactly, but more precise. Like every movement here is deliberate even when it pretends not to be.
Starla lifts her head.
- Aware again, she says.
The hallway at the top is quiet, bathed in late afternoon light slanting through tall windows. Shadows stretch long across the floor, catching in the grain of the wood, the subtle sigils worked into the walls.
I don’t rush.
This space still feels like something I’m borrowing, even if no one has told me I shouldn’t be here.
I round the corner,
and nearly walk straight into Aaron.
We both stop at the same time.
Too close.
The bond snaps taut instantly, like a live wire drawn suddenly tight between us. Heat blooms low in my chest, sharp and undeniable, and Starla surges forward before I can stop her.
- It's him.
Aaron freezes.
Not startled. Not defensive.
Contained.
His eyes flick over me in a quick, instinctive scan, posture, breath, scent, before snapping back up to my face like he’s deliberately choosing where to look.
“You’re back,” he says.
“Well, yes.” I smile over his statement.
“You were out longer than I expected.”
“Lunch ran long.”
His jaw tightens just a fraction. Not disapproval. Something closer to calculation.
“With Nancy?” he asks.
“Yes. And Stephany, Milly and Carol.”
A pause.
“Good,” he says finally. “I’m glad.”
I don’t know why that matters to me.
But it does.
We stand there, neither of us stepping back, the space between us humming with restrained awareness. I can feel his control like a physical thing, wrapped tight around him, compressing everything dangerous and wanting and alive.
Starla presses closer to the surface.
- He’s holding back too hard, she murmurs. It hurts him.
- It hurts me too, I think back, before I can stop myself.
Aaron’s gaze drops, just for a second, to my mouth.
The breath leaves me in a slow, quiet exhale.
He lifts his hand.
Not quickly.
Not impulsively.
Just… instinctively.
Fingers hovering inches from my cheek.
The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning breaks.
My skin prickles where his touch almost is.
I don’t move even though I have to fight myself not to lean into his hand.
For one terrible, hopeful second, I think he’s going to do it.
Then his hand stops.
Hovers.
And withdraws.
Pure willpower.
Disappointment flares sharp and bright in my chest, immediately followed by something else. Respect. Understanding. Frustration twisted with reluctant gratitude.
I want him to touch me.
I don’t want him to endanger me.
And I hate that both things can be true at once.
Aaron drops his hand to his side like it weighs too much.
“If anything feels wrong,” he says quietly, voice steady despite everything vibrating beneath it, “you come to me. Directly.”
“I don’t know what wrong feels like here yet.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his mouth. Gone almost before it forms.
“Fair.”
The silence stretches again, thick with everything we aren’t saying.
I should walk away.
I don’t.
“You’re tired,” I say instead.
He stiffens slightly. “I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
A beat.
Then, quietly: “I am.”
Not weakness, honesty.
That feels like a gift.
“You don’t have to do everything alone,” I say.
His gaze sharpens, not at me, but inward.
“I know,” he replies. “That doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Starla growls softly, displeased.
- Stubborn Alpha.
I almost smile.
“I should let you get back to whatever it is you were doing,” I say, stepping back before my resolve dissolves completely.
Aaron nods once. “Rest. We’ll talk later.”
Later.
The word lingers between us like a promise neither of us knows how to keep safely.
I turn and walk toward my room, pulse still racing, skin buzzing where his hand almost touched me.
Behind me, I feel him watching.
Not possessive.
Just… aware.
When I close my door, I lean back against it and close my eyes.
Starla exhales slowly.
- This is dangerous, she says. And worth it.
- I don’t know where we stand, I whisper.
- Neither does he.
That thought should make me feel less alone.
It doesn’t.
Later, much later, I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over. His restraint. His hesitation. The way he’d pulled back like touching me would have shattered something vital.
I don’t know if I should feel chosen or kept at a distance.
Probably both.
My thoughts drift back briefly to the man from the forest earlier. The frantic warning about rogues. Jason’s expression when he’d arrived and realized the man was drunk, terrified, and mostly incoherent.
False alarm.
Probably.
Still, the memory sits oddly in my mind, like a loose thread I can’t quite ignore.
Starla flicks an ear.
- Noise, she decides. Not threat.
Maybe.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
I sit up immediately, tension coiling automatically.
“Come in.”
A junior wolf stands in the doorway, posture neutral, eyes respectfully lowered. She holds out a folded sheet of paper.
“Administrative update,” she says. “For your records.”
“Thank you.”
She leaves without another word.
The paper is heavier than I expect.
I unfold it slowly.
Training schedules.
Duty rotations.
Standard procedural notices.
Normal things.
Except, my schedule has been changed.
Again.
My name now sits under Jason’s command block for the next two weeks. Medical support during patrol drills. Territory familiarization. Pack cohesion exercises.
Required attendance.
I didn’t request any of it.
And at the bottom of the page, a small additional line has been added.
Pack Cohesion Check-In. Mandatory.
My name appears first on the list.
Three other wolves follow.
Starla bristles immediately.
- This isn’t random.
- No.
It isn’t.
Nothing about pack structure ever is.
I fold the paper again, slower this time.
Jason.
Cohesion checks.
Structured observation.
Not punishment.
Not exactly.
More like… evaluation.
I place the paper on the bedside table and lean back against the headboard.
- They’re watching, Starla says.
- Of course they are.
New wolves are always watched.
But something about this feels slightly different.
More deliberate.
Downstairs, laughter drifts faintly up through the floors. The pack settling into evening. Routine continuing like nothing has shifted.
But upstairs, on the Alpha floor, the air still feels charged.
Aaron’s presence moves somewhere beyond the wall.
Aware.
Contained.
And now, apparently, the pack structure is adjusting around me as well.
Not hostile, but not welcoming either.
Just… precise.
Starla settles again, though her tail flicks once.
- We will learn the rules.
I glance once more at the folded paper beside the bed.
Jason.
Cohesion checks.
Observation.
Fine.
If the pack wants to watch,
they’ll see exactly who I am.
- Writer
