His Human Mate

2.

The next time I woke up, pain greeted me like an old enemy.

A sharp, incessant throb pulsed behind my eyes, and my skull felt as though it were splitting in half. Every inch of my body ached, as if I had been tossed around and left in the wreckage. The cold air hit me like a truck, stealing the breath from my lungs. I tried to curl in on myself, seeking warmth, seeking safety, but the chill clung to my skin like a second layer, cruel and unforgiving.

My vision blurred. Colors bled into one another, and I whimpered without thinking, curling into a fetal position like some wounded animal. Was this the end? Was I still being hunted?

Then, a voice.

"Shh... it's going to be alright."

A deep, masculine voice—gentle and quiet, like the lullaby of a distant storm. It wrapped around me like a blanket, warm and unexpected, cutting through the fog of pain and fear. He had no reason to be so kind. I was a stranger, a burden, someone whose very existence invited chaos. And yet... he was there.

He crouched beside me, his presence steady and unwavering. I could feel it—like a lighthouse in the middle of a stormy sea. He looked after me as no one ever had. Not my friends. Not my parents. Not even the people who once claimed they loved me.

"It hurts..." The words barely escaped me, a whisper carried on trembling breath. My lips were cracked, my throat dry. But he heard me.

He moved closer, slowly, as though afraid he'd scare me off. His hand hovered just above my shoulder, and the moment I sensed the warmth of him, I leaned in. Instinctively. Desperately. Like the broken i***t I was.

I curled into him like he was home.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, voice low but firm.

Then I felt it—heat. Not just from his body, but something deeper, like his presence alone emitted warmth. A blanket wrapped around me, the material soft and thick, and in that moment I realized how naked I was beneath the thin, ragged sheet covering me. But the panic didn’t come. The shame didn’t take over. Not this time.

Because the pain—somehow—began to fade.

"Everywhere..." I murmured, my voice breaking with the weight of everything I couldn’t say.

A beat passed between us. A long, heavy silence where the world seemed to stop turning. Slowly, I became aware of my surroundings—a dim room, the hum of a heater struggling to warm the space, the faint scent of coffee and something earthy, something like cedarwood. Him.

I peeled my eyes open, blinking away the blur until my vision adjusted—and I saw him.

Dark hair, tousled like he hadn’t slept. Stubble along his jaw. Eyes the color of storm clouds, watching me not with judgment, but with something else... something unreadable. I felt exposed beneath that gaze, and yet oddly safe.

"Can I stay?" I asked, voice barely more than a breath. I clutched the sheet tighter around myself, the only barrier between us and everything I feared would happen if I made the wrong move.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t speak. For a moment, I thought the silence meant rejection.

But I didn’t have anyone else to turn to. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. If my parents found me… they’d drag me back to that hell. They’d sell me again—like livestock—to that old hag with greedy hands and a cruel smile. The thought alone made my blood run colder than the air.

"Please," I whispered again. I needed this. Just a little time. A little safety. Just a little breath of freedom.

"I’ll pay rent. I’ll do everything you ask. I can sleep on the couch—I won’t disturb you. I’ll cook, I’ll clean... just please. Let me stay."

I didn’t know how I suddenly had the strength to beg like this. Maybe it was survival instinct. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was hope—something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

He exhaled slowly. His eyes searched mine, as though trying to measure the truth in them. Then, finally, he spoke.

"You can stay," he said, his tone cautious but not unkind. "But there are rules."

My heart stuttered.

"You don’t come into my room. It’s the one opposite yours. You stay out of trouble—no drama, no running from people. I don’t want to get dragged into someone else’s mess. Understood?" He pulled back slightly, standing at arm’s length as if needing that distance between us.

I nodded quickly, clutching the sheet tighter to my chest. "I will. I promise." My voice cracked, but my words were steady. "I’ll be invisible if I have to. Just... thank you. Thank you so much."

He nodded. Not a smile, not a frown. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

"Since your clothes are torn, I’m lending you mine."

At that, something inside me broke—and not in a bad way. Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. Pathetic, maybe, but I couldn’t help it. No one had done something this kind for me in years. Not without expecting something in return.

"Thank you... so much." My voice trembled with the weight of it. Gratitude. Relief. Maybe even something dangerously close to affection.

He hesitated, then said simply, "Jack."

That was his name.

"Jack," I echoed, a soft smile trembling on my lips. "I’m Jennifer."

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—I had a place to start again.