To Break a Wolf

Chapter 9: The Hunt & Rescue

Something was wrong.

Bastian felt it before Callum showed up. Before Selene caught his eye from across the clearing, her expression became sharp and grim. The air had turned, subtly disturbing the surface of the night. Still, pine and damp moss scents filled his lungs the way they always did, but underneath, there was something else that felt…Off.

His wolf stirred beneath his skin, restless.

The pack had gone quiet for the night. Most had retreated indoors, but Bastian remained outside the cabin, still as stone, gaze pinned to the forest as if he was waiting for something to come out of it. He didn’t know what. Only that Mira wasn’t where she was supposed to be. He knew it before the words came. Knew it deep, in his bones.

Callum appeared a second later.

“She’s gone,” he said without preamble.

The name tore out before Bastian could stop it. “Mira?”

Callum nodded. “Fresh scent. Headed west.”

West, the Borderlands. Bastian’s jaw flexed. That part of the forest wasn’t neutral. It was exposed.

“She didn’t just wander,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Stupid? No. Curious? ProbablSelene went to check on her,” Callum confirmed. “Her cabin was empty. The trail leads straight out from the porch, no doubling back or hesitation.”

“She left on purpose,” Bastian said, voice low.

Without another word, he was moving. “Get Selene. Meet me at the edge.”

He didn’t wait to see if Callum obeyed.

The shirt was off by the time he hit the trees. The rest of the pack followed. He barely noticed the cold. Bones cracked, and heat tore through him as he dropped to the forest floor, letting the change take him.

A shift that burned and rebuilt in the same breath, and then he could smell her. Wild honeysuckle mingled with sweat and fear. She’d run. Not far, but fast, and she wasn’t alone.

His paws hit the dirt hard as he shot forward, the world sharpening around him. Another scent tangled with hers. Four, no, five wolves. Not his but rogues, filthy with hunger and desperation. He picked up speed, lungs pumping, muscles cutting through the cold night air as though they belonged to something born for war.

Then he heard it. A yelp, in Mira’s voice, and everything inside him snapped.

He tore into the clearing, loud as a thunderclap. Black fur bristling, lips curled back. What met his eyes were four wolves, backs arched and teeth bared. Mira stood in the center, pressed against a pine tree, arms up, hand held out to ward off the beasts, chest heaving, but not crumpled. Not crying.

One lunged.

Bastian didn’t think. He collided mid-air with a c***k that rang through the trees, his weight slamming the rogue into the earth. Blood hit the air. Not hers. His teeth tore. His claws ripped. His vision narrowed to one single purpose:

Protect.

The rogue scrambled away, whimpering. The others didn’t get a chance. He turned, his dominance rolling outward, a wall of heat. No words. Just a growl that shook the ground. They backed down fast, tails low, bodies crouched. They knew what he was: Alpha. They fled in fear of dying.

Bastian stood there, chest rising and falling, blood on his paws, his breath ragged, and when he finally shifted back, bones snapping, skin cooling, all he could think was: she’s okay. She’s okay.

Mira stared at him, unsure if she should scream or laugh. Probably a bit of both.

“Did you just eat that wolf?”

He blinked.

“No? Okay. Fine. But you just body-slammed him like a Marvel villain and then turned into a man. A very naked, very not-human man.”

His lip twitched. Barely, but the second Mira’s scent hit him again, still thick with fear and adrenaline and something else, possibly a flicker of recognition, his entire body locked. She saw him now. Not just what he was, but maybe a glimpse of who.

“I said later,” he muttered.

“That’s not an answer. You don’t get to Hulk out and then go all ‘no comment.’ Who and what are you?”

“You’re not hurt.”

“Gee, thanks for checking five minutes after you morphed out of Teen Wolf: Alpha Edition.”

“Mira.”

It came out rougher than intended. Her name was a growl caught in the back of his throat. She stood her ground, damn stubborn woman.

“You honestly think I’m just going to walk back to the cabin with you if any of this is normal?”

“I expect you to follow me so you don’t end up dead.”

“Wow. Charming.”

“I’m not trying to charm you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Loud and clear.”

He took one step toward her. One. It was enough.

“I’m trying not to shift again,” he said, low and rough, and barely human.

She didn’t back up. Didn’t flinch. Something passed between them in that silence. Uneasy and unnamed, and then, she sighed. “Fine. But for the record? You suck at explaining things.”

He turned. Started walking. “Noted.”

“Seriously. Cult? Shape-shifting nudist retreat? If that wasn’t in the fine print, I want a refund.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really, but something in his chest cracked open anyway. He could hear her pulse racing, her breath hitching. She was hiding the panic, confusion, and freak-out with her sarcasm. It was adorable.

Mira

He didn’t look back. Just turned and started walking as though he hadn’t just exploded out of his own damn skin as a wolf, mauled a group of forest monsters, and then shifted into a six-foot-whatever naked Adonis with a permanent scowl and a jawline that could cut glass.

And she stupidly followed. Because what else was she supposed to do? Stay behind in the woods with feral wolves who looked as if they hadn’t eaten in days? Curl into a ball and wait for wolves with a flair for the dramatic to write her obituary?

Nope. Hard pass.

But walking behind him proved to be its own kind of cruelty. Bastian moved as a living threat, every muscle sliding beneath his skin with a purpose that said, ‘I could snap your neck without trying.’ His shoulders were broad. His back was a mass of ridges and lean muscle. That deep V taper? Criminal. And the man was gloriously naked.

Don’t look, Mira. Don’t—

She looked.

Oh. Sweet. Hell.

Her brain short-circuited. Heat erupted under her skin so fast she nearly tripped over a root. She yanked her gaze to the side, cheeks flaming, betraying her.

Now was not the time to ogle the supernatural murder machine, but her body hadn’t received the memo. Every nerve ending felt electrified, lit up by the sheer presence of him. Bastian moved as if forged from instinct and control: broad shoulders, tapered waist, a sculpted body carved in impossible angles. Chiseled muscle flexed with every step, each line and dip illuminated by moonlight, from the curve of his biceps to the ridges of his abdomen. Pale scars slashed across his back, catching the moonlight as he moved, and the breeze teased the wavy, dark hair that was tousled from his movements. And when he glanced her way, the gold in his eyes burned like wildfire in the shadows. The low muscles of belly clenched in a way they shouldn’t every time, like he could feel her looking and didn’t mind a damn bit. It was offensive, really, how aware she was of the weight of his body, the heat he radiated, the pull he had without trying.

It wasn’t just pure attraction. Mira knew how attraction felt. This sensation was different, akin to gravity, pulling her toward something she didn’t understand and hadn’t agreed to.

She hugged her arms tighter across her chest, trying to contain the full-body buzz that had nothing to do with the cold. Mira Danvers did not unravel. She was a compartmentalizer, a survivor. She didn’t fall apart because some wolfman from hell went full Greek myth in front of her and acted as if it was just another Tuesday.

Except… she was unraveling—just a little.

Because beneath the holy-hell-he’s-hot chaos, there was something else. Something that said this part man, part wolf, was important in the grand scheme of things. That her world had shifted the moment his body hit the clearing, and she hadn’t stopped spinning since.

The forest began to thin, light from the cabin’s windows leaking through the trees. Mira slowed, her feet brushing the edge of the clearing[1] . She didn’t move forward, not yet.

Mira had an intuition that crossing the porch made it about more than just stepping inside. It would be a step into a different life, one where she didn’t get to pretend any of this wasn’t happening.

Bastian turned, unapologetic in his nudity.

Moonlight silvered his body, but it was his eyes that held her. Eyes that burned wild and unreadable, knowing too much and saying too little. He took a single step forward.

“Don’t leave the cabin again,” his voice rough around the edges as though dragged through gravel.

Mira’s chin lifted. “Excuse me?”

Another step. The heat radiating off him hit her before his body did; his presence came with its own gravity.

“I’m not asking.”

She could smell the forest on him: Pine, smoke, even the blood. Her pulse kicked hard.

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to go for a walk.”

His jaw flexed. That same flicker appeared in his eyes again. And then, “You don’t leave the cabin at night. Do you understand me?”

The air snapped taut. Mira’s breath caught.

Oh, hell no. She should’ve shoved him right then and told him where to stick his alpha complex. Filed a formal complaint with the Werewolf Board of Jerks, but she didn’t, because something in his voice, just under the command, wasn’t a threat, it was fear. Raw, quiet, and buried under a mountain of control, and it was for her. The worst part? She didn’t even know how to explain how she knew that.

So she nodded, with barely a tip of her chin, then turned toward the door. She didn’t look back, and behind her, Bastian didn’t move until the door sealed tightly.