THE WOLF BETWEEN US

CHAPTER TWO TWO MEN UNDER ONE SKIN

CHAPTER TWO

TWO MEN UNDER ONE SKIN

The storm followed us into the forest.

Rain slammed against the windshield while the stranger drove through winding mountain roads without speaking. Lightning flashed between the trees in violent bursts of white, illuminating his profile for half-seconds at a time.

Sharp jaw.

Blood running down his neck.

Gold eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Monster.

The word should’ve terrified me more than it did.

Instead, I sat there shaking for entirely different reasons.

Because every few minutes, his expression changed.

Not subtly.

Completely.

Sometimes his face hardened into something cold and distant, hands tightening around the steering wheel like he regretted dragging me into the truck at all.

Then suddenly his breathing would hitch.

His eyes would soften.

And I would feel that unbearable pull in my chest all over again.

Like invisible threads tightening between us.

Neither of us spoke the entire drive.

Thunder rolled overhead.

The silver wound in his shoulder smoked faintly beneath torn black fabric.

And every time pain twisted across his face, something inside me hurt with him.

That terrified me most.

I woke to silence.

Not complete silence.

Forest silence.

Wind moving through trees.

Rain tapping against windows.

Wood creaking softly around me.

My eyes snapped open.

Panic hit instantly.

I jerked upright in bed so fast dizziness slammed into me. The last thing I remembered was blood in rainwater. Claws. Glowing eyes. Being dragged through the storm by something that wasn’t entirely human.

The cabin around me was dimly lit by moonlight filtering through narrow windows.

Small.

Isolated.

Wrong.

The air smelled like smoke, pine, and dried blood.

My pulse quickened.

Protective symbols had been carved into the wooden walls in jagged circles. Some glowed faintly blue beneath the shadows, pulsing softly like breathing veins.

Claw marks scarred the floorboards beside the bed.

Deep ones.

Like someone had tried tearing through the cabin from the inside.

I pushed the blanket off carefully.

My clothes had been changed.

Cold realization slid down my spine.

I was wearing an oversized black shirt that smelled like cedar smoke and rain.

His shirt.

The pressure beneath my ribs tightened sharply.

That strange heat again.

Alive.

Watching.

Waiting.

I swung my legs over the bed slowly, trying to steady my breathing.

Then I heard voices downstairs.

I froze.

A man’s voice—cold and furious.

“She needs to leave before they track her here.”

Another voice answered immediately.

Lower.

Rougher.

Emotionally raw.

“She stays.”

My stomach tightened.

The first voice snapped back.

“You are not thinking clearly.”

“She’s our mate.”

The word sent heat crashing through my chest.

“No,” the colder voice hissed. “She is a mistake.”

Silence.

Then—

“You felt it too.”

The cabin creaked softly around me.

I moved toward the bedroom door quietly, pulse hammering in my throat.

“She should never have seen us,” the cold voice said.

“She came anyway.”

“You’ll destroy her.”

A pause.

Then the rougher voice answered softly:

“You already tried.”

Ice spread through my veins.

Because there was only one man downstairs.

I knew it.

Knew it before I even reached the staircase.

But my brain rejected it anyway.

That wasn’t possible.

People didn’t change voices, personalities, entire emotional atmospheres in seconds.

People didn’t become someone else between breaths.

I reached the bottom stair slowly.

And saw him standing in the kitchen.

Barefoot.

Broad shoulders tense beneath a dark thermal shirt.

Blood still stained the bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

He looked up instantly.

The warmth vanished from his expression so fast it felt violent.

Cold personality.

Definitely cold personality.

His gold eyes scanned me once—sharp, assessing.

Then immediately checked the room behind me.

The exits.

The windows.

The locked doors.

Only afterward did he speak.

“You should still be asleep.”

His voice was clipped. Controlled.

Like every word cost him effort.

“I heard arguing.”

His jaw tightened.

“No, you didn’t.”

I stared at him.

“You were talking to yourself.”

“Observant.”

The sarcasm was razor sharp.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “You dragged me into the woods after slaughtering armed men in an alley. I think I deserve some explanations.”

“You deserve distance.”

He moved across the kitchen without looking directly at me again.

But I noticed things.

The way he positioned himself between me and the front door.

The way he kept glancing toward the windows.

The way his attention tracked every movement I made even while pretending indifference.

Protective.

Involuntary.

Like instinct fighting against intention.

“You keep saying ‘they,’” I said carefully. “Who are they?”

“The people who kill anything they can’t control.”

“That includes you?”

A bitter smile flickered briefly across his face.

“You have no idea what includes me.”

Thunder rattled the cabin windows.

I watched him open a cabinet.

Inside were medical supplies.

Silver bullets.

And restraints.

Actual restraints.

My stomach dropped.

He noticed my expression instantly.

His entire body went rigid.

“Don’t touch those.”

“Why do you have silver restraints?”

Silence.

Something dangerous moved behind his eyes.

Then suddenly—

Pain crossed his face violently.

His hand slammed onto the counter hard enough to splinter wood.

“Stop,” he snarled under his breath.

At himself again.

I took an involuntary step back.

And the shift happened.

Not slowly.

Instantly.

The tension drained from his posture like a snapped wire.

His breathing changed first.

Then his eyes.

God.

The difference in his eyes nearly destroyed me.

Warmth flooded them.

Not normal warmth.

Recognition.

Relief.

Like he’d been drowning and finally surfaced.

His gaze landed on me and softened with devastating intensity.

“Liora.”

The way he said my name—

Like it meant something sacred.

Heat crashed through my chest again so hard I grabbed the counter beside me.

He noticed immediately.

Concern flashed across his face.

“You feel it.”

Not a question.

I couldn’t breathe correctly.

He crossed the kitchen slowly, like approaching something fragile.

This version of him moved differently.

Closer.

Softer.

Every instinct in his body pulled toward me instead of away.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

Pain flickered across his expression.

Then he lifted his hand carefully toward my face before stopping himself halfway.

Like touching me required restraint.

“Mine,” he said quietly. “You’re mine.”

Fear curled through me.

But so did something worse.

Longing.

His fingers brushed my wrist.

The mate bond exploded.

Heat flooded every nerve in my body.

My vision fractured instantly—

Moonlight over snow.

Blood-covered claws digging into ice.

A child crying behind glass walls.

Silver restraints.

Screaming.

Mirrors shattering.

Hands covered in blood.

A voice whispering: Please don’t let him take me again.

I gasped violently.

The stranger caught me before I fell.

And the second he touched me fully, grief slammed into my chest so powerfully it nearly knocked me unconscious.

Not mine.

His.

Our breathing tangled together.

He stared at me like he felt everything I had just seen.

“Mate…” he whispered again.

Then his face twisted.

The warmth disappeared instantly.

He shoved himself away from me so hard he nearly hit the wall.

“No.”

Cold personality.

Back again.

His expression was furious now. Terrified.

“You touched her?”

“She needed us.”

“She is not yours.”

“She is.”

“Stop calling her that!”

The sheer panic in his voice stunned me.

Not anger.

Fear.

Real fear.

I stared at him, pulse pounding.

“You really don’t remember what happens between these episodes, do you?”

His face went blank.

Wrong question.

The silence answered me anyway.

Memory gaps.

Missing time.

Dear God.

I looked around the cabin again.

Really looked.

Broken mirrors stacked beside the fireplace.

Claw marks gouged into walls.

Journals scattered across tables with pages ripped out.

Deep scratches carved into the wooden beams overhead.

Evidence of violence everywhere.

Not outward violence.

Contained violence.

Like this cabin existed to survive him.

My chest tightened painfully.

He feared himself more than I feared him.

The realization hit harder than it should have.

“I can leave,” I said quietly.

His eyes snapped toward me instantly.

And for one horrifying second—

both emotions existed there at once.

Relief.

And devastation.

“No,” the warmer voice said softly.

“Yes,” the colder one snapped immediately after.

I stared at him in disbelief.

Two men.

One body.

Both losing control.

Unable to stop myself, I moved deeper into the cabin while he stood frozen near the kitchen.

That was when I saw the writing carved into the wall beside the hallway.

Deep claw marks shredded through the wood repeatedly.

Over and over.

The same phrase.

DON’T LET HIM LOVE HER.

My blood ran cold.

Because I no longer knew which one of them had written it.

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I turned slowly.

The cold personality stood in the hallway holding a gun.

Black metal gleamed beneath moonlight.

His hand trembled once before steadying.

But his eyes—

His eyes looked terrified.

Not of me.

For me.

“If the wolf marks you before I stop this,” he said hoarsely, “neither of us survive.”