A wolfs desperation: Chasing her

Not yet

Ashley POV:

I don’t remember asking him to walk me home. One second I was standing there, snow melting into my boots, my heart still racing from Matt’s words and Gabriel’s quiet fury. The next, we were moving side by side down the narrow street, the city hushed around us like it was keeping a secret. He didn’t touch me. That somehow made it worse. His coat hung heavy over my shoulders, still warm, carrying his scent—pine, smoke, something deeper I couldn’t name. It wrapped around me like a shield. Like I was being guarded without having to ask.

We walked in silence, snow crunching beneath our steps. I kept stealing glances at him—at the scars along his jaw, the way his shoulders filled the dark coat, the way he moved, like the world would bend if he asked it to. "You didn’t have to step in back there," I said again, softer now. His gaze stayed forward. "He hurt you." "Yes," I admitted. "But that was my mess to deal with." His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unsettling. "No one has the right to hurt you." The words sent a strange warmth through my chest. My building came into view—old stone, narrow windows, ivy clinging stubbornly to the walls even in winter. Not impressive. Just… mine. "This is me," I said, stopping at the door. For a moment I thought he would leave. That he’d nod and disappear back into the snow like he’d never existed. Instead, he hesitated. "You’re safe here?" he asked. I swallowed. "As safe as anywhere." He studied the street, the shadows, the quiet. Then he looked back at me, eyes dark, unreadable.

"May I come in?"

The question shouldn’t have felt heavy. It did. It was weighed down by my desires and need to be close to this stranger. "Yes," I said, surprising myself. The stairwell smelled like old stone and cleaning solution. My steps echoed as we climbed. I fumbled with my keys on the top floor, hands still shaking from adrenaline and emotion. "Sorry," I muttered, embarrassed. He took the keys gently from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. The contact sent a jolt straight through me. He unlocked the door smoothly and handed them back, like he’d done this a thousand times before. Like he belonged here. My apartment was small—one room with a narrow bed, a kitchenette, a desk cluttered with textbooks and half-finished papers. Near the bed was a bunch of artwork. A single window looked out over the street, snow clinging to the sill. I kicked off my boots. "It’s not much." "It’s yours," he said. That made my throat tighten. "Well, technically, I rent here." I shrugged out of his coat reluctantly, folding it over the back of a chair. The apartment instantly felt colder. "Do you want tea?" I asked, needing something to do with my hands. "Or… water?" "Tea," he said after a beat. "If it’s not any trouble." I filled the kettle, listening to the silence stretch between us. It wasn’t awkward. It was… alive. Like the air itself was paying attention.

I felt him behind me before I heard him move. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. I laughed weakly. "Define alright." He didn’t push. Didn’t offer platitudes. Just waited. "I think," I said slowly, "I’ve been lying to myself for a long time." He hummed softly. "That ends tonight." I turned to face him. Up close, he was overwhelming—tall, scarred, dangerous in a way that didn’t feel unsafe. His eyes held something ancient, something watchful. "Who are you?" I asked. A shadow crossed his face. "Someone who shouldn’t be here." "That’s not an answer." "No," he agreed.

The kettle whistled sharply, breaking the moment. I jumped, heart racing, and turned it off. We sat at the small table, mugs steaming between us." Thank you," I said finally. "For earlier. For walking me home." "You don’t owe me thanks." "Still. I’m glad you were there." His jaw tightened slightly, like the words meant more than they should. "I was meant to be," he said quietly. I frowned. "What does that mean?" He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, pacing once like a caged animal before stopping near the window. Snow reflected faint light onto his face. "There are things about me, you wouldn’t understand," he said. "Things that would scare you."

I met his gaze. "Try me."

A long silence.

Then, softer, almost to himself: "Not yet." Something about the way he said it made my heart pound. Not no. yet. I wrapped my hands around the mug, warmth seeping into my palms, and realized something that should have terrified me. For the first time in weeks— I felt safe. And somewhere deep inside, something whispered that this night was only the beginning.