When The Wolf Stares Back
901 Words
Darkness swallowed the archive.
Elara’s breath caught as the lights snapped off completely, plunging the narrow aisles into shadow. The only sound was her own pulse, loud and erratic, and the low hum of emergency power struggling to wake.
“Don’t move.”
His voice came closer too close.
It wasn’t a command shouted in panic. It was quiet. Controlled. Intimate in a way that made her skin prickle.
“I didn’t” she began, but the words tangled in her throat as she felt him reach out.
Strong fingers brushed her wrist.
Heat flared instantly, sharp and electric, like a live wire beneath her skin. She gasped despite herself.
His grip tightened not painful, but certain. Protective. Possessive.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“So would you,” she snapped, though her voice betrayed her. “The lights just went out.”
“They didn’t go out,” he said softly. “They shut down.”
Her stomach flipped.
That wasn’t comforting.
Emergency lights flickered on, bathing the shelves in a dim red glow. Just enough for her to see him properly now.
God.
Up close, he was worse.
Tall, easily over six feet. Broad shoulders straining against his jacket. Dark hair falling messily across his forehead, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His eyes
Gold.
Not hazel. Not brown.
Gold.
They weren’t glowing now, but they held a dangerous intensity, as if light lived behind them, waiting
.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said, pulling her hand free. The loss of contact felt… wrong. “How do you know my name?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
The air thickened.
“For a very long time,” he said. “I’ve dreamed of this moment.”
Her heart slammed hard enough to hurt.
“That’s not an answer.”
A corner of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting something an instinct, a hunger.
“Neither is the truth,” he replied.
She should have stepped back. Every rational part of her screamed to put distance between herself and this man who appeared out of nowhere, knew her name, and looked at her like she was something sacred and dangerous all at once.
Instead, she stood her ground.
“You were looking for that journal,” she said quietly.
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag the bag holding the journal. His eyes flicked down, tracking the movement, nostrils flaring slightly.
“You can smell it,” she realized.
Something feral flashed across his face before he smoothed it away.
“I can smell you.”
The words hit low. Slow. Intentional.
Heat pooled in her stomach, unwelcome and thrilling.
“That’s inappropriate,” she said weakly.
“I know,” he replied, voice rough. “And I’m sorry.”
He stepped back then, visibly forcing distance between them like it cost him something.
“Which makes this worse,” she said. “Because you don’t act like a creep. You act like someone holding back.”
His eyes darkened.
“You have no idea.”
A crash echoed somewhere deeper in the building metal slamming against stone.
Elara jumped.
He moved instantly.
In one fluid motion, he was in front of her, body angled protectively, hand braced against the shelf beside her head. She was suddenly very aware of how close he was of his warmth, the faint scent of rain and pine and something wild beneath it.
Her back pressed into the wooden shelf.
“Rowan,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
His breath hitched.
Hearing his name on her lips did something to him. She felt it the shift in the air, the tightening of his muscles, the way his eyes burned brighter.
“Don’t say it like that,” he said hoarsely.
“Like what?”
“Like you remember.”
Her lips parted.
“I don’t know you,” she said.
His hand flexed beside her head, knuckles whitening.
“You knew me,” he said. “You loved me.”
The words settled between them, heavy and intimate.
“That’s impossible.”
“So is the way your pulse just jumped,” he murmured, lowering his head slightly. “So is the way your body leans toward mine like it already chose.”
Her breath stuttered.
He was right. Her body betrayed her completely heart racing, skin hypersensitive, every nerve tuned to him like he was a frequency only she could hear.
A growl rumbled low in his chest.
Not metaphorical.
Real.
Her eyes widened.
“That,” she whispered, “wasn’t human.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “It wasn’t.”
Another crash echoed closer this time.
His expression hardened instantly, alpha instincts snapping into place.
“They’re here,” he said.
“Who?”
“The ones who don’t want you remembering me.”
He reached for her hand again, slower this time, giving her the chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
The moment their fingers laced, something ancient locked into place warm, solid, undeniable.
“Stay with me,” he said. Not a request. A promise. “And I will tear the world apart before I let them take you.”
Her fear should have outweighed everything.
Instead, her pulse steadied.
Because somehow, impossibly she believed him.
- Writer
