his wolf's desire

Haiden She definitely was a robot because who on earth had the same routine daily? I've been watching her for three months and it has been my favourite hobby. I ran a hand through my long, wavy black hair, pulling the loose strands that had escaped my messy bun. My hazel and blue eyes, sharp and predatory, tracked Fiona as she walked from the small coffee shop to the spa where she worked. I knew her schedule by heart. Coffee at 7:30 a.m., a walk to the store at 8:00 a.m., lunch at the park at noon, and back home by 6:00 p.m. I knew how her silky, straight hair bounced as she walked, a single claw clip holding it back from her pointed nose. I'd seen the hint of freckles on her brown skin, a constellation I longed to trace with my fingers. Her petite, slim-thick frame was a constant presence in my mind, an obsession that had consumed me since I first saw her. "Alpha," a voice rumbled from the passenger seat of the car. "Your father is waiting for you at home." I ignored my personal bodyguard, a burly werewolf named Dwayne, my focus remaining solely on Fiona. I watched as she unlocked the spa, her small form disappearing inside. "Please, Dwayne," I said, my voice a low growl. "Just give me a little more time. Don't tell him." Dwayne sighed, his broad shoulders slumping. "You know I can't do that, Alpha. He'll know something's up." "Then don't tell him I've been here," I pleaded, my hazel and blue eyes locking with Dwayne's. I couldn't lose this. "Just say I was out for a run, that I'll be home soon." Later that evening, after a tense dinner with my father, I knew Dwayne had failed me. I could feel the anger rolling off my father in waves. The air in the room was thick with it. He cornered Dwayne, his voice dangerously low. I knew this was coming. I knew I couldn't keep this a secret forever. "Dwayne," my father said, his voice a low rumble. "What is wrong with my son? He seems... unfocused." Dwayne's eyes flickered to me, a silent apology in them. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable. "Sir," Dwayne began, his voice trembling slightly. "I believe... I believe your son might have found a mate." My father's eyes narrowed. "A mate? Who is she? Is she an Alpha from a neighbouring pack?" "No, sir," Dwayne said, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't think so. I... I think she's a human." The silence that followed was deafening. I watched as my father's face contorted into a mask of pure rage. I knew I was in trouble. I knew my obsession had just been exposed, and I had to face the consequences. "A human?" my father finally bellowed, his voice shaking the very foundations of the room. "My son, the future Alpha of our pack, is in love with a human? This is unacceptable!" The conflict had begun, and I knew I had just unleashed a storm that would change our pack forever. Fiona A shiver traced its way down my spine as I locked up the Spar. It wasn't the night chill but a feeling, a prickling sensation at the back of my neck that had been with me for weeks. Like eyes lingering just a little too long, a shadow moving at the edge of my vision. I glanced down the busy street, the usual evening bustle of vendors packing up and people heading home, but nothing seemed out of place. Still, the feeling persisted, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. "Just nerves, Fiona," I muttered to myself, adjusting the strap of my worn tote bag on my shoulder. I loved my routine, the comforting predictability of it but lately, the walk home had started to feel… different. Like I was a character in a story, and someone was always watching from just off-page. I hurried my pace, my footsteps echoing slightly on the pavement. The familiar scent of tacos grilling from a nearby stand usually brought a smile to my face, but tonight, it did little to ease my anxiety. I just wanted to get home, even if "home" was a small, cluttered apartment and the company wasn't always the most cheerful. I unlocked the door, the familiar creak of the hinges a small comfort. "Travis, I'm home" I called out, my voice a little too loud in the sudden quiet. The only response was the rhythmic clinking of a glass from the living room. I sighed, dropping my bag by the door. It had been four months since Travis lost his job at the shipping company, and the unemployment had morphed into a heavy, suffocating blanket over our small lives. The ambition I once knew had been replaced by a bitter resentment, often finding its outlet at the bottom of a bottle. I walked into the living room to find him slumped on the sofa, a half-empty bottle of locally brewed gin on the coffee table next to a scattering of crumpled betting slips. The air hung thick with the smell of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. His eyes were unfocused, a familiar glaze clouding his dark irises. "Oh, it's you," he mumbled, his words slurring slightly. He didn't even bother to look up. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. This was the routine now. Me, coming home after a long day at the Spar, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, while Travis retreated further into his drunken haze. The dreams we once shared of opening our own little book café, filled with the aroma of coffee and the quiet rustle of pages, felt like a distant, almost cruel memory. "How was your day?" I asked, the question feeling hollow even as it left my lips. I knew he wouldn't really hear me, wouldn't truly care. He grunted in response, reaching for the bottle. I watched him take a long swig, the bitterness of his situation mirroring the bitter taste in my own mouth. The feeling of being watched outside, the constant unease, seemed almost trivial compared to the quiet despair that filled our apartment. I just wanted things to be different. I wanted the man I fell in love with back, the one who was full of laughter and plans but tonight, all I saw was a stranger drowning his sorrows, leaving me to navigate my own anxieties, both real and imagined, alone in the dimly lit room. The knot in my stomach tightened further. This wasn't the life I had envisioned, and the feeling of unseen eyes on my back suddenly felt like the least of my worries. Then, he looked at me. Really looked at me. His glazed eyes sharpened just a little, a predatory glint replacing the usual haze. "Come here, Fiona," he slurred, his hand reaching out for me. I froze, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I knew this look. It wasn't about love or affection. It was about ownership, about asserting a control he felt he was losing in every other part of his life. "Travis, please," I whispered, taking a step back. "I'm tired. Let's just go to bed." He ignored me, pushing himself up from the sofa. The sudden movement sent a jolt of fear through me. He stumbled towards me, his breath a hot, foul mix of gin and smoke. "I said, come here," he growled, grabbing my arm. His grip was surprisingly strong, his fingers digging into my skin. Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and stinging. This wasn't the man I knew. This was a monster, a stranger wearing his face. The fear was a hard lump in my throat but it was quickly replaced by a surge of desperate, raw adrenaline. I couldn't let this happen. I wouldn't. With a sob, I pushed him with all my might. He was caught off guard, stumbling back into the coffee table. The glass of gin shattered, spraying a puddle of liquid onto the rug. He looked at me, a mix of shock and rage on his face, but I didn't wait to see what would come next. I scrambled past him, the tears now streaming down my face, and ran into our small bedroom. I slammed the door shut, locking it with a trembling hand, and sank to the floor, my back against the wood. I buried my face in my knees, the sobs wracking my body. I felt a wave of shame and self-loathing wash over me. How did it come to this? The love, the dreams, the laughter—it was all gone, replaced by the bitter, stinging reality of this moment. The only sound in the apartment was my own ragged sobs, and the silent, terrifying knowledge that the stranger who just tried to force himself on me was in the next room. I was alone, and I was terrified.