Page 67 of Griffin

The easy way they flirted, the casual touches, the way Michael’s eyes lit up when he looked at him—it was a lie. It had to be.

The boyfriend didn’t know Michael like he did. He didn’t know Michael’s favorite tea, the playlist he always listened to when he couldn’t sleep, or the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed too hard.

The stalker knew everything.

“You’ll see,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both fury and desperation. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who truly loves you. That wolf will never understand you like I do. He’ll hurt you. He’ll ruin you. But I’ll save you, Michael. I’ll save you from him, from yourself.”

His hand curled around the edge of the desk, knuckles white with tension. He could see it now: the wolf gone, eliminated.

Michael would cry at first—he was sensitive like that—but eventually, he’d understand. He’d see it was for the best. For their future.

And then, finally, they could be together.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. His mind raced with plans, possibilities, each one more elaborate and dangerous than the last. He’d been patient long enough.

The wolf had crossed a line by stepping into Michael’s life, and now, it was time to step up.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and venomous. “You’ve always been mine, Michael. And soon, you’ll realize there’s no one else. Just you and me. Forever.”

Chapter 17

Griffin

Michael tugged at the hem of his shirt for the third time since we’d left the house. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“He’s in a coma, you know,” I teased. “He won’t care how you’re dressed.”

Michael shot me a look, his fingers still fussing with the fabric.

“I still want to make a good impression,” he said, his voice soft but determined.

Adorable. That was the only word for it. Michael was so damn adorable sometimes it made my chest ache.

I shook my head, smiling as I pulled into the hospital parking lot. The tension eased a bit when I found a spot close to the entrance.

Once the truck was parked, I reached for him, my fingers brushing lightly over his arm. Before he could say a word, I leaned in and kissed him.

Michael stiffened for half a second, then melted against me, his nervous energy softening into something warm and familiar.

When I pulled back, he blinked at me, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks.

“What was that for?” he asked, his lips curving into a shy smile.

“For luck,” I said with a grin. “But mostly because I just wanted to kiss you.”

Michael laughed softly, shaking his head. “Well, I’m not complaining.”

I took his hand as we walked into the hospital, the automatic doors hissing open to let us in. The scent of disinfectant hit me like it always did—cold and sharp.

The familiar energy of the place surrounded us—nurses moving with purpose, monitors beeping in the background, and low conversations drifting through the halls.

Michael’s hand tightened in mine as we approached Dad’s room. I could feel his nerves kicking back in, but he didn’t say anything.

I pushed open the door, and there he was, just as he always was.

Dad lay still in the bed, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor the only sign that he was still here, still alive.

I swallowed hard, like I always did when I saw him like this. No matter how many times I came here, it never got easier.

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