Page 57 of Howl You Doin'

CALEB

Caleb's basement gym smelled of metal and sweat as he moved through another set of pull-ups. The familiar burn in his muscles helped quiet the storm of thoughts in his mind. Almost.

"You're going to wear yourself out before tomorrow," Fiona called from the doorway. Her presence sent a wave of warmth through his chest, temporarily drowning out his darker musings.

"Just warming up," he grunted, dropping from the bar. Sweat darkened his tank top and trickled down his neck.

"Right. Because the hundred push-ups I watched you do earlier were just a light stretch?" She crossed her arms, green eyes narrowing. "Don't think I haven't been counting."

"Didn't realize I had a personal trainer." He grabbed a towel, wiping his face. "Though most trainers don't make pasta quite like you do."

"You mean the disaster from earlier?" She laughed. "I'm pretty sure that sauce could qualify as a weapon."

"It wasn't that bad." He moved closer, enjoying how she didn't back away despite his sweaty state. "The parts that weren't stuck to the pan were almost edible."

"Such high praise." She poked him. "Now stop avoiding the real issue. You need rest, not more training."

The concern in her voice made his chest tight. He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I know. Just trying to keep busy."

"Well, I have a better idea for that." She tugged him toward the stairs. "I found your secret stash of terrible action movies. The ones with the really bad special effects."

"Those are classics,"he protested, following her up. His home felt different with her in it - warmer, more alive. The thought of losing this, of losing her...

"Hey." She stopped, turning to face him. "I can hear you brooding from here. Tonight's not about tomorrow. Tonight's about watching awful CGI wolves and throwing popcorn at the screen when they get the howls wrong."

Caleb pulled her close, breathing in her scent. "You're something else, you know that?"

"I know. Now go shower, you smell like a gym sock." She wrinkled her nose. "And hurry up - the popcorn's getting cold."

Caleb pretended to watch the movie playing on his TV, but his attention kept drifting to Fiona curled up against him on the couch. Her fingers twisted anxiously in the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit he'd noticed over the past week. The scent of her worry hung thick in the air, mixing with the butter from their untouched popcorn.

On screen, a clearly CGI wolf howled at an obviously fake moon.

"That's not even close to how we sound," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "We're much more dignified."

"Says the wolf who howled at the ice cream truck last week." Fiona's attempt at teasing fell flat, her voice tight with tension.

"It was playing my song." He pulled her closer, running his fingers through her red hair. The simple contact steadied him, even as his own doubts gnawed at his insides.

The movie's protagonist started a dramatic monologue about destiny. Caleb fought the urge to roll his eyes - Hollywood never got anything right about shifters.

"You know," Fiona said suddenly, "we could just run away to Vegas. Get married by an Elvis impersonator, live off blackjack winnings."

"Tempting."He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing in her familiar scent. "But I'd make a terrible showgirl."

Her laugh was shaky but real. "I don't know, you've got the legs for it."

"You've been staring at my legs?"

"Someone has to appreciate them."

The banter felt forced, but he appreciated her effort to maintain normalcy. To pretend tomorrow wasn't looming over them like a storm cloud. His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, already anticipating the fight ahead.

"Caleb?" Her voice was small now, vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow?"

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