Page 7 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
The gray wolf is watching me. And then, he isn’t a wolf anymore.
The shift is smooth, too smooth, with muscle and bone folding over themselves in silence, the magic of it humming through the ground and into my spine. I force myself to lift my head, blinking past the blur in my vision, past the sting of sweat and blood in my eyes. And then, I see him.
He’s standing tall in the flickering firelight, and unlike me, he’s fully clothed.
His hair is thick, dark, and short, tousled and damp as if he ran through a storm. And his eyes—a piercing green now—are even more intense, too human to be beast and too wild to be man.
Something stirs inside me.
It’s not fear. Or maybe it is, but not the kind I’ve known. It’s hot and coiled and unfamiliar, spreading low in my belly like a thread tugged too tight. I’ve never felt anything like this—a buzzing awareness of another body, of how near he is and how much space he takes up just by breathing.
I pull my arms tighter across my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the way I’m curled on the ground, exposed in more ways than I understand, my heartbeat loud in my ears. My breath trembles through my lips, but I can’t look away.
He steps forward. Just one pace, but it’s enough to make my stomach twist.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice deep and sharp-edged, loud enough to crack the silence between us like a whip.
I flinch instinctively. I hate that I do.
My body reacts before I can think—shoulders curling in, chin ducking down, every nerve bracing like I’ve done a thousand times before. It’s a reflex I can’t control, born of too many days in too small a space where the wrong answer meant bruises, and silence meant worse.
He notices. His nostrils flare slightly as he sniffs the air, his gaze cutting sideways toward the shredded bodies behind me. His jaw tenses.
“Did they try to attack you?” he asks, his tone still rough but lower now, less of a command and more of a demand.
I can’t make my voice work. My throat feels closed, my tongue too heavy. I simply nod once.
He watches me closely, like he’s cataloging every twitch, every breath. “Are you mute?” he asks, and though the words are blunt, his tone is calmer. Controlled.
I shake my head.
Something changes in his posture—only slightly, but it’s real. He kneels, not close enough to touch, but enough that I feel it: the warmth coming off his skin, the tether of his attention tightening between us.
He sees it now: the way I keep my head tilted downward, how I don’t meet his eyes for long, the fact that my body remains curled in on itself like I expect the world to lash out at me again.
His next words are softer. Measured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I nod again.
He opens his mouth to say more, but he never gets the chance.
The stillness breaks all at once. The forest behind us explodes with sound—footsteps crashing through underbrush, menshouting orders, branches snapping under boots. The glinting light from the fire throws their shadows forward first, long and jagged and too many to count.
I recognize their voices instantly.
Even after all that’s happened—even after what I’ve become—I feel my blood go cold.
They’ve found me.
I scramble to my feet—or try to. My legs almost buckle, but I force myself upright. My heart slams against my ribs, and I stumble forward without thinking, pure instinct driving my movements now.
I reach for the only thing that feels remotely safe. Him.
The man—the wolf shifter—steps in front of me without a word, his body solid and still, almost like he’s been waiting for this. One of his arms stretches slightly to the side, as if to keep me behind him, and the way he does it—without hesitation, without fear—takes root deep in my chest.
I press into his back, my hands clutching his arm before I even realize what I’m doing. I don’t understand why I trust him, why I move toward him when all I’ve ever known is to run or hide or freeze.
But I do. And he lets me.
