I wake up to a dull, throbbing ache in the back of my head, like the echo of a forgotten memory trying to claw its way back. My eyelids feel heavy, my mind sluggish, thick with confusion.
I blink against the dim light filtering into the room, the world slowly sharpening into focus.
The ceiling above me is wooden, beams crisscrossing like the inside of a rustic cabin. The faint scent of pine and something earthy—like moss and old forests—hangs in the air, seeping into my skin.
I sit up abruptly, my heart pounding, panic roaring through me like a tidal wave.
This isn’t my apartment.
This isn’t my penthouse.
This isn’t anywhere I’ve ever been.
The sheets that fall away from my body are soft, but too unfamiliar. I look down and realize I’m wearing different clothes—loose, simple, nothing like the tailored suits I practically live in.
What the actual hell?
My breathing quickens, my chest tightening as adrenaline kicks in.
The last thing I remember is that café—sitting across from her.
The woman with the storm-gray eyes, the silver hair, the one who spoke like she knew me, like she owned some piece of me I didn’t even realize was missing.
My thoughts spiral as I shove off the blankets and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the cool wooden floor. I stand quickly, the room spinning for a brief second before I steady myself.
And my foot lands on something warm.
A low, guttural growl rumbles beneath me.
Slowly, I glance down.
A massive, white wolf, lying curled at the foot of the bed, its head now lifted, piercing gray eyes locked onto mine. Its muscles ripple beneath thick fur as it stretches lazily, standing to its full height.
What the actual fuck?
My heart slams against my ribs, every instinct screaming run, fight, survive.
I stumble back, my hands shooting up instinctively as if that’s going to stop a creature with teeth made to tear through bone.
The wolf tilts its head slightly, studying me with an expression that feels almost... human.
I glance at the door, calculating.
Distance to the exit: maybe ten feet.
Distance to the wolf: too close.
But I’ve got nothing to lose.
I shift my weight slightly, preparing to bolt.
Because there’s something familiar about this wolf.
The curve of its eyes, the sleek line of its body—it’s the wolf from my dreams.
The one that’s been haunting me for months.
The same fucking wolf.
As if it can read my mind—or maybe my panic—the wolf moves, stepping gracefully between me and the door, blocking my only escape route.
This is how I die—mauled to death by a giant wolf in some unknown cabin, far from anyone who knows me.
The most impossible thing happens.
The wolf’s body begins to shift.
Bones crack, muscles ripple, fur melts away, and standing in its place is a woman—the woman.
Silver hair cascades down her back like liquid moonlight, her skin flawless and glowing in the dim light, her gray eyes burning into mine with a depth that feels like drowning.
Completely, unapologetically naked.
I can’t look away. Heavens.
I’ve never seen anything more stunning—or more terrifying—in my life.
Her body is all soft curves and sharp edges, strength woven seamlessly with beauty. My eyes betray me, roaming over her without permission, lingering where they shouldn’t.
And for a brief, shameful second—I want her.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Then reality slams back into me.
A wolf just turned into a woman.
"I’m dreaming," I mutter, more to myself than anything. My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from underwater. "Yeah, I’m dreaming. This isn’t real."
She takes a step toward me, her gaze softening.
"Fortunately not, mate."
Her voice sends a shiver down my spine, stirring something deep inside me, something I don’t understand.
She steps closer again.
Her expression flickers—something like hurt flashing across her face, brief but unmistakable.
And it hits me like a punch to the gut.
Why does the idea of hurting her bother me?
I drag a hand through my hair, my brain scrambling to make sense of everything, but none of it fits. None of it is possible.
She sighs, running her fingers through her silver hair, the motion effortless, fluid. It draws my eyes—again—to places I really shouldn’t be looking.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my gaze to the ceiling.
"May you... please put some clothes on?" I manage, my voice strained, tight with frustration and... something else.
She studies me for a moment, like she’s considering whether to argue. Then, without a word, she turns, opens the door, and walks out—completely unapologetic, completely naked.
The door clicks shut behind her.
I collapse back onto the bed, running my hands over my face, my heart still racing.
"What the actual fuck is happening?" I whisper to no one.