Page 19 of Riding with the Rejected Wolf

I stalk back toward the safe house, my claws digging into the earth, extended and ready to tear into anything that dares to threaten Mika. But as I approach, I catch a whiff of cinnamon and regret. Mika is sitting on the porch, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. She looks up at me as I approach, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"Hey,” she says, drawing the blanket she has around her shoulders a little closer. She sets her mug of hot chocolate down and then picks up her notebook, setting it on her lap with a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I figured you wanted the journal that night I first saw you up here.” Her voice is a soft whisper, and she drops the book on the chair beside her. “You can read it if you want. It’s a dream journal.”

My paws shift nervously on the porch, claws retracting as I try to appear non-threatening. I can’t talk to her when I’m like this—not until after I’ve marked her, anyway. So my only option here is to hang back and listen.

“I like to write down anything I can remember. Dreams are the window to our subconscious, you know? They expose our truth, our fears and our desires.” She takes a sip of her hot chocolate, and I can’t help but follow her every movement. Her eyes are like pools of liquid chocolate, deep and inviting. Her lips are slightly parted, and I imagine how they’d feel against mine as I stripped her bare and claimed her as my own.

“I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately about you.”

She swallows, her throat bobbing with the motion, and I can't help but watch, my eyes drawn to the pale skin of her throat. She glances at me, a blush coloring her cheeks. "At first, you were just watching me from a distance. Eyes in the dark. But then you started to come closer. Sometimes you were human. Sometimes you were the wolf. But it was always you.” She shifts, looking down as the blush deepens. "And then... well, the dreams started to change. You were...you weren't just watching anymore."

I feel a growl rumbling in my chest, low and soft. It's not a threat. It's something else, something primal and possessive that urges me to claim her here and now. But instead, I hold back and watch as her blush deepens, her hand playing nervously with a loose thread on her blanket. "I’m still mad at you,” she adds abruptly, breaking the charged silence. Her gaze snaps up to meet mine, fierce and defiant despite the heat in her cheeks. "I’m mad at you for not telling me you knew who Henry was.”

I sit back on my haunches, the growl quieting in my chest. I knew this was coming, knew that she'd be angry when she found out about Henry hiring me. But what was I supposed to do? Tell her outright and risk her fleeing? Or keep it to myself and risk her wrath? Seems I chose the latter and, as predicted, I'm in hot water now. But at least she’s talking to me.

"I'm mad at you for inserting yourself in my life so easily, for making me trust you. And I’m mad at myself for letting it happen.” She rolls her lips together and looks away, arms crossed over her chest as if to comfort herself.

“But even more than that," she continues, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm mad at you for making me want you. For making me dream about you." She pauses, her blazing eyes returning to mine. "For making me love you."

Those last two words ring out in the air between us, and for a moment, all I can do is sit there, stunned. My heart pounds in my chest, a wild rhythm that matches the shock coursing through my veins. She loves me?

I shift forward slightly, lowering my head in a gesture of respect and silent apology.

She sighs in response, running a hand through her hair before wiping away the stray tears that are tracking down her cheeks. “But I get why you did it, Silas. I do. I believe you when you say you came here to protect me. And honestly, I probably wouldn’t have even spoken to you if I knew Henry had been in contact with you.”

She sniffles, pulling her knees up to her chest and tucking her chin down. "And I'm starting to think that maybe I need you more than I thought I did," she admits in a whisper. "Ever since I started running, I haven't slept properly without waking up in cold sweat. But ever since you came into my life, the nightmares have turned into dreams. About you. And it feels... safer with you around."

My heart aches at her confession. I want to wrap my arms around her, to offer her comfort and reassurances. But I can't—not while I'm in this form. So instead, I shift to lie down beside her, resting my head on my front paws and letting out a soft puff of air. I watch her as she hesitates, then reaches out and touches my fur.

Her hand is warm as it digs into my coat, and I can feel the tremors running through her fingers. "I've never seen someone shift before," she whispers. “Hell, I didn’t even know a person could shift outside of stories.”

I let out a soft huff of air in response and lay there, still and silent, as she continues to explore my fur. Her fingers are light and gentle as they weave through my coarse hair, tracing along the lines of my muscles with a touch that's as intimate as it is innocent. I want to growl, to purr, to rumble with all the emotions this woman—this beautiful, resilient creature—manages to provoke in me. But I don't. Instead, I let her touch ground me, bring me back from the edge of my primal instincts.

"You must think it's weird," she mutters, her blush returning as she continues to stroke my fur. "You know, me...me touching you like this."

I huff again. It's not weird. It's more than I've ever wanted or dared hope for.

"I'm rambling, aren't I?" she murmurs, pulling back her hand and wiping it on her jeans. "Ignore me. It's just... you're a lot softer than I thought you'd be."

I snort softly in response, my chest rumbling with laughter. She thinks I'm soft? Only her.

"Do you know how badly I want to see you shift?" she asks, her words a delicate whisper against the silence of the night. I flick my ears in response, lifting my head to meet her gaze. "I mean... if you're comfortable with that."

My heart thrums in my chest, a wild tempo that matches the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I can only imagine what it must be like for her, finding out about this world that lies hidden beneath the surface of normalcy. I nudge at her hand with my nose, trying to convey my consent without words.

She hesitates, then nods, getting up from her seat and taking a step back to give me space.

The transformation is nothing glamorous. It's a painful contortion of muscles and bones as I shift back to my human form. I sense Mika tense up as she watches, her eyes wide with fascination and a touch of fear. I can't blame her; every part of me screams in protest, the change is not a gentle one. But it's over almost as quickly as it starts, leaving me crouched on the ground, panting heavily and slick with sweat.

"Jesus," Mika mutters, her eyes still wide as she takes in my nude form. "I didn't...it's not like the movies, is it?"

"No,” I say, grabbing the blanket she abandoned and using it to wrap around my waist. "Not in the least."

There’s a pause then, filled with the sound of crickets chirping and night creatures stirring. Mika's gaze roams, taking in the ink and scars marring my skin, the raw muscle left behind from my shift.

“I can shift back if it makes you more comfortable,” I offer, my voice low.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t want that.” She stands, her eyes roaming over my bare chest before she moves, coming to stand in front of me. Her eyes trail over each of the markings that coat my skin, her fingers tracing the edge of a skull inked onto my bicep before trailing lightly over a particularly gnarly scar that runs between my shoulder and pec. Her touch sends a shiver down my spine.

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