Page 5 of Falling for My Shifter Stranger

For a moment, Rhys just stares at him, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, his face softens—just a little—and he nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff. “I guess I’ll help.”

The boy beams, grabbing Rhys’s hand and dragging him toward the long table where the other pups are busy decorating cookies. I bite down a smile as Rhys lowers himself into one of the tiny chairs, his large frame comically out of place amid the chaos of sticky hands and giggling children.

“Here,” I say, sliding a bowl of frosting toward him as I take a seat beside him. “Start with this. And don’t let the pups fool you—they’re ruthless critics.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Good to know.”

I watch as he dips a spoon into the frosting, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands are big, his fingers rough with callouses, but his movements are careful, almost delicate, as he spreads the icing over a snowman-shaped cookie. One of the pups—a girl with bouncing curls—leans over to inspect his work. “You’re doing it wrong,” she declares, her tiny voice full of authority.

Rhys glances at her, then at the cookie, his expression deadpan. “Am I?”

She nods solemnly, holding up her own creation—a lopsided tree drowning in green frosting and sprinkles. “It’s supposed to look pretty.”

His mouth twitches again, and this time, I catch the faintest hint of a smile. “Got it,” he says, reaching for the sprinkles. “Pretty. I’ll work on that.”

The girl watches him for a moment, then nods in approval before turning back to her own cookie. I hide my grin behind a sip of cocoa, my chest warming at the sight of Rhys surrounded by pups, his guarded edges softening just a bit. He doesn’t belong here—not yet—but for the first time, I can imagine what it might look like if he did.

“Here,” I say, nudging the bowl of red frosting toward him. “Try this.”

Our fingers brush as he takes it, and the contact sends a jolt through me, warm and electric. My wolf stirs, her growl soft and possessive, and I have to fight the urge to lean closer, to close the space between us. Rhys doesn’t seem to notice—or if he does, he hides it well. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, something that makes my heart race and my wolf press harder against my control.

The evening passes in a blur of frosting and laughter, the pups’ joy infectious. Even Rhys relaxes, his movements less stiff, his responses less clipped. I catch him smiling—actually smiling—when one of the boys asks for his help with a particularly tricky design. He leans down, his voice low and patient as he guides the boy’s hands, and my chest tightens at the sight.

By the time the last cookie is decorated and set aside, the kitchen is a mess of crumbs and sticky bowls, but I can’t bring myself to care. The pups are herded off to bed, their excitementlingering in the air like the scent of cinnamon, and the parents begin cleaning up the worst of the chaos. Rhys stays at the edge of the room, his eyes following the movement of the pack with an expression I can’t quite read—longing, maybe, or something close to it.

“Hey,” I say softly, stepping up beside him. “You did great tonight. I think the pups like you.”

He huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh, his silver eyes reflecting the glow of the fireplace. “They’re… persistent.”

“That’s a good thing,” I say, nudging his arm gently. “It means they trust you.”

His gaze shifts to mine, and for a moment, I see it—the loneliness he carries, the weight of whatever past he’s trying so hard to hide. It’s there in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he looks at the fire like it holds answers he’s afraid to ask for.

“I’m not used to this,” he says quietly. “Being part of something.”

“You could be,” I say, my voice just as soft. “If you wanted to.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

His eyes meet mine, and I see the walls go up again, the vulnerability shuttered behind layers of guarded silence. “Because I don’t belong here,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I've been roaming, taking odd jobs... I'm a lone wolf. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“That’s not true,” I say, stepping closer. “You belong wherever you choose to belong. And if that’s here… we’ll make room for you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze searching mine like he’s looking for something—some kind of reassurance, some kind of hope. My fingers brush his arm, the contact sparking again, and for a moment, he doesn’t pull away. The bond between us hums, alive and electric, and I can feel my wolf pushing closer, her instincts screaming at me to close the distance, to take that final step.

“I’ve been alone for a long time,” he says, his voice low and rough.

I rise from the couch and take a tentative step toward him. “Why?” I ask softly. “Why have you been alone?”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if he’s wrestling with himself. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the push and pull of wanting to keep his secrets and wanting to let them go. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t leave my old pack because I wanted to,” he says, his gaze fixed on the fire now. “I left because I had to. Because staying would’ve done more harm than good.”

“What happened?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the fireplace, crouching down to poke at the logs with a metal rod. The flames leap higher, their light illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the shadow of a man who’s been carrying more than his fair share of burdens.

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