Page 10 of Wolf at the Door

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The sound of motorcycles echoes down the road as we approach. Ironhead riding on my left, Rocco on my right, and five more patched brothers brought up the rear. The cars are parked just where Finn had said, their headlights off but their presence unmistakable. I pull up in front, cutting the engine and stepping off my bike. The others fan out behind me, a silent wall of leather and muscle.

Dylan leans against the hood of his car, a smug grin plastered across his face. He is flanked by a few guys who look like they think they are tough—tight shirts, cocky postures, the kind of guys who only act big when they have numbers on their side. My wolf growls low in my chest, itching to tear them apart.

“Wolf,” Dylan drawls, spreading his arms like he is welcoming an old friend. “You didn’t have to bring the whole circus. I just wanted to talk.”

I don’t respond right away. I let the silence stretch, let him feel the weight of my gaze. Finally, I step forward, closing the distance between us. “You’ve been warned,” I say, my voice low and even. “You don’t get to come near her. Not here. Not ever.”

He laughs, the sound grating on my nerves. “Come on, man. You can’t seriously think she belongs with you. Look at this place—this club. She’s not one of you.”

“She’s under my protection,” I warn, taking another step closer. “And that means she’s part of our club, whether you like it or not.”

Dylan’s grin falters for a split second, and I see the fear flicker in his eyes. He didn’t understand the full weight of what I was saying, but he felt it. He could sense the threat, even if he didn’t know its true nature.

“Club,” he scoffs, trying to recover. “That’s cute. What are you gonna do? Flex your muscles at me?”

I smile then, slow and deliberate, letting just a hint of my wolf shine through. Dylan freezes, his bravado crumbling as he takes an involuntary step back.

“You don’t want to know what I’ll do,” I warn. “But if you so much as think about coming near her again, you’ll find out. And trust me—it won’t be cute.”

The tension is thick, the kind of silence that only comes before a storm. Dylan’s crew shifts nervously behind him, their eyes darting between us and the brothers at my back. They weren’t ready for this fight. They didn’t belong in this world.

Dylan must’ve realized it too, because he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he says, backing toward his car. “Message received. But this isn’t over, Wolf. Not by a long shot.”

He climbs into the driver’s seat, his guys scrambling to follow. I stand there, watching as they speed off into the night, my wolf pacing beneath my skin. This wasn’t over, and we both knew it.

By the time we returned, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the compound. Bella was inside, sitting at the bar with Lena, her eyes lighting up the second she saw me. She doesn’t say anything, but the relief on her face is unmistakable.

“You okay?” I ask, stepping closer.

She nods, her voice soft. “Yeah. Did he…?”

“He’s gone,” I update. “For now.”

She hesitates, then reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine. It was a small gesture, barely more than a touch, but it sent a wave of warmth through me. I cover her hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re safe,” I promise.

Chapter 7

The air inside the clubhouse felt heavier after Wolf returned. He didn’t say much when he came in, just gave me that intense look of his, the kind that always made my breath catch. Something had shifted in him, like a storm brewing just under the surface. I could feel it in the way his shoulders were squared, his jaw set. He was still watching me, always watching, and it was starting to get to me in ways I wasn’t ready to admit.

I sip my water and lean back against the bar, trying to calm my nerves. Lena had stepped away, giving us some space, but the room wasn’t empty. A few of the brothers hung around, talking in low voices. They cast glances our way, subtle but not unnoticed. I felt like a curiosity, a stranger in their world. But Wolf? He was different. He stood apart from them, not just in presence but in the way he carried himself, like he was built to lead even when he didn’t want to.

Finally, he crosses the room and stops in front of me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me with those piercing blue eyes. They are lighter now, almost glowing in the dim light, and I can’t look away.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice low and rough.

It wasn’t a question. It was a command, but there was something in the way he said it that didn’t leave room for argument. My heart is pounding before I even realize I’d nodded.

We end up in his room, a space that is surprisingly clean and simple. A bed, a dresser, a chair in the corner. The walls are bare except for a single photo of a motorcycle, its chrome gleaming under the sunlight. It wasn’t what I’d expected, and yet it felt entirely like him—no nonsense, no distractions.

He closes the door behind us and leans against it, his gaze fixed on me. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks under his scrutiny, my pulse racing in my ears. I want to say something, to break the tension, but my throat feels dry, and the words won’t come.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

I blink, caught off guard. “Should I be?”

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