Page 1 of Fated to the Wolf Billionaire

ONE

Fiona

Ilay on my belly in the forest, soft moss and leaves beneath me creating a comfy cushion, as I held my breath and waited. There was a feeling of unease underlying the serene moment, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake it today. Sometimes that feeling was the harbinger of an impending seizure, but I resisted the urge to reach down and touch my bottle of epilepsy medication in my zipper jacket pocket. If I touched the bottle, the pills would rattle, and I’d lose all hope of spotting a shrew.

An alpine shrew, to be exact—a tiny mammal on the near-threatened-species list in Romania, where I’d flown to photograph my client’s destination wedding. Her groom’s family still lived in Romania, and she’d fallen in love with the place when she’d flown over to meet them.

The wedding in the castle had been absolutely stunning—some of my best wedding work yet, in no small part due to the absolutely perfect backdrops in every shot I’d taken. But the work I was doing now was for myself, not my bank balance.

My passion project was a work of years capturing stolen moments in the wild on film. I wanted to get published, and combining advocacy with my passion for photography was the best way I could think of to do it. This little shrew was the last image I needed to fill up the chapter on endangered European species. I was so close, and I’d be damned if a little foreboding would mess this up for me. It was probably just my red-light headlamp band bugging me anyway. A migraine coming on, nothing more.

My flight back to the States left this afternoon, and this morning was my last chance to catch the little guy before I had to leave. I’d deal.

Shrews were nocturnal, so I’d come out before sunrise and waited, hoping for a burst of activity as they all went back to their burrows to sleep the day away. So far, I hadn’t seen one, but I’d heard the rustlings of small creatures around me. I was going to stay until the sun was up or I got my shots. My epilepsy was well controlled, and Ineverforgot my medication.

I’d nearly given up on catching one as the darkness began to lighten around me, and then, finally, I saw it. A tiny, furred creature no bigger than a common mouse, but much rarer.

I pressed the shutter, taking burst shots as I focused and followed the alpine shrew through the leaves with the lens. He was adorable, a tiny gray thing with a puffy, furred face and little grabby paws that played with the leaves as he made his way to a skinny sapling nearby.

I was grinning ear to ear until he squeaked and bolted, abruptly ending my photo session. Maybe he caught a whiff of me? I didn’t know what had scared him off. But as I flicked back through the shots I’d captured, I couldn’t be upset. I’d gotten dozens of good shots, one especially cute with his nose tipped up and sniffing the air.

It would look so good next to the shot I had of the Karpathos frog mid-leap. I loved capturing movement with still imagery. It felt like winning an Olympic gold medal when I caught that perfect shot. Weddings were beautiful and fun, but wildlife photography? It was an adrenaline high, every time. It was my only vice. The rest of my existence was boring and responsible, dedicated to the careful management and prevention of my chronic disease.

I didn’t drink, ate a strict diet, always went to bed on time, avoided stress by doing regular meditation and weekly yoga, and took the supplements recommended by my doctor. And obviously, I took my antiseizure medication like it was my religion.

Anything to avoid a possible seizure trigger. I hadn’t had one in nearly four months, which was a pretty good run for me.

The wildlife photography was just for me. For mysoul, not my body, or my brain, which betrayed me if I misbehaved. I stood carefully, brushing leaves and detritus from my hiking pants. It was still dark, but I had a long walk back to my rental car, and I was getting hungry. I slipped the memory card from the camera and tucked it into my zipper pocket for safekeeping, as was my habit, then started the trudge back to the trailhead where I left the rental car.

I’d been walking for several minutes when I heard something snap somewhere off to my right. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and that feeling of unease surged. That wasn’t a migraine or a seizure aura.

Something is out there.

And it was much bigger than an alpine shrew. I bit my bottom lip, debating if I should hold still and wait for it to wander past or be noisy in hopes of scaring it away. It was hard to say when I didn’t know what itwas. Even with my headlamp’s red light, I couldn’t see the creature. I popped a fresh memory card into the camera, just in case I got an unexpected photo op, and pulled out my can of bear spray.

I didn’t ever want to hurt an animal—even temporarily, like with the superstrength pepper spray—but it was better to be safe than to be some predator’s breakfast. After a few minutes of silence had passed, I resumed walking, keeping my eyes peeled for the walking path I’d stepped off to find a quiet place to wait for the shrews.

It was well marked, but in the dark, landmarks were harder to see.

I heard another snap and froze, my eyes sinking closed for a second in terror before snapping back open. It was closer this time, and accompanied by the crunch of pine needles under what sounded like a very large paw. My palms began to sweat, and I turned as silently as I could, scanning the foliage around me for the animal.

Four sets of eyes stared out of the gloom, and I swallowed back a whimper of terror.

Wolves.Really huge wolves.

But why were their eyesglowing? Must be the headlamp. I blinked rapidly as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. I’d seen eyes glow yellow before against a spotlight, but… these were all four different colors, and too bright. I blinked again, wondering if Iwashaving a seizure aura. Hallucinations could happen with my type of epilepsy, and that would explain a lot.

Moving painfully slowly, I lifted my camera, snapping a photo of the frozen wolves. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from theirs to look down at the display, but when I did, it wasn’t the photograph of fourvery real and very closegray wolves that startled me. It was my hand. Myglowinghand.

Oh fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck me sideways—the wolves were real, I had one can of bear spray, and I was having a seizure hallucination. Based on past experience, that meant I hadminutesbefore I collapsed. Best-case scenario, I got back to the safety of my car and lay in the back seat so I wouldn’t fall alone in the woods. I slowly lowered my camera, letting it go when I felt the weight of it on the strap I wore around my neck.

My eyes stayed trained on the wolves as I slowly began to back away, can of bear spray gripped like a lifeline in my left hand. For one brief second, it seemed to be working. And then they leapt.

I screamed as I bolted. I couldn’t help it as four massive canines leapt toward me. I tore through the forest, limbs lashing my face and chest as I careened anywhere but toward the wolves I could hear closing the slim distance between us.

A minute passed, and then another—I didn’t see the trail markers, and the wolves didn’t immediately tackle me, so I kept running. I mentally combed through every wolf fact I could bring to mind as I ran and realized they were probably going to run me down until I was exhausted, and then pounce when they knew I was weak and easy prey.

I couldn’t let that happen. I needed an opening, somewhere to turn and get all four of them with the bear spray at once. A few minutes later, I saw it. A flat trail next to a cutout for a picnic table.

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