Page 42 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Out of the shadows emerges something massive. Black fur. Eyes like polished obsidian. One has a glint of red in it. More monster than wolf, it stands tall like a man but built like no man I’ve ever seen. My stomach turns. The wolf doesn’t hesitate. It lunges. Claws swipes at the camera.
And then… nothing. Just a blank screen.
The rest of the footage is black, save for the sound of breathing—guttural, furious.
I sit back, heart pounding. “Oh my God.” My whole body recoils. It’s not just fear—it’s recognition. Not of the creature itself, but of the danger it represents.
It’s not a wolf. Or a werewolf. Or even the wolf that attacked me. This is an alpha wolf beyond my imagination. And itknewthe camera was there. Itlooked at it.Swiped it down like it understood what it was. Few werewolves have that presence when their animal is in charge.
I press pause, screen frozen on the blurry shape mid-leap. The angle’s wrong for a clear ID, but the size, the posture… this isn’t your average rogue shifter. This one is bigger. Smarter. More calculating.
The kind of creature that belongs in the nightmares of warlocks and witches alike.
I clench my fists, trying to make sense of what I’ve seen. And now I’m expected to sneak this back into evidence. And let who…the police, the Captain, the Mayor…see it. Did Ember watch it? She must have. And now what was she expecting me to tell her that she didn’t already know?
There’s a knock at my door.
Shit.
I freeze.
Another knock, then his voice, low and rough:
“I know you’re in there, Sera… I can smell you.”
My breath catches. That’s not a turn of phrase. That’s afact.He means it.
I glance at the laptop, then the evidence bag. Panic floods my chest.
Do I hide it? Come clean? Pretend nothing’s happened?
No time.
I flick off the light, press the lid of my laptop down, and move toward the door on trembling legs.
He’s still there. I can feel him through the wood.
Waiting. Watching.
Knowing.
I hesitate at the door, one hand gripping the knob, the other still tingling from the ghost of that footage. My heart pounds like it’s trying to warn me off, but I open it anyway.
Noah stands in the hallway, broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, shadows licking the edge of his jaw. For a split second, I recoil, imagining him as that creature on the video.
His nostrils flare the moment he sees me, his eyes narrowing. That low sound—half sigh, half growl—escapes him again, and my whole body lights up like it recognizes the pitch of his soul.
“You’ve been out,” he says quietly.
It’s not a question.
I glance down at myself—black jeans, hoodie still zipped up. The smell of the woods still clings to me. I forgot to change. Dammit.
Noah steps forward. I don’t move.
His gaze drags over me, not in a hungry way—though heat simmers between us—but in a way that tells me he’s cataloging everything. Observing. Confirming. The same way I was trained to do.
He walks in without asking, his eyes never leaving mine.
