Page 95 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
But the firetruck.
The faulty line.
The timing.
But I can’t help myself.
“Did you sabotage the truck, Marcus?” I ask, point-blank.
His jaw tightens. “No. I mean—I was checking it out. Thought something felt off. But I didn’t mess with anything.”
I don’t know if it’s the truth or the new wolf instincts kicking in, but something about his answer feels… conflicted. Not a lie, not exactly. More like a version of the truth with key pieces missing.
The worst part is, I don’t think he knows what’s real anymore. “Did they do something to you?” I ask. “When you were there?”
He shifts, uncomfortable. “I don’t know. It’s all blurry. Like a dream you can’t wake up from.”
I sigh and grip the wheel tighter.
He’s not ready for the full moon. Not like this. And yet, it’s coming. I can already feel it rising in my blood, stirring my wolf like a storm beneath my skin.
“You’re turning tonight,” I say. “You know that, right?” Marcus doesn’t answer, but I see the fear in his eyes. Good. A little fear might keep him from doing something stupid.
Still, I can’t shake the question digging into the back of my mind like a splinter I can’t reach. Is he really on my side? Because tonight, I can’t afford any more surprises in my growing pack.
We drive in silence, the kind that carries too many unsaid things—regret, confusion, maybe even guilt. Marcus fidgets withthe hem of his shirt, then scratches at his arm. Classic pre-turn jitters. I remember them well.
“You feel it yet?” I ask, my voice quiet. Measured. He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah. Like something’s crawling under my skin.” I glance over at him. “That’s your wolf. It’s waking up.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Feels more like it’s trying to claw its way out.”
“It is. And if you don’t anchor yourself, it will,” I say.
Marcus falls quiet again, staring out the window. His knee bounces, rapid and nervous. “You knew this would happen when you bit me.”
I nod simply. There was no point in denying it. He would know all my thoughts soon enough.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were?” he asks.
“You weren’t ready to hear it,” I snap, more harshly than I mean to.
That shuts him up.
The rest of the drive is heavy. When I finally pull into the firehouse lot, the sky’s already streaked with deep indigo. The moon’s rising. Fast.
I park and cut the engine. Neither of us moves.
“You need to stay in tonight,” I tell him. “Out of sight. In control. Do not engage anyone, and do not—under any circumstance—try to run.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Marcus.”
He finally looks at me. “You sure I can even control it?”
“No,” I admit. “But you’re not alone.”
A beat passes. Then he mutters, “Don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying.”
“Welcome to being a wolf.”
