Page 22 of Curvy Girl and the Mountain Man Wolf
I turn back to face her, struck by the simple logic of her argument. My wolf stirs, interested in this perspective. Is she right? Have these two days proven anything?
No, I decide. They've proven only that I can maintain control in a limited, structured environment where I set all the parameters. They've proven that when there's no external threat, no adrenaline, no triggering event, I can appear normal. That's all.
"Two days in a controlled environment proves nothing," I say aloud. "Real life isn't predictable. Real life has surprises, conflicts, threats."
"So does the wilderness," Lois counters. "You've survived eight years out here alone, facing whatever nature throws at you. Bears, storms, who knows what else. That requires control too."
She's not entirely wrong, but she's missing the crucial difference. In the wilderness, I can let my wolf out. Can run as the beast, hunt as the beast, be what I truly am without fear of discovery or harm to others. In civilization, surrounded by humans, I must keep that part of myself locked away at all times.
"It's different," I say again, unable to explain further without revealing too much.
Lois sighs, not in frustration but in a kind of sad acceptance.
"Okay," she says. "I won't push. But for what it's worth, I think you're wrong about yourself. I think you've carried this burden of self-judgment for so long that you can't see past it anymore."
She stands, moving toward the bedroom. At the door, she pauses and looks back at me.
"Thank you," she says. "For telling me your truth, even the parts you think make you monstrous. For trusting me with that."
Before I can respond, she slips into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. I'm left standing in the main room, her words echoing in my mind.
For trusting me with that.
But I haven't trusted her with anything, not really. I've given her a sanitized version of the truth, a human explanation for my isolation. I haven't told her what I really am, what happened that night in Afghanistan when the bullets started flying and the smell of blood filled the air.
How my control slipped for the first time, how my wolf emerged not fully but enough, enough to make me stronger, faster, more lethal than any human soldier had a right to be. How I tore through that compound with teeth and claws that shouldn't have been possible, leaving carnage in my wake.
That's the truth I can never share. The real reason I live alone on this mountain. Not just because I'm afraid of hurting others, but because I know I will if my control ever slips again.
I move to the fire, adding another log, watching the flames leap higher. My wolf is restless tonight, pacing the confines of my mind, wanting to run. The conversation with Lois has stirred things I've kept buried for years, feelings and memories I've refused to examine.
The truth is, these past two days have been... good. Having Lois and Lily here, sharing meals, conversations, even silences. It's awakened something in me I thought was long dead. A yearning for connection, for belonging. For pack.
My wolf whines at the thought, pressing closer to the surface. He wants to claim her, to bring her into our world, to protect her and Lily as his own.
But my human side knows better. Knows the impossibility of it. Even if she could accept what I am—an enormous if—I can't risk exposing her and Lily to the danger I represent. I can’t risk losing control around them. One slip, one moment of rage or fear, and I could do irreparable harm.
No. Better to help them get to Cedar Falls, to their new life, their fresh start. Better to return to my solitude, to the existence I've carved out here that keeps others safe from what I am.
Yet, for one selfish moment, I allow myself to imagine a different reality. One where I'm just a man, not a monster. Where Lois and Lily stay, not out of necessity but choice. Where we build something together on this mountain, a life, a family. Where I teach Lily about the forest, about tracking and stars and the changing seasons. Where Lois looks at me with something more than gratitude or pity.
It's a beautiful fantasy. And that's all it can ever be.
Morning after
Morning comes with the crisp clarity that follows a snowstorm. Brilliant sunshine on untouched white, the air so cold it burns the lungs. I wake before dawn, as always, my body trained to rise with the first hint of light regardless of how little sleep I've had.
And I had little enough last night, my mind churning with thoughts of Lois, of our conversation, of the truths shared and those withheld. Of the impossible yearning that has taken root in my chest.
The cabin is silent except for the soft breathing from behind the bedroom door. Lois and Lily, still asleep. Safe. Unaware of the beast that paced the main room most of the night, wrestling with desires both human and animal.
I need to run. Need to let my wolf free before the pressure of containment becomes too much to bear. Quietly, I step outside, the frigid air a shock against my bare chest. Most humans would recoil from such cold, but my body runs hotter than normal, one of the many differences that mark me as different.
The cold doesn't bother me, not with the shift so close. My skin prickles with anticipation as I move into the treeline, my breath forming clouds in the frigid air.
I close my eyes, releasing the iron control I maintain at all times around humans. The change comes swiftly. Bones cracking and reforming, muscles stretching, skin erupting with thick dark fur. The pain is brief and familiar, a small price to pay for the freedom that follows.
When I open my eyes again, the world is transformed. Colors muted but scents and sounds exponentially sharper. I am a wolf now, massive, powerful, free.
