Love Notes and Late Nights (The Road To Rocktoberfest 2025 #5)

PROLOGUE

They were getting closer. He tried to outrun them, but his legs were half the size of theirs.

He usually never cared that he was smaller than most of the kids in his sixth-grade class, but at times like this, he needed longer legs—legs that would carry him away.

He needed to be fast. He needed to escape.

They were yelling at him to stop running, but he wouldn’t—not until they calmed down.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder, and the look of rage in his father’s eyes made him gasp and hold his breath for a moment.

Then he saw the belt—black and shiny, with the silver buckle gleaming in the sunlight.

That fucking buckle. He inhaled a huge breath of air and ran as fast as he could, only he wasn’t going faster.

He was slowing down. The ground beneath his feet turned to sand, and he couldn’t get his footing.

Hands began to breach the earth and started grabbing at his ankles, further slowing him down.

He looked over his shoulder again, and his parents were closer, only a few feet away now.

A yell left his throat, and he propelled himself forward as fast as he could.

He was gaining traction now, moving his legs freely.

He was going to make it. He was going to escape.

A hand suddenly came down on his back and grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him clear off the ground . . .

Wolf woke screaming and running at full speed, then fell face first into the dirt.

Disoriented, he scuttled backwards and looked at his surroundings as he tried to catch his breath.

Tears streaked his cheeks, and his heart pounded so hard it physically hurt his chest. It was dark so he couldn’t see much through the water that blurred his vision, but a familiar scent filled his nostrils.

It was rosemary. He was outside sitting in the middle of his rosemary bushes.

He realized it was just a nightmare and that he was safe.

But it meant that, after months of freedom, the fucking nightmares were back.

He was stupid to think they were finally gone, because they always came back.

He never ran outside the house before, so he’d need to put safety locks on all the doors.

“Fuck!” he screamed and clawed at his face.

His lips started to quiver and then he openly cried.

After a few minutes, his heartrate calmed, he wiped his tears away, and he got to his feet.

His eyes had adjusted to the night, and he saw that he’d trampled a long trail of his rosemary plants.

He loved those things, and now they were ruined, bruised, and beaten, just like he was.