Chapter 3
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Wen
Morning came and I hadn’t slept. None of us had.
We’d spent the last six hours moving an unconscious werewolf up a narrow staircase to my apartment above the bookstore. It took all four of us and more cursing than I’d done in my entire life. The man weighed a metric ton. Pure muscle and zero cooperation.
We’d tried my bed first, but that idea died quickly. One, I wasn’t putting a strange possibly-magical man in my bed. Two, he was too big. His legs hung off the end of my couch, one tattooed arm trailing to the floor, and he still looked cramped.
The rest of the night had been a blur of theories and research.
Bella had her laptop out, typing furiously, researching mate bonds and werewolf lore with the dedication of someone writing a doctoral thesis.
Krystin kept checking his wounds, making sure the bandages held and the bleeding didn’t start again.
Daphne read and re-read the spell book, trying to figure out what we’d done.
I mostly just stared at him and had an existential crisis.
He didn’t wake up. Just kept breathing, deep and steady, chest rising and falling with mechanical precision.
By the time weak morning light filtered through my apartment windows, we were all dead on our feet.
Krystin had dark circles under her eyes that even her carefully applied eyeliner couldn’t hide.
Bella’s glasses were smudged and crooked on her face.
Daphne had given up on looking aesthetic and was wrapped in a blanket burrito on my floor.
I was pretty sure I’d consumed enough coffee to kill a small horse.
“We should check on him,” Bella said for the fifth time in an hour.
We all crept over to the couch. The man was still out. Still impossible. His wounds had stopped bleeding at least. The bandages were holding. It was something.
“Maybe we should try to wake him,” Daphne suggested nervously. “He’s been unconscious for hours. That can’t be good.”
“Or maybe we let sleeping werewolves lie,” Krystin countered. She crossed her arms, staring down at him. “What’s he going to do when he wakes up? He called Wen his mate. We need to talk about that.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “He’s clearly confused. Or cursed. Or we’re all having a shared psychotic break. I’m going with the psychotic break theory. It’s the most logical.”
But even as I said it, I could feel that weird pull again. The one that had been there all night, getting stronger with every hour. A string between my chest and his, tugging gently but insistently. It was driving me absolutely insane.
They finally decided to go home and try to sleep. I promised I’d call if anything happened. Text every hour. Keep my phone on. They didn’t want to leave - what if he woke up and murdered me? - but I insisted I’d be fine.
“I’ve got pepper spray and a baseball bat and questionable decision-making skills,” I told them at the door. “What could go wrong?”
Krystin gave me a look that said everything her mouth didn’t. They left anyway, extracting about fifty more promises that I’d stay safe.
After they left, I stood in my apartment for a long minute, staring at the unconscious man on my couch. Then I did what any rational person would do. I fled downstairs to the bookstore.
The place was a disaster. Bloody towels everywhere. First aid supplies scattered across the floor. The spell book still sitting on the coffee table, mocking me with its ancient symbols and my dried blood smeared across the pages.
The bookstore was quiet. Too quiet. Just me and the early morning light creeping through the windows and the distant sound of rain that had finally stopped.
I had just started wiping down the coffee table when I heard it.
A crash from upstairs.
My heart leaped into my throat. The towel fell from my hands.
Oh god. He was awake. The werewolf was awake in my apartment.
I froze, every muscle locked. My brain was screaming two different messages. One: run upstairs and check if he’s okay. Two: run out the front door and never come back.
Before I could decide, there were footsteps. Heavy. Uneven. The sound of someone moving around my apartment with the grace of a drunk elephant.
Then the door to my apartment opened.
I did what any rational person would do. I dove behind the counter, pressing myself against the wood, trying to make myself as small as possible. My breathing was too loud. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it from upstairs.
More footsteps. Closer. He was on the stairs.
Coming down.
Coming toward the bookstore.
Coming toward me.
I peeked out from behind a stack of paperbacks, holding my breath.
Then his voice came, deep and rough, with an accent I couldn’t place. “Little mate... I can smell you. I know you are in here.”
I froze.
He could SMELL me? That was both terrifying and weirdly hot and I really needed to get my priorities straight because now was not the time for horny thoughts.
He appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
My brain stopped working.
He was wearing the blanket. Wrapped around his waist in a way that was barely decent.
Everything else was on display. The muscles.
The scars. The abs that looked carved by a very talented and very horny sculptor.
His hair was messy, falling around his shoulders in waves.
And his eyes - those strange grayish-red eyes - were scanning the bookstore with predatory focus.
They locked onto my hiding spot.
“There you are,” he said, and started moving toward me with fluid grace that made my mouth go dry.
I popped up from behind the counter, trying to look like I hadn’t just been hiding. “Stay back!” My voice came out higher than intended. I grabbed the first thing I could reach - a hardcover copy of Pride and Prejudice. I held it up between us. “I have a book and I’m not afraid to use it!”
He stopped. Tilted his head at me in a way that was distinctly canine. “You hide from me? Your mate?”
“Stop calling me that!” I backed up, hitting the bookshelf behind me. Books dug into my spine. “I don’t know you! I don’t know what you are!”
He took another step closer. I had nowhere to go. I was 5’7”, not short at all, but this man made me feel tiny. He had to be at least 6’9”, and I had to crane my neck to look at his face.
He seemed to sense my fear. Stopped a few feet away, hands up in a placating gesture.
“You called me,” he said. There was wonder in his voice.
Confusion. “I was in battle. Fighting for my throne. And then there was a pull. Your pull.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Strong. Stronger than anything I have felt in my entire life. It tore me from my castle and brought me here. To you.”
His eyes roamed over me, taking in every detail. Then he breathed in deep through his nose.
I realized with horror that he was smelling me. Again.
His face scrunched up. Not in disgust, exactly. More in confusion. “You smell wrong.”
“Excuse me?” My voice went up an octave. “I smell WRONG? You’re the one who crashed into my bookstore naked and bleeding and apparently from another dimension!”
He moved closer, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “You are not a wolf.” It wasn’t a question. He was processing something. Working through an equation that didn’t add up. “What are you?”
“I’m HUMAN!” I practically shouted it. “A regular, normal human person who runs a bookstore and does NOT summon magical creatures on purpose!”
He looked genuinely shocked. Stumbled back a step, hand still pressed to his chest. “Human?” The word came out strangled.
“But that is not possible. The bond-” He shook his head, looking at me with wide eyes.
“I felt it. The mate bond. From the moment I opened my eyes in this place, I knew. You are my fated mate. But humans cannot be mates to wolves. It has never happened. Not once in all our recorded history.”
He was staring at me the way I’d stare at someone who told me the sky was green and grass was blue.
“How is this possible?” he asked, more to himself than to me.
“You’re asking ME how it’s possible?!” I was still holding the book up between us. My arms were getting tired. “You’re the one from another dimension or whatever! You tell me!”
We stared at each other. Him, looking increasingly distressed and confused. Me, terrified and confused and still feeling that stupid pull in my chest toward him. It was stronger now. So much stronger. Like a rubber band stretched to its limit, desperate to snap us together.
I hated it.
“What are you?” I asked. My voice shook. “What are you really?”
He drew himself up to his full height. Suddenly he didn’t look confused anymore. He looked regal. Dangerous. Every inch the predator I’d suspected he was.
“I am Malachar Ashborne,” he said, and his voice had gone formal.
Ancient. “King of Ravenor. Alpha of the Ashborne Pack. First of the Ashborne line to claim Ravenor. I am wolf.” His eyes locked onto mine.
“And you are my fated mate. The other half of my soul. The one the Moon Goddess created to match mine. But you are human, which should not be possible, yet here we stand.”
I processed this. Alpha. Wolf. Fated mate. Other half of his soul. Moon Goddess.
My life had officially jumped the shark.
“I’m Wen Woods,” I said weakly. I lowered the book slightly.
My arms really were tired. “Owner of a failing bookstore. Member of a book club named after a vampire who sparkles. And apparently I accidentally summoned a wolf from another dimension with a spell book on Halloween. So. That’s where we’re at. ”
His eyes went to the ancient tome still sitting on the coffee table. “Spell book?” He moved toward it, blanket shifting dangerously low on his hips. “You used magic? Human magic?”
“I didn’t mean to!” My voice cracked. “We were just joking around. It was Halloween and we found this old book and there was a love spell and we thought it would be funny to try it and-”
I stopped. Took a breath. Tried to find some semblance of calm.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what happened.
I don’t know how you got here. But you need to leave.
You need to go back to your world. Back to your kingdom.
You have responsibilities. People who need you.
You can’t just-” I gestured helplessly at him.
At the bookstore. At the situation. “You can’t just stay here.
I can’t - this is too much. All of it. It’s too much. ”
Something flashed across his face. Pain. Raw and undeniable. His hand went to his chest again, pressing hard. “You wish me gone?”
The words came out rough. Wounded.
“You reject the bond?” he asked, and there was disbelief in his voice. Horror. “You reject me?”
“I reject the insanity!” I was shaking now. “All of it! Werewolves and mate bonds and other dimensions and magic and - I can’t do this. I just can’t. So please. Just get out.”
He stared at me for a long moment. His eyes had gone darker. Hurt bleeding through the red.
Then, to my absolute shock, he turned toward the door.
This massive, powerful wolf just started to obey. Started to leave. Because I’d told him to.
But he paused at the door. Looked back at me over his shoulder. “As you wish, little mate,” he said quietly.
The back door opened. He stepped through.
I rushed forward and slammed it behind him, engaging the lock with shaking hands. I didn’t look to see where he went. Didn’t watch through the window. Just pressed my back against the door and slid down to sit on the floor.
“What the actual fuck is going on?” I whispered to my empty bookstore.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Once. Twice. Three times. The girls were definitely panicking.
I pulled it out with shaking hands and sent a group text: He woke up. He left. I’m fine. I think.
Then I dropped the phone beside me and let my head fall back against the door.
“I need therapy,” I told the silent shelves. “So much therapy.”