Chapter Eight
Jamie groaned before his eyes even opened, every muscle screaming. Why on earth had he shown off last night?
Because you wanted to impress Sloane.
Oh right.
And now he was paying for it. His eyelids even hurt as he opened them, wincing at the sunlight spilling into the room. Then he noticed the absence of heat. Where was Sloane?
Bathroom. He needed a bathroom. Jamie pushed back the covers and attempted to sit, his body protesting each movement.
Then he went completely still. Either he was still sleeping or that was an actual wolf lying on the floor.
His breath caught. What the actual fuck?
With a strangled sound, Jamie yanked the covers back over himself, holding perfectly still as if the slightest movement might attract the predator’s attention.
Too late.
The wolf lifted its head and stared right at Jamie.
Please don’t attack me. “Good boy?”
The wolf yawned, showing off deadly teeth. Jamie nearly passed out.
The animal tilted its head, ears perked forward like it found Jamie's terror amusing. Gray-blue eyes studied him with an intelligence that made Jamie's skin prickle. Those eyes looked familiar somehow, but that was impossible because this was a wolf. An actual wolf. In the bedroom where he'd slept.
“Nice wolf,” Jamie whispered, voice cracking. “Very nice wolf who definitely isn't going to eat me.”
The wolf huffed, a sound that almost resembled laughter. It stretched, muscles rippling under thick fur, then padded closer to the bed. Jamie pressed himself against the headboard, heart hammering so hard his ribs ached.
“Okay, okay, let’s talk about this.” The words tumbled out, high and desperate. “You seem reasonable. For a wolf. Which is insane, but here we are. I’m Jamie. You’re... Fluffy? No, that’s patronizing. Sir Wolf? Your Wolfness?”
Another huff. The wolf sat, tail curling around its paws, watching him with what looked like patience. Or maybe it was deciding which body part to eat first.
“I’m having a mental breakdown,” Jamie told the wolf. “That’s what this is. The stress finally broke me and now I'm hallucinating predators. Very specific, very detailed predators with really nice fur.”
The wolf’s mouth opened, tongue lolling out in what resembled a grin.
“Don’t smile at me like that. This isn’t funny.
There’s a wolf in the bedroom. A wolf! What am I supposed to do with that information?
” Jamie’s fingers twisted in the sheets.
“Where’s Sloane? Did you eat him? Please tell me you didn’t eat him.
I actually like him, which is rare for me, and I’d prefer if he stayed uneaten. ”
The wolf stood again, moving closer. Jamie’s breath came in short gasps, his entire body locked rigid. The animal stopped at the edge of the bed, nose twitching as it scented the air.
“Personal space,” Jamie squeaked. “Let’s respect personal space. You stay there, I’ll stay here, nobody gets mauled.”
The wolf moved an inch closer.
“No. No, no, no. That’s the opposite of personal space! That’s invasion of personal space. I’m not ready for wolf cuddles. I need at least three cups of coffee before I can handle wolf cuddles.”
The mattress dipped as the wolf climbed up, movements careful and deliberate.
Jamie pressed himself so hard against the headboard his spine creaked.
The animal settled on the bed, close enough that Jamie could feel heat radiating from its body, smell something wild and earthy and strangely familiar.
“This is how I die,” Jamie whispered to the ceiling. “Mauled by a wolf because I couldn’t resist a hot guy with good breakfast skills. Nick’s going to be so disappointed. He specifically told Sloane to bring me back in one piece.”
The wolf made a rumbling sound deep in its chest. Not quite a growl, something softer. It lowered its head, resting its muzzle on its paws, still watching Jamie with those unsettling eyes.
“Are you…are you trying to be comforting? Because let me tell you, it’s not working.
You’re still a wolf. With teeth. So many teeth.
” Jamie’s hands shook as he slowly, carefully, reached for his phone on the nightstand.
“I'm just going to call someone. Animal control. Sloane. God. Anyone who can explain why there’s a wolf in the bed.”
The phone wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. Probably in his jacket pocket, wherever that had ended up.
“Fantastic. No phone. No Sloane. Just me and you, having a staring contest I’m definitely going to lose because you probably don't need to blink.” Jamie’s nervous laugh came out strangled. “This is fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine. I’m totally not fine.”
The wolf’s tail thumped once against the mattress.
“Don’t wag at me. We’re not friends. We’re barely acquaintances. You’re a home invader with four legs, and I’m a hostage who really needs to pee but is too terrified to move.”
Standing seemed impossible with those eyes tracking his every breath. But his bladder had opinions about waiting, urgent ones.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going to slowly get up and go to the bathroom.
You’re going to stay here and not eat me.
Deal?” Jamie inched toward the edge of the bed, his movements glacial.
“This is me, moving very slowly. No sudden movements. No threatening gestures. Just a human who desperately needs facilities.”
The wolf watched but didn’t move.
Jamie’s feet found the floor. His legs shook but held. One step. Then another. The wolf’s head turned, tracking him, but its body stayed relaxed on the bed.
“Good wolf. Very good wolf. Just stay there while I have a tiny breakdown in the bathroom.”
Three more steps to the door. Jamie’s hand closed on the knob, turned it slowly. Jamie slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, pressing his back against it. His hands trembled as he twisted the lock. Like a tiny piece of metal would stop a wolf if it really wanted in.
After taking care of necessities, Jamie splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection. Bruise still dark on his temple. Hair a disaster. Eyes wide with barely controlled panic.
“You’re losing it,” he told his reflection. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Sloane has a pet wolf. That’s totally normal. People have pet wolves all the time. In their bedrooms. Where they let random hookups sleep.”
Except they hadn’t hooked up. Jamie’s cheeks flamed at the memory of Sloane asking him to come here, of Sloane carrying him to bed, of feeling safe enough to sleep deeply for the first time in weeks.
And now there was a wolf.
Jamie pressed his ear to the door, listening. No sounds of movement. No growling. No Sloane calling his name. Just silence.
He couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Eventually, he’d have to face whatever insanity waited outside. But first, he needed a plan. Or a weapon. Or both.
The bathroom offered limited options. Toilet brush. Plunger. Half-empty bottle of very expensive shampoo. Nothing that screamed “wolf deterrent.”
“You can do this,” Jamie whispered to himself. “Just walk out there like you encounter wolves every day. Confident. Calm. Not at all like prey.”
Three deep breaths. Then he unlocked the door, turning the knob slowly.
The wolf hadn’t moved. Still on the bed, still watching the door, still impossibly real.
“Hi again,” Jamie said, voice only shaking a little. “Miss me?”
The wolf’s tail thumped twice.
Jamie edged back toward the bed, maintaining eye contact. Were you supposed to maintain eye contact with wolves? Or was that aggressive? Why hadn’t he paid attention to nature documentaries?
“Sloane?” he called out, voice pitched louder. “Sloane, are you here? Your wolf needs walking. Or feeding. Or therapy. I’m not qualified to determine which.”
No response.
The wolf shifted, stretching out more fully on the bed. Taking up space like it belonged there. Like this was its room, its bed, its normal Sunday morning routine.
“You know what? Fine.” Exhaustion crashed over Jamie, adrenaline finally depleting. “You want the bed? Take the bed. I’ll just…sit here and have an existential crisis while we wait for your owner.”
Jamie sank into the chair by the window, pulling his knees to his chest. The wolf watched him settle then lowered its head back to its paws, eyes half-closing.
“This is my life now,” Jamie muttered. “Held hostage by a wolf that possibly ate my…whatever Sloane is. Date? Friend? Guy who kisses like sin and makes me feel things I’m not ready to examine?”
The wolf made that rumbling sound again.
“Don't judge me,” Jamie said, because apparently talking to potentially deadly animals was his new coping mechanism. “You’re not the one who woke up to find Cujo’s cousin having a sleepover.”
Noise made Jamie’s head snap toward the door. Please be Sloane. Please be anyone who can explain why there’s a wolf—
But the door remained closed.
When Jamie looked back, the wolf had moved closer. Much closer. Close enough that Jamie could see the individual colors in its fur—silver and charcoal and hints of brown. Close enough to count the whiskers. Close enough to realize those eyes weren’t typical wolf amber.
They were bluish-gray. Familiar. Impossible.
“No.” The word escaped as barely a whisper. “That’s not—you can’t be—”
The wolf’s expression somehow managed to convey patience, like it was waiting for Jamie to catch up to something obvious.
“This is insane. I’m insane. Skating scrambled my brain, and now I’m hallucinating.” Jamie pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. “When I open them, there will be no wolf. Just a very large dog. A completely normal, definitely-not-supernatural dog.”
He peeked through his fingers.
Still a wolf. Still watching him with those impossible eyes.
“Sloane?” The name came out strangled, desperate. “Please tell me you’re about to walk through that door and explain why your pet looks exactly like you would if you were—which you’re not, because that’s crazy—but if you were...”
The wolf’s tail wagged harder.
Jamie’s stomach dropped through the floor. Through the foundation. Possibly through the Earth’s crust. “Oh my god. Oh my actual god. You’re—are you really—?”
The wolf nodded. An actual, deliberate nod.
“I need to sit down.” Jamie was already sitting. “I need to lie down.” He was basically horizontal. “I need therapy. So much therapy.”
The wolf—Sloane?—made a soft whining sound that might have been concern.
“Don’t you whine at me!” Jamie pointed an accusing finger. “You can’t just—people don’t just turn into wolves! That’s not how reality works! There are rules! Physics! Science!”
Another huff, definitely amused this time.
“This isn’t funny! I’m having a complete mental breakdown, and you’re just sitting there being all wolfy and—” Jamie’s voice cracked again.
“How is this even possible? When did this happen? Have you always been able to do this? Oh god, how many other people can do this? Is everyone secretly a wolf? Is Nick a wolf? Am I the only human left?”
The wolf shook its head.
“Oh good, glad we cleared that up. I’m not the last human. Just the idiot who didn’t notice he was dating a—what even are you? Werewolf? Shapeshifter? Some kind of elaborate furry situation that got way out of hand?”
Standing, the wolf moved toward the bathroom door, paused, and looked back at Jamie expectantly.
“What, you need to pee? Because I’m not walking a wolf. I don’t care if you’re actually my…whatever you are.” Jamie pulled his knees up to his chin. “I’m staying right here until my brain starts working again.”
The wolf disappeared into the bathroom. The door clicked shut.
Jamie stared at the closed door.
Then it opened, and Sloane walked out. Human Sloane. Wearing absolutely nothing, all that skin on display like this was a perfectly normal morning.
“So,” Sloane said, leaning against the doorframe with infuriating casualness. “We should probably talk.”
Jamie’s eyes rolled back as he fainted.