Chapter 1 #2
Rocket yawned, a tiny squeak escaping him.
“Don’t judge,” I muttered, kissing the tuft between his ears.
“I turned on the deck light. And there he was, big as a dump truck, Rock. Black clothes, mask. And he just waved. Like we were old pals.” The puppy cocked his head, ears askew.
“And get this—I froze. Like a dumbass first girl to get the axe in a slasher movie. Heart flatlined. But also…” I grimaced.
Rocket rolled onto his back, belly up, tongue lolling.
“Ugh, fine.” I gave him tummy rubs. “Yes, masked massive cryptids watching me from my window are a major turn-on for me. Always have been. That’s why I read so many dark romances, and listen to so many creepy podcasts.
” He pawed the air, blissfully clueless.
“Can I help it if I’d love for a strong stranger to come in and take away all my choices for once?
I’d like to have someone else in charge of what happens to me sometimes.
Your owner is completely broken, buddy.” And damned if a tear didn’t escape my eye.
He wriggled free, skidding off the couch to chase a dust mote. “Yeah, run, buddy. Smart move.” I watched him pounce, tail helicoptering. “Worst part? Once I calmed down, I recognized his scent. Wolf. Male. Familiar. And my wolf…” I trailed off, staring at the ceiling. “Didn’t hate it.”
Rocket trotted back, a squeaky toy clamped in his jaws. “Point is,” I sighed, plucking the slobbery duck from his mouth, “I’m my own brand of disaster. Fangirl of toxic book boyfriends, weak for giant creeps in knit masks…” His head tilted. “But hey, you’re cuter than him.”
He barked once—sharp, decisive—and flopped onto my feet.
“Yeah, yeah. Cuddles fix everything,” I muttered, flicking a glance at the fridge magnet. He’d looked at it. At my family. Rocket snored softly, paws twitching in a dream. I wished I could conk out immediately like that.
And somewhere in the night, I realized I wasn’t scared so much as fascinated. I knew I had no real reason to be frightened. I was a wolf, after all.
I left the puppy sleeping on the floor and went back to my office nook. I had to look at my camera logs once more just to be sure I hadn’t missed anything. There had to be some kind of proof that he’d been here.
I pulled up my home network’s logs, running the usual scripts to check for anomalies.
I found dozens. Whoever he was, he’d been inside my router, inside my goddamn baby cams, not just snooping but erasing.
A proper professional job—no logs, no traces, not even a misaligned timestamp.
I should have been angry. Instead, I felt a sick, grudging respect.
I scrolled through video footage, hoping for a glitch, a shadow, anything. The loops were perfect. There was no sign of the man in black, not even in the hours I was home and awake. All I saw was myself pacing and searching.
That should have been the end of it. Shut the laptop, pour another drink, move on. But I couldn’t.
Every time I tried to close the feeds, I felt that mask lurking at the edge of my vision. The white circles for eyes, the slit mouth. The way he’d raised his hand in greeting, as if he’d known I was watching, as if he knew exactly what it would do to me.
I told myself it was just a threat display. Standard shifter intimidation tactic. But the more I replayed it, the less I believed that.
I was still at the desk when the desire hit.
It wasn’t sudden, like a knife; it seeped in, slow and venomous, starting as a spark in my belly and then spreading, rotting away the rest of my good intentions.
I’d always been a control freak, always kept my sex life in neat boxes.
I liked toys and solo missions because they did what I wanted, when I wanted, and there were never any messy expectations.
But the image of him—impossible, unreal—set something inside me on fire.
I tried to ignore it. I even made it to my feet, crossed my house to the kitchen and started another cup of coffee. But every step was heavier, and by the time I called Rocket and reached my bedroom, I was already undoing my hoodie, peeling it off like it was soaked in sweat.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the far wall.
My hands shook as I slid my leggings down, careful not to let the fabric snag on my skin.
Even in the stillness, the memory of the masked stranger pressed against me, hot and electric, as real as the bed beneath me.
Rocket lay in his plush bed in the corner of the room, snoring away.
I grabbed the new vibrator from the drawer—a last-minute present to myself, still in its little pouch. It was charged and ready. The buzz was soft, almost shy. I laughed at myself, a dry, broken sound.
I leaned back, legs spread, and let the toy rest against my underwear. At first, I pretended I was just taking the edge off. But the fantasy came in hard: he was on the deck, watching. He slipped inside, moving with that bear grace, leaning over me, mask in place.
I pictured his hands, big enough to palm my face. The smell of him, oaky and alive, flooded my senses until I could barely breathe. In my head, he wasn’t gentle. He pressed me down, held my wrists, made me open for him.
I moaned, surprised at how loud it was in the empty room. I didn’t care. I pushed the toy under my underwear, wetness slicking the silicone. I imagined him kneeling over me, one hand gripping my thigh, the other teasing me until I begged.
I went faster, pulse staccato in my neck. My other hand snaked up under my sports bra, pinching my nipple hard, the way I never let anyone else do. The pressure built fast and mean.
Right as I came, I bit my lip to keep from screaming. The orgasm was sharp, blinding, but faded quickly, leaving a raw ache in its place.
After, I lay there, panting; the toy buzzing quietly in my fist. The mask was still there in my mind’s eye, but now it was smiling for a different reason.
I tossed the vibrator onto the bed and rolled to my side, arms wrapped around my chest. I wanted to cry, or maybe just sleep forever.
A tear escaped, and I quickly wiped it away.
There was nothing left to do. My life was a disaster: my twin betrayed me, my stalker kink had become a reality, and I had no hope of a future.
And the packs would come for me sooner or later.
But for tonight, I’d found peace where I could. And I’d survived another day.