Chapter 13
Rory
The hotel room in Grand Forks, North Dakota, smelled like industrial lemon cleaner and despair.
It was a standard-issue room for a Division I hockey team on the road: two queen beds with scratchy polyester duvets, a beige carpet that had seen things no UV light should ever reveal, and a window that looked out over a parking lot buried under three feet of snow.
My roommate, Jax, was gone. He was downstairs in the lobby, charming the front desk staff or hustling card games with the rookies. He knew to leave me alone tonight.
Everyone on the team knew to leave me alone on November 12th.
They didn't know why. They just knew that on this specific date, every year, the Enforcer went dark. They knew that if they poked the bear—or the wolf—today, they would lose a limb.
I stood by the window, staring at the snow swirling under the orange glow of the streetlights. My forehead rested against the cold glass. My hands were shoved deep into the pockets of my sweats, fists clenched so tight my fingernails were cutting crescents into my palms.
Inside my chest, the Wolf was pacing.
Usually, he was a creature of instinct—hungry, horny, or angry. But tonight, he was whining. He was mourning. He was scratching at the back of my throat, wanting to let out a howl that would shatter the double-paned glass.
Twelve years.
Twelve years since the snow had turned red. Twelve years since the silence of the woods had been broken by a gunshot.
I closed my eyes, but the image was burnt into my retinas. The way the light had left his eyes. The way the gold had faded to a dull, dead mud.
A soft knock at the door broke the memory.
I stiffened.
"Go away, Jax," I growled, not turning around. "I said I’m not hungry."
The knock came again. Softer. More hesitant.
Knock. Knock.
My heart skipped a beat. That wasn't Jax’s knock. Jax pounded like the police. This was a polite, terrified, determined knock.
I turned and crossed the room in three long strides. I looked through the peephole.
Zoe.
She was standing in the hallway, huddled inside her massive puffy coat, wearing a wool hat pulled low over her ears. She looked frozen. She looked out of place. She looked like a miracle.
I ripped the door open.
"Zoe?" I hissed, pulling her inside and slamming the door shut before any of my teammates wandering the hall could see her. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Northridge. That’s a four-hour drive."
She stood there, shivering, her nose pink from the cold. She started unwinding her scarf.
"You weren't answering your texts," she said, her voice small but steady. "You went dark at noon. I called Jax. He said… he said it was a bad day. He said no one talks to you on the twelfth."
"Jax has a big mouth," I muttered, locking the deadbolt and the chain.
"I didn't want you to be alone," she said.
"I’m always alone on this day, Zoe. It’s safer for everyone."
"I don't care about safe." She finally freed herself from the scarf and looked up at me. Her violet eyes were wide, searching my face for the cracks I was trying desperately to hide. "I drove through a blizzard because I had a feeling you were drowning. Are you?"
I looked at her.
She was standing in a cheap hotel room in North Dakota, risking her reputation, risking her father’s wrath, risking exposure, just because I hadn't texted her back.
The walls I had built around this specific day—the fortress of solitude I had constructed to keep the grief and the monster contained—didn't just crumble. They evaporated.
"Yeah," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I’m drowning."
She didn't say a word. She just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist.
She was cold from the drive. Her coat was wet with melted snow. But she felt like the only warm thing in the universe.
I collapsed against her. I buried my face in her frozen hair, inhaling the scent of vanilla and winter air. I held her so tight I was surprised her ribs didn't snap, but she didn't complain. She just held me back, her small hands rubbing firm, soothing circles on my spine.
"I’ve got you," she murmured. "I’m here. You aren't alone."
We stood like that for a long time, swaying slightly in the center of the room.
Eventually, I pulled back. I needed to look at her.
"You drove four hours," I repeated, shaking my head.
"The roads were bad," she admitted, shrugging out of her coat. "I saw three cars in the ditch. I almost turned back twice. But then I thought about you sitting in this room, staring at the wall, and… I couldn't."
"You're crazy," I said, a ghost of a smile touching my lips.
"I’m mated," she corrected simply. "It’s different."
She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, patting the space beside her.
"Talk to me, Rory. Tell me why today is the bad day."
I froze.
I had never told anyone. Not Jax. Not Coach. The official report said "Hunting Accident." My mother never spoke of it. It was a black hole in our family history.
"Zoe… I can't."
"You can," she said softly. "You told me about the scar. You told me about the Curse. Tell me the rest. Tell me the thing that makes you look like you want to tear the world apart."
I paced the room. I walked to the window, then back to the TV stand. The Wolf was agitated, pacing with me.
Tell her, the beast whispered. She is ours. She shares the burden.
I stopped in front of her. I looked at my hands. They were shaking.
"My father didn't die in a hunting accident," I said. The words tasted like ash.
"I know," Zoe said. "You said he went Feral."
"He didn't just go Feral," I rasped. "He… he hunted us."
Zoe’s face paled, but she didn't look away. She sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, waiting.
I sat on the other bed, facing her, knees knocking together.
"It was November twelfth. I was ten. We were at the cabin—the real one, up near the border. It was a bad winter. Snowed in. No power."
I stared at the carpet pattern, tracing the ugly swirls with my eyes so I didn't have to see the horror on her face.
"He had been slipping for months. The aggression. The mood swings. He snapped at my mom for nothing. He broke furniture. But that night… something snapped. The Wolf took over completely. It wasn't him anymore. There was no Elias left. Just… hunger."
I took a deep breath.
"He shifted in the living room. Not a controlled shift. It was violent. Bones breaking. Screaming. And when he stood up on four legs… his eyes were gold. Bright, burning gold. Like mine."
I looked up at her then. "That’s why I hate my eyes, Zoe. Because when I look in the mirror, I see him looking back."
"He attacked you?" she whispered.
"He went for my mom first. She was human. Fragile. He lunged. I… I tried to stop him. I was a kid. I hadn't shifted yet. I just threw myself at him. I had a fireplace poker. I hit him."
I let out a shaky laugh. "It was like hitting a freight train with a twig. He swatted me aside. Claws. That’s where the scar came from. He ripped my neck open."
Zoe made a small sound of distress, her hand flying to her mouth.
"I was bleeding out on the rug. I couldn't move. And he turned back to me. He smelled the blood. Shifter blood. It drives a Feral wolf insane. He forgot about Mom. He came for me. He was going to eat me, Zoe. His own son."
The room was silent. I could hear the wind howling outside, mimicking the memory.
"My mom… she grabbed the shotgun from the rack above the mantle. She didn't hesitate. She didn't scream. She just… boom."
I mimed the recoil.
"She put a slug right through his heart. He fell on top of me. Dead weight. I was trapped under his corpse for three hours until the storm cleared enough for the rangers to get to us."
I looked at my hands again. In my mind, they were covered in sticky, hot blood.
"I lay there, under the monster, listening to the wind, bleeding out, and I made a promise.
I promised I would never let that happen to me.
I promised I would never mate. Never breed.
Never pass this cursed blood on to another generation.
I promised I would die alone before I hurt anyone the way he hurt us. "
I looked up at her. Tears were streaming down my face, hot and fast. I hadn't cried in twelve years.
"And then you walked into the arena," I whispered. "And you smelled like vanilla. And you looked at me with those violet eyes. And I broke every single promise."
I stood up, backing away from her.
"I’m terrified, Zoe. Every time I touch you, every time I knot you… I’m terrified that one day, the switch will flip. That I’ll wake up and I won't know you. That I’ll see you as prey. That I’ll be the one who makes you bleed."
"Rory," she said.
"You should run," I choked out. "You should get in your car and drive back to Northridge and never speak to me again. I am a genetic dead end. I am a ticking time bomb."
Zoe stood up.
She didn't run to the door. She walked toward me.
"Stop," I warned, putting my hand out. "Don't come closer. I’m upset. The Wolf is surface."
She ignored me. She walked right up to my outstretched hand and placed her chest against it. She stepped into my space until my palm was pressed flat over her heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Steady. Strong. Unafraid.
"You aren't him," she said fiercely.
"I have his blood."
"You have his blood," she agreed. "But you have your mother’s heart."
I blinked, stunned.
"You told me she didn't hesitate," Zoe said, covering my hand with hers, pressing it harder against her chest. "She did what she had to do to protect the person she loved. That’s what you do, Rory. Every day. You protect me. You protect your team. You protect the secret."
"It’s not enough," I whispered.
"It is," she insisted. "Listen to me. Your father gave in to the beast because he was weak. Or maybe because he was sick. But you? You have spent twelve years fighting it. You exercise control like it’s a muscle group. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you hold back when you wanted to strike. I’ve seen you turn the other cheek."
She reached up and cupped my face, her thumbs wiping away the tears.