The Werewolf on Flight 237

Four hours in a middle seat next to a man who says eleven words and none of them to me. Then the plane diverts to Montana in a blizzard, and the man from seat 14A turns into a wolf in the parking lot.

His name is Dean. He’s a werewolf. He’s also the most careful man I’ve ever met, and apparently I’m the first person in fifteen years to ask if he eats people and then decide to stay anyway.

Now we’re snowed in at a rundown motel with one bed, one full moon, and sixteen stranded passengers.

Dean says one of them is another wolf. Someone brought that plane down on purpose.

Someone wants him trapped, terrified, and out of control by moonrise.

And the only thing between him and the monster he’s spent his whole life refusing to become is me, a corporate event producer whose entire professional skill set is making forty strangers do exactly what she says.

There’s no fate here. No destiny. No magical bond. Just a man who believes closeness makes everyone around him vulnerable, and a woman who’s decided he’s worth the risk.

They say never sit next to a werewolf. I say seat 14B wasn’t such a bad seat after all.

For readers 18+.