Chapter 11
MAISIE
The full moon is on a Wednesday.
Of course it is. Wednesdays are already an academic disaster. Might as well add a permanent werewolf bonding ritual to the schedule.
I know it’s happening before I’m even fully awake. There’s a text from Boone at six-fourteen AM.
Boone: Full moon tonight. How are you feeling about everything?
Maisie: Going to need you to walk me through the fine print one more time.
Boone: I expected nothing less. Dinner first?
Maisie: Obviously dinner first. I’m not completing a permanent magical bond on an empty stomach.
Three dots. Disappear. Come back.
Boone: I genuinely love you.
A ridiculous flutter hits my chest. He said it out loud for the first time last night—quiet and unpracticed—and hearing it still makes my whole body go soft. I type back.
Maisie: Feed me and I’ll love you forever.
Maisie: I love you too, Boone.
Delilah is sitting cross-legged on her bed with tea, watching me with the smug satisfaction of someone who predicted this outcome a month ago.
"Full moon," she says.
"Full moon."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I've read a mountain of academic documentation, understand all the risks, and I'm still terrified I'm going to turn into a completely different person the second he bites me."
Delilah snorts into her mug. "You threw a textbook at the wall yesterday because the genetics chapter had a typo. You've been feeling the mate pull this long without dissolving. You're still aggressively yourself. That's not changing tonight."
She's right. I'm stubborn, I'm practical, and I'm hopelessly in love with a six-foot-four werewolf who brings me pastries and looks at me like I hung the damn moon.
"Go to class," Delilah says, waving her hand. "Get breakfast."
"I'm going, I'm going."
By early November, Creature University has settled into a crisp, cold routine.
The leaves are down, the dining hall smells like cinnamon, and people have stopped tiptoeing around me.
The second I showed up to Halloween in cheap wolf ears and kissed Boone in front of half the creature athletics department, campus decided I belong here.
At lunch, Petra—a gargoyle student in my biology group who usually resembles part of the stonework—sits across from me.
"Full moon," she says quietly.
"Yeah. Boone and I are doing the bond tonight."
Petra nods slowly. "Gargoyles don't have scents or bites. We dream."
I pause with my sandwich halfway to my mouth. "Dream?"
"Recurring dreams of your mate's face for years before you ever meet them.
No context, just their eyes and mouth. My mate dreamed of me for three years.
I dreamed of him too." Her mouth twitches into the rarest thing on earth, a gargoyle smile.
"When we finally crossed paths in the quad, we just stopped and stared. We already knew."
"That is," I say, "unbelievably romantic."
"It is efficient," Petra corrects, though she looks pleased.
By four o'clock, practice is over. I'm sitting outside the vet building when the football team cuts across the quad. Boone spots me instantly. He separates from the pack without breaking stride, his eyes already glowing that distinct, heavy amber in the late-afternoon light.
Mikey, the team's massive bear-shifter kicker, cups his hands around his mouth. "MAISIE!"
"MIKEY!" I shout back.
Boone reaches me, drops his duffel, and pulls me against his chest. His mouth presses hard against my temple, his big palm cupping the back of my neck, thumb tracing my hairline.
But beneath the warmth of his hold, there's a restless, coiled tension humming through his frame like a live wire.
A low, vibrating rumble hums in his chest—pure wolf, completely unfiltered.
"Hi," he murmurs against my skin.
"Hi. Your eyes are completely gold."
"Moon's coming up soon." His jaw tightens, his shoulders twitching as if his skin is two sizes too small for him.
Tate jogs past us, grinning. "Good luck, Pope! Keep him fed!"
Mikey gives a solemn nod from the sidewalk before catching up to Tate.
I look up at Boone, taking in the sharp edge of his cheekbones and the restless flex of his fingers against my waist. "Don't you normally do something on a full moon?"
His hand stills. "Run."
"As Boone?"
His mouth twitches. "Not exactly."
The realization hits me all at once. "I've never seen you shifted."
Boone hesitates, his gold eyes searching mine with that familiar, careful protectiveness. "You don't have to see it if you're not ready. Some humans find it... a lot. We can just head straight to my apartment—"
"Boone," I cut in, raising an eyebrow. "You're planning to bite my neck tonight and bind our souls together for the rest of our lives. I think I can handle seeing the wolf."
A startled bark of laughter breaks through his tension. "Wolf, Pope."
"Take me to the trails, Kinkaid."
He scoops up his duffel, his fingers locking tightly between mine as we head past the athletics complex.
Creature University has designated shifter running grounds bordering the dense woods on the north side of campus—hundreds of protected, boundary-warded acres where wolves, bears, and other shifters can run safely without terrifying human freshmen or tearing up the quad.
At the edge of the tree line, Boone drops his bag on a wooden bench. He strips his sweatshirt and t-shirt, kicking off his sneakers. For a second, he just stands there in the cool autumn air, towering over me, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths.
"Step back a couple of paces," he says quietly.
I do.
I've studied shifter anatomy in my textbooks. I've memorized skeletal reconfiguration diagrams and watched educational videos in lecture.
None of it prepares me for Boone.
There is a sudden, fluid ripple beneath his bronze skin, a sharp snap of bone aligning into place, and in the span of two heartbeats, the man dissolves into pure muscle and momentum.
Where Boone was standing, an enormous beast now fills the clearing.
He is massive. Broad-chested, powerful, his shoulders nearly reaching my chest on all fours. His coat is a dense, gleaming mix of charcoal and dark brown-black, brushed with lighter amber highlights along his ruff.
And then he looks up at me.
Those same heavy, molten-gold eyes stare straight into mine.
I just stand there, staring.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
His triangular ears twitch forward.
"You're enormous."
Another ear twitch, his tail giving a single, subtle sweep behind him.
"You know, somehow this feels deeply unfair," I tell him, fighting a grin. "You're ridiculously hot in both forms."
Wolf-Boone tilts his head, giving me a dry, deeply unimpressed look that is so quintessentially him I nearly laugh out loud.
With a low chuff, he spins and explodes into the forest.
It's breathtaking. He doesn't just run; he tears through the underbrush like a force of nature, kicking up dry leaves and vanishing between the dense pines at terrifying speed.
Watching the dark blur of his coat disappear into the woods, I finally understand what he means when he talks about the wolf pacing beneath his ribs.
Boone spends his whole life in rigid, measured control.
He's the star quarterback, the tutor with six color-coded pens and study schedules, the disciplined future alpha who holds himself back so he doesn't overwhelm the human girl in his lap.
Out here, there is nothing to manage. He just moves.
I lean back against the bench, the chill in the air forgotten as I wait.
About twenty minutes later, the branches rustle, and Boone trots back into the clearing. His dark coat is damp with mist, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, the frantic vibration completely gone from his gait.
"Feel better?" I ask.
He closes the distance and bumps his massive, furry head straight against my stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
"I'm going to take that as a yes," I wheeze, laughing.
I sink both hands into the thick fur behind his ears, scratching the exact spot where his skull meets his neck.
Boone melts. His eyes close, a deep, rumbling purr-growl vibrating in his chest as his heavy head sags completely against my thighs.
I grin. Ammunition for the rest of his natural life.
I drop down to my knees on the grass so we're level. I slide my hands around both sides of his massive jaw, looking right into those familiar amber eyes.
The wolf looks back, calm and steady.
There you are.
A quiet wave of relief settles deep into my chest. Changing form didn't erase him. He is still Boone inside all that fur and muscle. And tonight, whatever the mating bond does, I won't lose myself either. I'll still be Maisie Pope.
Boone licks my cheek—one giant, sandpaper swipe that covers half my face—before trotting back toward the shadow of the trees where his clothes are waiting.
I turn around respectfully, hearing the soft crackle of his shift and the rustle of denim.
A minute later, a warm, heavy arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me back against a very human, very solid chest. He smells like pine needles, damp earth, and clean soap.
"Thanks for waiting," Boone murmurs, his voice back to its deep, human rumble as he rests his chin on top of my head.
"Anytime, wolf boy.”
He tugs lightly on one of my auburn curls. "Watch it, Pope. Now come on. I'm starving."
"Tacos?" I ask, turning in his arms.
"Tacos," he agrees, kissing my forehead. "Then eternity."
Dinner is at the taco joint on Third. Boone skips the salsa because his senses are dialed up to ten, stealing bites of my rice while his hand grips my knee under the table.
"Walk me through the fine print," I say around a tortilla chip. "One last time."
He doesn't hesitate. His gold eyes lock onto mine, calm and steady. "The bite creates a permanent magical and biological bond. It links our scents and connects our vitals. If you're in real danger or extreme physical distress, I'll feel it instantly. You'll feel the same from me."
"No mind reading?"
"No mind reading. I can't hear your thoughts. I can't control what you feel."
"No obedience?"