First message
She’s sitting on the steps outside the old gym, waiting for the rain to ease. The air smells like wet asphalt and her shampoo — apples, faint and clean. I should keep my distance. Being this close makes everything too sharp, too loud.
But she glances up, smiles, and that’s the end of my self-control.
Hey, Ash, she says. You okay? You disappeared all weekend.
I shrug and sit beside her, careful to keep my coat tucked under me, the tail pinned. The motion of it is restless, betraying me — it wants to wag, to move toward her voice like it has a mind of its own.
I was out in the woods, I say. Needed air.
She laughs softly. You and your forests.
Her laugh hits me like warmth after frost. My heartbeat syncs with hers; I can hear it, feel it. The sound settles somewhere deep, where the wolf lives. My throat tightens. I want to tell her — everything — but the words catch behind my teeth. Instead I focus on the rhythm of rain on the steps. My hand brushes hers by accident. Every nerve lights up. She doesn’t pull away.
For one dangerous moment, I let myself look at her fully. The wolf in me stirs — not hunger, not dominance, just… recognition. The kind that says mine in a language older than speech. The tail gives me away. It flicks once beneath my coat, stupidly happy, and I freeze. She tilts her head, amused. Something funny?
I manage a rough laugh. Nah. Just— I stop before I say you.