Chapter 3

"No, not exactly." I struggle to explain the feeling. "More like... I don't know. Like he recognises me from somewhere I can't remember."

"Well, you're meeting him tomorrow, right? You can ask him then." She grins wickedly. "And then tell me absolutely everything."

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I go through the motions, laughing at Dad's terrible attempts at the ring toss, squealing with Laura on the tilt-a-whirl, eating too much cotton candy, but part of me feels detached, like I'm watching myself from a distance.

When we finally head home, the moon is high and full in the sky. I stare up at it through the car window, that familiar restlessness growing stronger with each passing minute. My skin feels too tight again, my muscles twitchy and strange.

"You feeling okay, Tiffy?" Dad asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. "You look a little flushed."

"Just tired," I say, though I feel anything but. Every nerve in my body feels electrified.

Later, in my bedroom, I look out at the window, but for some reason, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that Clint wasn’t the only one watching and following my family, Laura, and me around there tonight. Something was really off.

I close my bedroom curtains with shaking hands, but the feeling doesn't go away. If anything, it gets stronger. My reflection in the mirror shows wild eyes and flushed cheeks, like I've been running even though I've been sitting still for the past ten minutes.

I try to distract myself by pulling out my sketchbook, but when I flip to a blank page, my hand moves almost without my permission. Dark strokes appear on the paper, trees, and shadows, and there in the centre, two glowing green eyes watching from the darkness. I dropped the pencil as if it had burned me.

"What the hell?" I whisper to my empty room.

Those are Clint's eyes. I've never drawn them before, but somehow my hand knew exactly how to capture that intense, knowing look. The same look that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul.

I tear the page out and crumple it up, tossing it toward my wastebasket. It misses, rolling under my desk. Great. Even my aim is off tonight.

My phone buzzes with a text from Laura: *Still thinking about mystery man? 😏*

*Maybe,* I type back, then delete it. *Going to bed. Talk tomorrow.*

*Don't chicken out of your date!*

Date. Is that what it is? Meeting a complete stranger who somehow knows things about me that I've never told anyone? Who makes me feel like my skin doesn't fit right just by looking at me?

I change into pyjamas and brush my teeth, going through the motions of my normal bedtime routine. But when I climb into bed and close my eyes, sleep feels impossible. Every sound outside makes me tense—the wind in the trees, a car door slamming somewhere down the street, what might be footsteps on the sidewalk.

I get up and peek through the curtains again. The street looks normal. Empty. But that watched feeling hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten stronger since we left the festival.

My phone shows 11:47 PM when I finally give up on sleep and head downstairs for some water. The house is dark and quiet, Mom and Dad long since asleep. I pad through the kitchen in bare feet, trying not to make the floorboards creak.

As I fill a glass at the sink, movement in the backyard catches my eye. I freeze, squinting through the window into the shadows. For a moment, I could swear I saw a shape, large, dark, crouched low near the fence line. But when I blink and look again, there's nothing there.

"Just your imagination," I whisper to myself, but my heart is racing.

I drain the water glass in three quick gulps and hurry back upstairs, locking my bedroom door behind me. Which is stupid, I never lock my bedroom door. What am I afraid of?

Everything, apparently. The way Clint looked at me. The strange dreams I've been having about forests and moonlight. There was growing certainty that something was really off.

Meanwhile, back at the festival…

“Alpha, what’s going on? Please don’t tell me that rogue is your mate?” Reed asked Clint.

Clint's face hardens as he looks at Reed. "You know better than to question me like that."

Reed dips his head slightly, a subtle show of submission that makes something in me tingle with recognition, though I don't understand why.

"She's not a rogue," Clint says, his voice low and controlled. "She's... something else. I think she's been raised by humans."

"That's impossible," another guy says, stepping closer. "No wolf could survive being cut off from their nature for that long. She'd have gone feral by her first shift."

"Unless she hasn't shifted yet," Clint replies, his eyes tracking something in the distance, probably me and my family leaving. "She's close to eighteen. I can smell it on her. The change is coming."

"If the Thompson pack realises what she is…" Reed starts.

"They won't get near her," Clint cuts him off, his voice suddenly a growl that doesn't sound entirely human. "I've claimed her. She's under Harrison protection now."

The third guy, who has been quiet until now, speaks up. "Your father won't like this, Clint. You know the rules about outsiders."

Clint's jaw tightens. "My father doesn't decide who my mate is. The moon goddess does." He looks up at the full moon hanging above them, his green eyes reflecting its light in a way that seems to make them glow. "And she has chosen."

I toss and turn all night, my dreams filled with running through forests I've never seen, following a path I somehow know by heart. When I finally wake up, sunlight is streaming through my curtains, and my sheets are damp with sweat.

My phone shows three texts from Laura, all variations on "ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR DATE?" I groan and flop back onto my pillow. The idea of meeting Clint today seems simultaneously terrifying and inevitable, like I'm being pulled toward something I can't escape.