ALMOST HIS, BUT NOT YET

I’ve met wolves of every scent. Shifters who reek of bloodlust, alphas with pride thick in their bones, rogues who wear desperation like cologne. But Ronan?

I can’t scent him.

Not properly.

And that rattles me the most. It’s like his wolf doesn’t want to be known.

My wolf doesn’t understand it either. She just growls, low and wary, whenever he’s near, even if “near” is only fleeting glimpses through windows and the silence of night.

The weird thing is, I should be able to sense everything.

I’m not just a wolf, I’m a hybrid. Lycan blood runs hot in my veins, wrapped in old magic I’ve learned to keep buried. Glamours and suppressants, subtle tricks passed from my mother to me like lullabies. All so no one ever knows what I really am. So far, it works.

But lately, I feel like I’m being watched.

It starts the night Ronan shows up again. A prickle between my shoulder blades when I walk home after closing, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye that vanishes when I turn.

For days now, the same shadowy tension follows me like a ghost. I tell myself it’s nothing. Just nerves. Just my own damn paranoia waking me up at 3 a.m.

But my wolf isn’t convinced.

And neither is Lucian.

He still comes to the bar. Every night. Like clockwork. Like he’s not just watching over me, but waiting. And gods help me, I’ve started waiting too.

He doesn’t flirt much at least not the cheesy kind but when he does, it’s sharper than any pickup line.

Tonight, he helps me carry cases to the back, sleeves rolled up and that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.

“I swear,” I mutter, adjusting a bottle under my arm, “you only offer to help when you know I’ve already done most of the work.”

“I like to make an entrance,” he says, crowding close as I set the last box down. “Besides, I prefer the view back here.”

I glance at him, trying not to smile. “That line won’t earn you free whiskey.”

“I was hoping it’d get me something else.”

He’s closer now, and there’s that flicker again, the heat curling under my skin, the thrum in my chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves. My wolf paces behind my ribs, intrigued but bristling. Lucian steps in, his hand grazing my waist.

“You ever let anyone in?” he asks softly, voice low.

The air shifts. I feel him leaning in. One breath, and we’ll be touching. Another, and I’ll be tasting him. His lips hover just above mine.

Almost. Almost— And then I shove him. Not hard. Just enough. But it’s enough.

He steps back instantly, hands raised in surrender. “Okay. Too fast.”

I’m breathing harder than I should be. My fingers tremble slightly where they grip the edge of a shelf.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

I shake my head. “It’s not you.”

“It’s the wolf,” he says. “Isn’t it?”

I don’t answer, but I don’t need to. He gets it.

Lucian clears his throat and offers a half-grin, softer this time. “Guess I’m not used to being told no.”

“Well, get used to it,” I mutter, though my voice has no real bite. He nods once, looking more serious now. “I just… I know what you are, Seline. What you’re carrying.”

That stills me.

“You don’t know anything,” I whisper.

He tilts his head. “I know that your wolf’s pacing constantly because she’s unanchored. I know it’s getting worse.”

“Lucian—”

“I know you’re Lycan.”

That word slices through my chest like silver.

“I haven’t shifted in years,” I admit, barely audible. “Not fully. Not since my mom died.”

Lucian’s gaze softens. “What pack did you belong to?”

I close my eyes. “None anymore. I left after the funeral. Couldn’t stand the pity… or the judgment.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “You moved here alone?”

“Yeah. This town… this bar… I build it to be neutral ground. No more alphas. No more mates. Just… me.”

Lucian steps closer again, this time keeping the distance respectful.

“Your wolf doesn’t just want solitude,” he murmurs. “She wants to be claimed.”

I flinch. “Claimed?”

He corrects himself. “Anchored. Marked. Someone strong enough to calm her.”

I laugh, bitter. “I don’t need a mate.”

“I didn’t say ‘mate.’ I said mark. Big difference. Marks bind wolves emotionally, but not through fate. Mates are chosen by the moon.”

“Not really.”

He studies me, unreadable. “You think anyone else feels what I feel when I look at you?”

Before I can answer, Ellie bursts in from the front, apron askew. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

I follow her.

But it’s just the usual bar noise. No vampires fighting. No shattered glass.

Lucian slips into the night soon after. No kiss. No promises. Just that ever-present intensity in his eyes that says he’s not done with me yet.

*********

Three nights later, it happens. I’m walking home alone, same path I always take. Moon high. Streets empty. That same itch crawling up my spine. But this time, it’s not a feeling. It’s real.

Figures emerge from the alley, five in total. Wolves. Young. Aggressive. Reeking of sweat and desperation. One smirks. “Seline Arden?”

I stop.

“Who’s asking?”

“The debt collector’s children,” one growls. “Your father owes. You’ll do as payment.”

My wolf snarls inside me. I dig my heels in.

“Wrong girl.”

They rush me.

I shift partially, claws ripping through flesh, adrenaline screaming in my veins. I fight hard. Dirty. Fast. But there are too many. They’re stronger. 

One gets behind me. I hear the whistle before I see it. A silver-laced net, old school and lethal. Pain slices through my nerves. My wolf shrieks.

And then—

A hand grabs me.

Warm. Solid.

But too late.

The net hits me mid-turn. It burns. My knees buckle. I can’t shift. I can’t scream.

And through the haze of pain, I see him.

Ronan. 

He tears the net off like it’s paper and lifts me like I weigh nothing. I try to speak. Ask why. Demand answers. But the world’s already going dark. The last thing I hear is his voice. Low. Rough. “Don’t you dare die on me.”