3

The next day, Noeme woke up early to check on the pup again. It still hadn't regained consciousness, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw its chest rising and falling—a sign that it was no longer in the state it had been in the day before, when it had appeared as if it weren't breathing at all.

For several days, she kept watch over it, tended to its injuries, and changed its bandages. She grew a bit worried, as the puppy hadn't eaten for days. Yet, she figured it wouldn't simply die of starvation—after all, it had survived even when it was tossed toward her inside a sack.

Her gaze darted outside when she heard her sheep bleating loudly. Her chickens, too, took flight in a panic.

"How dare they trespass," she muttered angrily, quickly grabbing her shotgun.

The moment the door opened, she had the muzzle of her shotgun pointed straight at the intruder's forehead.

"Who the f*ck are you?!" Noemi demanded, her finger tightening on the trigger.

Noemi’s expression remained stern; her very posture made it clear that she was no stranger to a fight. She was well-accustomed to trouble, given that her home was the only dwelling situated near what was known as the Lycan's domain.

At nineteen years old, Noemi had grown up strong and prepared for any conflict that might come her way. And she knew she didn't belong in the human world; ever since she was young, she had been aware that there was something different about her. She knew she was a werewolf, too—but as long as she hadn't transformed into a wolf, she continued to view herself as a human.

"I'm asking you. Who the f*ck are you? What are you doing in my house?!" Noemi nudged the forehead of the man—who had taken the form of a werewolf—with the muzzle of her shotgun.

"W-w-wait. It's me. It's me, Noemi. I-I'm here for... for the fresh eggs and... and the sheep's milk."

Noemi stepped back slightly, keeping the shotgun trained on his forehead, and looked him up and down.

"Peter."

Only then did she lower her shotgun, and Peter let out a sigh of relief. Peter was a werewolf—and a friend of hers, too. He was a hybrid: his mother was human, and his father was a werewolf. He lived in the city and was the only one who bought her milk and eggs.

"Why did you shift into your wolf form again?"

"Well, you know how it is. There are a lot of disgruntled werewolves out there. If I didn't shift, they might mistake me for a human and ambush me on the road. You know how quiet the path here is."

Noemi didn't answer; she simply returned her shotgun to its rack. Peter shifted back into his human form and, making himself right at home, sat down on her rather large sofa.

"You still can't recognize me when I'm in my werewolf form?"

"No—you all look the same. I mean, the colors—all I see are black, gray, and brown."

"Fair enough. But you could always tell it’s me—I have white fur on both my ears."

"Yeah. Just like one of the rogues I saw yesterday." Noemi rolled her eyes, leaving Peter with no choice but to laugh.

Peter was used to her personality, so her somewhat cold demeanor didn't bother him at all. He was only three years her senior. He had known Noemi since they were children, back when he would see her accompanying her father as he delivered milk and eggs to their large store in the city.

Ever since Noemi’s parents passed away, Peter took the initiative to pick up the milk and eggs himself, as they would often run out before Noemi could make a delivery—she simply couldn't bear to leave her animals unattended. Peter and his parents understood this, especially given that the path to and from her home was quite treacherous.

"By the way... starting next month, our crew will begin conducting surveys on the lot near your place." Noemi didn't respond; instead, she headed to the kitchen to turn off the heater, which was already boiling. She grabbed a mug to prepare some coffee for Peter as well.

"That’s good for you. This area is a great place for raising animals."

Peter nodded, thanking her as she handed him the coffee.

"It’s as if the land here has its own built-in fertilizer. The climate is perfect for the animals, and the soil is excellent, too—even in the sweltering heat, the grass never dries out."

"Maybe the elders are right when they say this used to be a burial ground for both humans and werewolves—which is why the grass and plants are so well-fertilized."

Peter nearly choked on his drink. He couldn't tell if Noemi was joking or simply stating what she had heard from others.

"Well, that’s exactly what my grandparents told me—that many humans and werewolves died here back in the time of the former Lycan King. That was fifty years ago. Do you believe it?"

"I don't know. No one’s haunting me."

Peter just laughed at Noemi’s response, but he froze when his gaze drifted toward the open door of her bedroom.

"W-w-wait—are you married now?"

"You idiot."

"Then... W-w-who’s that man lying on your bed?"

Noemi’s eyes darted over, and she dropped her cup onto the table. She rushed toward her open bedroom and stared in disbelief at the large figure of a man, lying on his back and fast asleep on her bed.