Fear

"Don't run."

I sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking on it as I stopped in my tracks while my eyes searched for my dog. The sound of his voice was nothing like I had expected. It wasn't merely human-it was commanding, velvety, with the faintest echo of something primal that refused to be tamed.

"You can talk," I stammered, my pulse hammering against my throat. "You- you're-"

His head lifted slowly, every movement deliberate, as though even the smallest action carried the weight of his suffering. His gaze found mine again, piercing, unwavering.

"Not safe..." His words dragged like embers through smoke, heavy, warning. "...for you."

I froze, my heart lurching painfully against my ribs. "What do you mean?" Chicken Nugget came cautiously to my side.

He exhaled, wincing as he pressed a hand against his side. My bandages darkened faintly under the pressure of his fingers, but he did not seem to notice. Instead, he regarded me with a depth that made me feel stripped bare, as though he could see the very marrow of my being.

"I should not be here," he murmured. "Not in this form. Not in your world. "He sat up, the muscles rippling and redefining with every fluid movement.

"The fates do not smile kindly on those who bridge what must remain apart."

The regal cadence of his tone made my skin prickle. He did not speak like a man of this age, but rather like a warrior out of legend, bearing centuries in his voice.

I swallowed hard, finding words. "Why are you here then? Bleeding across my clean sheets and warning me of doom, when just this morning you were..." My words faltered, and I knew my eyes were wide with dread. "...a wolf."

He did not deny it.

Instead, he studied me, his lips curving faintly, not in amusement but in some sorrowful recognition. "You saw me, then. Few of you mortals live to carry such memory."

It seemed as though he was musing to himself as my throat tightened. "I didn't imagine it, didn't I. That... creature. That was really you."

"It is what I am," he said simply, as though confessing the shape of his soul. His voice deepened, threaded with something like grief. "This shell you behold is a mercy, not a truth."

I stared at him, torn between disbelief and the relentless pull of his presence. His gaze held hostility of sorts and though it was just two lines of explantion that he offered, every word felt heavy, as if carved from stone and laid before me.

And yet, beyond the strangeness, I couldn't stop noticing details, the way his long lashes curled against his cheek when he blinked, the faint curve of veins visible beneath his skin, the raw strength coiled in him despite his pain. He was beautiful in a way that frightened me. Beautiful in a way no mortal man should ever be.

"What were you warning me about?" I asked softly, forcing courage into my voice though my knees still trembled.

"If you do not mean to harm me yourself, what else would?" My eyes were darting between the door of the opposite room and the open windows.

His jaw tensed. He turned his face slightly away, shadows falling across the hard line of his cheekbones.

"Because danger follows me like a hound, and those around do not remain unscathed. You have already risked too much by laying your hands upon me." His gaze flicked to my bandages again, to the trembling fingers that had stitched him together. "You should have let the beast die."

He spoke as if he was speaking of another person entirely and for some reason the words stung. It puzzled me, but I offered unwelcomed humor.

"Can' let anyone die here. I swore an oath and all. And the review rates would plummet."

Biting my tongue suddenly seemed like a good option as this made him look at me again. "You speak of oaths," he said slowly, almost reverently, "yet you do not know the price of binding yourself to one such as I."

Again, it seemed like he was talking to himself, like it was merely a statement than an opinion I should comment on.

Chicken Nugget shifted from beside me and I struggled to keep him from moving closer by locking his shoulders between my legs. "Why are you acting out all of a sudden?" I asked my furry companion.

"I actually had him trained, I tell you." But when I glanced up suddenly sensing movement from before me, I froze.

He lifted a hand-long-fingered, strong despite his wounds-and though he did not touch me, the gesture felt perilously close.

"Tell me, healer. Do you not know fear?"