chapter 2

“Yes. Marry me.”

His voice was calm, almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than upending what remained of my life.

“You do know you’re a werewolf, don’t you? Staying alone without a pack is dangerous—far more harmful than you realize. With me, you’ll have a pack that protects you. They’ll teach you our ways. And when the year is over and the divorce is final, you’ll be free to go… provided you’ve given me what I asked for.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

“I’m not a monster like—”

The sentence died in my throat. I couldn’t finish it.

“Like what?” He stepped closer again. “Like me?”

I swallowed hard as his face came within inches of mine. The air between us felt charged, heavy with old fear and something darker.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You saw your father change, didn’t you? You’ll change too. Then we’ll see whether you’re still so certain you’re not a monster… just like me.”

Something inside me snapped.

“I am never going to marry you.” My voice shook, but I forced the words out. “No matter what you say. No matter what you do. Stay away from me. You’ve already done enough.”

The smile vanished.

In the next second his hand shot out and seized my chin, fingers digging in just hard enough to hurt. His face hardened into the exact expression I remembered from that day twelve years ago—the face of the monster who still lived in my nightmares.

“Listen to me carefully, Eleanor.” His voice was low and cold. “One way or another, I get what I want.”

He released me with a sharp shove. I stumbled back against the sofa, heart slamming against my ribs.

Without another word he turned and walked toward the door. At the threshold he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“Don’t think you’re that special.”

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with quiet finality.

I stood frozen in the sudden silence, the imprint of his fingers still burning on my skin, and the weight of his words settling over me like a second skin I could never shed.

After so many years, he had simply walked into my home and told me to marry him.

Why would he want me? I was fat and ugly—or at least that's what my landlord never stopped telling me. He made sure I remembered how disgusting I looked and how much I irritated everyone around me. So why now? Was this just another cruel game? Another way to make my life even more miserable?

I couldn’t believe he actually thought I would say yes.

Never.

He was a monster. Everything I had become—the fear, the sleepless nights, the way I flinched at sudden sounds—existed because of him. Once I had trusted him completely. He had shattered that trust without a second thought, destroyed my home, torn my family apart, and stolen the last pieces of my childhood.

And now he had the audacity to stand in my living room and ask me to marry him, as if he hadn’t already taken everything that mattered.

He had also said something about me being a werewolf.

That was impossible.

I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t a monster.

I rushed to the door and locked it with shaking hands, turning the deadbolt twice just to be sure. Only then did I return to the table and the plate of leftover food that still waited for me. It was the only place in the apartment that ever felt even a little relaxed, a little safe.

Nightfall came slowly.

I ran a long bath and sank into the hot water until some of the tension finally loosened from my shoulders. When I climbed out I slipped into a new soft nightgown that stopped mid-thigh. The thin fabric made me feel faintly sexy, almost like a different version of myself—someone who wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder or bracing for the next nightmare. I wandered into the living room already fighting the heavy pull of sleep. Tonight I couldn’t afford to close my eyes. Seeing him again after all these years had stirred everything up; the nightmares would only be worse.

So I made fried chicken. The rich, familiar scent filled the small apartment and settled over me like a temporary shield. I settled on the couch with a plate balanced on my lap and the television flickering quietly in front of me, forcing myself to stay awake one bite, one scene at a time.

But my eyes betrayed me. I dropped the plate of chicken onto the table and let out a heavy yawn, still fighting to stay awake.

The moment I finally drifted off, the nightmare began.

Only this time it didn’t start with the worst of it.

This time it took me back to the very beginning—to the day I first met him.

That early afternoon my father had told me not to leave the house.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. The place we lived was so lonely you had to walk past several trees before you could even see the next neighbor’s roof. I was twelve, restless, and tired of being alone with nothing but the quiet creak of the old floorboards for company.

So I slipped outside with my ball.

I wandered through the garden, hoping I might find someone—anyone—to play with. There was no one. Only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. I bounced the ball against the ground by myself, kicking it back and forth across the grass, pretending the empty space around me was full of friends.

Then the ball rolled away.

I ran after it, bare feet quick over the warm earth—only to watch a polished black shoe come down and stop it with effortless precision.

I looked up.

He was tall. Handsome in a way that made my young heart stumble. A beautiful smile curved his lips, and his piercing blue eyes held a warmth that felt almost like sunlight. Even though he was a complete stranger, something in me softened toward him instantly.

“Hello there, little one,” he said, voice low and gentle as he bent to pick up the ball. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yes, mister,” I answered, a little shy.

He tossed it lightly into my hands. “Thank you, mister.”

“Call me Lucian.”

“Thank you, Lucian.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Eleanor,” I whispered.

“That’s a pretty name,” he said, “for a pretty girl.” His hand came up and briefly stroked my hair, the touch so light it barely felt real. “Why are you out here all alone? Where are your parents?”

I pointed toward the house a short distance away. “My house isn’t far. My dad went to get groceries. He should be back any minute.”

Lucian’s smile didn’t fade, but something quieter settled behind his eyes. “You shouldn’t be alone out here. It’s dangerous. Come—let me walk you home.”

I hesitated. Those were almost the exact words my father always used.

It is dangerous to be out alone, Eleanor.

But Lucian didn’t feel dangerous. He felt kind. Safe. The sort of person who might understand how lonely it was to live so far from everyone else.

So I let him walk me home.

I shouldn’t have.

That single decision became the biggest mistake of my entire life.