Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Waking up feels like dragging myself out of a grave I dug the night before. My head throbs, my stomach twists, and every muscle in my body trembles with the familiar ache of withdrawal. The cold tile beneath my cheek tells me exactly where I am before I even open my eyes.

Oakley’s bathroom floor.

Again.

The light above me flickers, too bright, too sharp, stabbing into my skull. I groan and curl in on myself, trying to breathe through the waves of nausea rolling through me. My wolf, Samarah, whimpers somewhere deep inside, her presence dimmed by everything I’ve put us through.

This is the part no one sees. The part no one wants to see.

I force myself upright just in time for another round of dry heaving. My body shakes violently, my throat burns, and my eyes water. I brace myself against the toilet, waiting for the worst of it to pass.

It doesn’t.

It never does.

I’ve been staying with Oakley for months now. He hates the situation—hates the reminders of his own past, hates the substances, hates the fear that comes with watching someone you care about spiral—but he also refuses to let me face this alone. Wolves have high tolerances, and the things I use to numb myself barely touch me unless he uses his magic to dull the edges of my body’s resistance.

He doesn’t like doing it. I know that. But he also knows what it’s like to be alone with cravings and pain and memories you can’t outrun.

Maybe that’s why he lets me stay. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t kicked me out. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said the word rehab yet, even though I can feel it hovering on his tongue.

After the fifth time my stomach revolts, there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Kieara?” Oakley’s voice is muffled, cautious. “You okay?”

I swallow hard. “Just… give me a minute.”

I push myself to my feet, swaying as the room tilts. My back hits the sink, and I hiss at the jolt of pain. I turn on the cold shower, letting the icy spray shock my senses awake. I scrub myself clean as quickly as I can, then wrap a towel around my shaking body and pull on fresh clothes.

When I step out, Oakley is perched on the barstool, tapping his foot in a rapid, anxious rhythm. His dark hair is messy, his green eyes sharp with worry. He looks irritated at first—he always does—but the moment he really sees me, the irritation melts into something softer. Sadder.

“Kieara…” His voice cracks. “Look at yourself. You look awful today. When is enough going to be enough?”

I drop onto the couch, exhausted. “Enough will be enough when this finally kills me.”

Oakley’s foot stops tapping.

“Kieara Lawson,” he says, voice low and firm, “there will be absolutely no talk like that in my home. You know damn well I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you. You’re like a little sister to me. All I want is for you to get better. Do you hear me?”

I stare at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “I know, Oakley. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I want help. I do. But the trauma—everything I’ve been through—I can’t face it without something to numb it.”

Oakley stands slowly, then crosses the room and pulls me into a gentle hug. His arms are warm, steady, grounding.

“Kieara,” he murmurs, “the first step to getting better is talking about what happened to you. You can’t keep bottling it up. You have to let it out, one piece at a time. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

He pulls back and presses a folded piece of paper into my hand.

“I know someone,” he says. “A therapist. A good one. Someone who understands wolves. His name is Colton Fenley. The address is on the dresser.”

I stare at the paper like it’s a live wire.

Oakley squeezes my shoulder. “Just… think about it.”

I walk for hours before I reach the address. The city blurs around me—cars, people, noise—but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Every step feels heavy, like I’m dragging the weight of my past behind me.

When I finally stop, I’m standing in front of an old Victorian building with tall windows and ivy creeping up the brick. It looks nothing like the sterile clinics I imagined. It looks… safe.

I take a deep breath and push open the door.

The scent hits me immediately.

Wolf.

My entire body tenses. Samarah snaps to attention, her presence suddenly sharp and alert.

We shouldn’t be here, she warns.

I turn to leave, panic rising in my chest—but a voice stops me.

“May I help you?”

The receptionist smiles warmly from behind the desk. She’s human, or at least she smells human, which eases my nerves a little.

“Oh—yes,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I’m here to see Colton Fenley. A friend recommended him.”

“Of course,” she says. “Give me just a moment and I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

I sit in the waiting area, trying to breathe normally. Samarah paces inside me, restless.

“Samarah,” I whisper through our link, “what’s going on? You’ve been on edge since we walked in.”

Her voice is low, uneasy. Something feels off.

“Off how? Do you think something bad is going to happen?”

Not bad, she says. Just… unexpected.

Before I can ask what she means, the receptionist calls my name.

“Kieara? Mr. Fenley will see you now.”

My heart stutters.

This is it. The moment everything could change. The moment I stop running—or run even faster.

I stand, wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, and follow her down the hallway toward the office of the wolf who might be able to help me… or might be the one person I should fear.