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CHAPTER 8 — Bubbles and Blunt Questions
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02.02.2026 11:30:34He was gone by morning. Of course he was. I woke sprawled awkwardly on the garage floor, my cheek pressed to my own folded arms, the concrete cold enough to make my bones complain. The lamp still glowed on the workbench. The thrush rustled once in her dim corner, alive and offended at the world.
And the massive black wolf. Nothing but a smear of dried blood on the floor where he’d shifted in the night, and the faint imprint of his warmth lingering like a ghost.<
Aktuellstes Kapitel
When the Alpha Howls CHAPTER 13 — The Snareline
Colton held the second snare up in the porch light to show proof.The wire glinted pale, moonlight’s cruel twin, looped and ready to cinch around anything warm blooded and unlucky. My stomach rolled as if I could already feel it tightening.I opened the door only after I’d checked the lock twice, because my body was stubborn that way. Colton stepped inside without a word, boots leaving dark prints on my porch boards.His gaze moved past me to the garage like he could see through walls.“The fox?” he asked.“Sleeping,” I said, throat tight. “I sedated him lightly.”Colton nodded once, approval flickering in the set of his jaw. Then he looked down at the snare in his hand, and something hardened in him, quiet rage packed tight.“How many?” I asked.His eyes lifted to mine. “Three on your side of the treeline. One closer to the road.”My breath caught. “That’s.”“An over kill, I know,” he finished, voice low.I turned and led him into the garage, because the fox was there and the thrush
When the Alpha Howls CHAPTER 12 — Silver in the Grass
The fox slept like something that didn’t trust the world enough to truly let go. Even under the light sedation his body stayed tense. Muscles jumped beneath fur. His ears twitched at every creak of the house, every sigh of wind against the garage wall, every distant call from the forest like the woods were speaking a language his bones still understood.I checked the bandage again. The cut was clean now, flushed and wrapped. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around the wound looked angry, redder than it should have been, swollen in a way that didn’t match a simple wire bite.My eyes drifted to the snare coil on the concrete floor. Pale. Too pale. Silver had a certain kind of wrongness to it. Not mystical. Not magical. Just… bright in a way that didn’t belong in dirt. It looked like moonlight pretending to be metal.I crouched and picked it up with gloved hands, turning it under the workbench lamp. No rust. No grime embedded into it the way you’d expec
When the Alpha Howls CHAPTER 11 — Closed Doors Don’t Keep Out the Dark
Blocking someone is supposed to feel clean. A boundary. A line in ink. A door shut with a firm click.But the next morning, I woke with the taste of it in my mouth anyway. Metallic and sour, like I’d swallowed a coin and it had lodged in my throat.The house was quiet in that particular way that only happens after crying hard: the air feels rinsed, and you feel wrung out. My eyes were puffy. My head ached. I moved through my kitchen like I was borrowing someone else’s body.Kettle. Tea. Sugar. Too much sugar. My hands remembered the routine even when my heart didn’t want to.Out in the garage, the thrush blinked up at me, alive and unimpressed by human drama. Her little chest rose and fell with steady determination. When I offered food, she pecked like she meant it this time, sharp and purposeful.“Look at you,” I whispered. “Healing like a little champion.”She flicked her beak as if to say, Obviously. I checked her wing wrap an
When the Alpha Howls CHAPTER 10 — The Friend Who Knew Too Much
I should’ve felt better after Friday, after cupcakes and laughter and the strange relief of someone filling my quiet with noise. Instead, I woke with my nerves already awake, as if my body had spent the night listening for the moment trust turned its face away.The thrush pecked at her food with more confidence this morning. When I lifted the towel covering her box, she fixed me with one bright, unimpressed eye, like she’d decided survival was her new hobby.“That’s my girl,” I murmured, checking her wing wrap. The splint held. Her toes were warm. Her breathing was clean.I should’ve let that be enough. But my mind kept drifting. Like a tongue worrying a sore tooth, back to Bailey’s too perfect timing, her too easy arrival at my house, her too knowing warnings.'Lock your windows. Call me. You’re noticeable.'And Colt. Quiet, watchful Colt, threaded through it all like a dark stitch. I made tea, sweet enough to make my teeth ache, and wro
When the Alpha Howls CHAPTER 9 — Things Not Quite Said
By Friday, my house smelled like vanilla and nerves.I’d baked because Bailey had texted SNACKS ARE NON-NEGOTIABLE and I, tragically, was the kind of person who responded to loud friendship with domestic surrender. The cupcakes were purple, of course. Lavender frosting with little sugar pearls like tiny moons. They weren’t perfect, but they were mine, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t baking to apologize for existing.I was baking because someone was coming over who wasn’t Kyle. That shouldn’t have been a milestone. It was. My life had become a series of quiet firsts.The thrush was doing better too. She’d started eating with real intent, sharp little pecks, chin up like she was daring the world to break her again. Her wing splint held, and her eyes were brighter. I’d moved her box to a calmer corner of the garage and hung a towel over the side to dim the light. When I spoke to her, she watched me like she understood I’d joined her rebellion.
When the Alpha Howls CHAPTER 8 — Bubbles and Blunt Questions
He was gone by morning. Of course he was. I woke sprawled awkwardly on the garage floor, my cheek pressed to my own folded arms, the concrete cold enough to make my bones complain. The lamp still glowed on the workbench. The thrush rustled once in her dim corner, alive and offended at the world. And the massive black wolf. Nothing but a smear of dried blood on the floor where he’d shifted in the night, and the faint imprint of his warmth lingering like a ghost. The garage window was still latched. The door was still locked. Which meant he’d left the way he’d entered: silently, impossibly, without me seeing it happen. My stomach turned over, not quite nausea, more like my reality had been picked up and shaken. I sat up slowly, listening. No heavy breathing. No scrape of claws. No low, thunderous presence. Just my own heartbeat and the whisper of morning outside.
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