After breakfast, I retreated into the bathroom. The steaming spray of the showerhead misted the mirror. Only once the reflection became concealed did I dare to step in front of it. Unbuckling my jeans, I attempted to lower them to my ankles, but it was impossible to push the fabric past my thigh. The pain was too great. A knock on the door caught me off guard.

"Do you need help?" Paul asked through the slats of wood.

Do I need help? That seemed like a loaded question. I envisioned him calling the local sheriff and having to explain I needed assistance getting my pants down. On the other hand, did I want Paul in here to undress me like a child? Did I have any other option?

"You have options," he said through the door. "I could call Jenny? The sheriff is a busy man."

"I'm surprised you even have law enforcement."

"Sure we do, It's Luke. In a way at least."

I sighed because I couldn't laugh. Of course, his presence reached everywhere. I didn't know how much Jenny knew, and when I questioned her, I didn't want either Paul or Luke in earshot.

"Come on in," I said, my tone curt. I was ready to forgive him so easily, but it was infuriating that I still needed his help.

I stood with my jeans above my knees. "I can't get them off."

Paul kneeled before me. "Steady yourself on the rim of the sink." His hands traveled down my thighs, peeling my jeans off with care. Despite the pain, a surge of warmth, like mini forest fires, erupted over my skin along with his fingers. As intimate as this was, he now refused to acknowledge the thoughts that I could no longer restrain.

He stood, without a word, turned the shower off, and instead drew a bath. "It would be better if you sat and took the weight off it. Then you won't need to bend to clean around your wound. I'll redress it for you after."

I nodded. There was no embarrassment or awkwardness, not after last night. Paul single-handedly guided me out of a near-fatal crash, which I was now intent on punishing him for. I pulled my t-shirt up and over my head, standing in my underwear. I wanted him to look at me, vulnerable, damaged, just to give me a reason to let out the onslaught of emotions I was bottling.

Paul's eyes remained trained on the floor as he extended a hand to help me lift a leg into the tub. He turned the faucet off. My knees were tucked under my chin as the tepid water reached my waist. Afraid to touch it in case it gushed, Paul removed the dressing. Fine medical-grade thread sutured the gash together.

"Who did this?" What I meant to say was, who actually does that? Who sutures their friend's mangled flesh when they are pumping a waterfall of blood?

"My brother. By the way, he says you're a bleeder, and next time, I'll need to take you somewhere else." He attempted a grin, but the scowl on my face shot it down.

"Couldn't you have taken me to a hospital?" I couldn't contemplate that they hadn't. The last time I'd had stitches, I'd fallen head over bike and free-slammed the sidewalk. My mother had kissed my tears away and promised me ice cream for a week.

My temple thrummed with a now familiar buzz. This was far more soothing than the one I experienced in my car.

Paul cleared his throat and shook his head. "The nearest urgent care is twenty miles away. The bleeding had stopped. Luke said you'd be okay if we could keep the infection out. What flavor do you like?"

I clamped my jaw shut at the intrusion of that memory. That argument could wait for another day when I didn't need his help to bathe. Paul rinsed warm water from a washcloth over my hair, and I tipped my head back. The water was tinged red. I caught his eyes and held them. Intrusion or not, a small part was glad he was here.

Afterward, Paul drove me to Lucille's to collect fresh clothes. Determined to dress unaided, I opted for a pullover dress. Paul was out on the wraparound deck facing the Pacific Ocean. Taking two steps at a time, he headed toward the top of the bluff. I wrapped myself in a shawl to fend off the chill and followed him out.

He sat on a large boulder and patted next to him. I sat with care, a level of discomfort in my thigh reminding me to take it easier today. The sand had weaving trails left by animals and reptiles passing through. From here, the beach below became split by areas of shade and sunlight from billowing clouds.

"Luke says I'm not ready for answers. He says my understanding of what's possible needs expanding before I'll get them."

"My brother thinks he knows best. I'm coming to learn that isn't always the case. But even though his approach has been wrong, his delivery is on the mark. I'll start with a story. But remember, getting what you want doesn't always feel like winning." He turned inwards, taking my hand. Shadows formed under his eyes and were the only sign on his face of what had transpired the night before. A breeze played with his hair as he interlocked our fingers.

"There was a cat who lived near a forest. Each day, it plucked up the courage to cross the road but never entered the woods. Why do you think it would never go in?"

I shrugged. "Because curiosity killed it before it could try?"

Paul grinned. "No. Wrong. That cat, as curious as it was, knew something was amiss. How? A sense that warned of danger. But each day, curiosity began to draw that cat further into the woods. Still following me?"

I nodded.

"Bravery paid off until the cat got stupid. More concerned with his toys, the cat stopped listening to himself. Right before he was about to pounce on his dinner, something bigger pounced on him. What's the moral of that story?"

"He didn't listen to himself, and it cost him his life. But what does that story have to do with Lucille, what I saw in the car, and whatever you guys are refusing to tell me?"

"Here, let me explain a different way. Close your eyes and hold your hand's palm up."

I did as I was told. Paul gave me a sudden chaste kiss, the fleeting moment amplified by the mint in his breath and the firmness in which he took my mouth. My shock hit a wall of butterflies that were insistent they swarm whether I wanted them to or not.

"Do you trust me?" he murmured against my lips. He didn't wait for a verbal response, which was a good thing. I wasn't sure if I did, but his proximity caused my legs to grow weaker, and my ability to form a coherent sentence was gone. Boots scraped around the dirt as Paul moved. There was silence except for the odd mumbled curse word.

"One moment," he said. "Don't open your eyes."

My arms ached at their elevated position.

"It's fine. I'm done. Remember, eyes stay closed. I'm going to put something in your hands."

I waited with the cool air lapping over my fingers until something subtle shifted. The hair on my neck charged, and before I could pinpoint why my hands balled into fists and withdrew to my chest.

"Dana..." Paul warned. "Put your hands back out. I would never hurt you."

"Wait a second." My adrenaline was pumping, causing my heart to beat a thousand times faster in my chest.

"If you trust me, why do you want to wait? Explain."

"Can I open my eyes?"

"No," he said, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

"Something doesn't feel right."

"Where doesn't it feel right?" The ground crunched under him as he took a step closer.

"In my gut."

"Good, now open your eyes."

Paul held a white-tipped western rattlesnake inches from my hands. His thumb and forefinger clamped around its jawbone, and the other held its rattle.

I took three steps back. "Why in hell would you—"

"Remember you are safe. Your body can sense things you can't see. It is instinctual. Instincts, Dana, the ability to read the changes in a room but not with your eyes. All animals have them, even you."

"I don't get it."

"Listen harder." Paul set the snake down in the tall grass of the bluff and took two giant leaps back. He turned back to me. "Would you step out onto a busy freeway?"

"No." Of course not, to even ask, made me question where he was going with this.

"What if it looked safe, deserted?"

"Still no."

"Why? Because nature doesn't favor the inattentive—ask the cat. Animals use more of their senses than we do. You don't walk across because of fear conditioning. If something once appeared unsafe, you keep the perspective it might always be. In the absence of what you see, your instincts send a warning. We do the same thing even without sight of a hazard. A moment ago, you showed that yourself."

A kiss had lulled me into a false sense of security. I had no hope of questioning that my reaction had been anything but instinctual. Despite my initial confusion, the straggly line from his metaphor to his point was becoming clearer. Paul didn't say things straight down the line. You had to work for the meaning underneath and not only understand it but feel the belief deep in your bones, as he did. "Why show me this?"

"To learn for yourself that what you see doesn't always show you what's there. There are other signs; tap into them, trust them, and never ignore them. Practice. Pair something good with something bad and learn to discern the difference without relying on your eyes."

Whether it was the impact of the crash, Paul's bombardment of questions but never answers, or sheer exhaustion, my concentration and patience nosedived. "You have twenty-two hours left. I need more than that."

Aware as much as I was that my words held nothing above his head, he could only look guilty. To his credit, he didn't seem to like me being disempowered as much as I enjoyed feeling it, but I would find a way to make them mean more. The ticking clock I was pushing was as much a timeline on me now as it was on them.

"It wasn't designed to confuse. I'm sorry if my explanations don't always feel enough. I'm trying here. There are dangers in Benton—you won't always see them coming. Threats can be accompanied by smiling faces. It's important to learn this first. Trust what you feel and not what you see. Once you can, I'll tell you exactly what you saw the night you crashed. But you already know who. You're not crazy, far from it in fact. But what I have to tell you is going to question that, again and again. Do you want the truth?"

"I need the truth. Why did I see a wolf? "

His eyes locked on mine with an intensity that took my breath away. "Then that's what I'll give you. You didn't hit a deer."

My head snapped up. "You told me I hit a deer!"

"That was before—" His words jumbled in his mouth as he fought to control their delivery and failed. "Before I knew who you were. Who you are."

"And who am I to you?"

"You're a descendant of Benton, Dana, just like me, same as the others. That changes everything. That means something here. You've got to know, things work differently here...in Benton," he added.

Death. That was the only thing my brain could summarise. Death worked differently here in Benton. Lucille's words bounced around my head as if she were saying them to my face, all these years on. Paul directed his gaze toward the ocean.

"Yes," he said. "Death works differently here." When he looked back, his eyes had softened. "Lucille is the wolf you saw last night, and she needs your help."

Wolves? There are wolves? As in Wattpad wolves?

He smiled thinly and reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Dana, age here doesn't always mean we have to suffer with the frailty of the human body—sometimes we can heal if we rest in a different state for a while, but Lucille got stuck in that state unwilling to let go when it was her time and the link between the two disconnected. Lucille's body and mind are no longer strong enough to shift between the two."

I blew out a long, shaky breath. "Lucille has unfinished business and she's a Wattpad wolf?"

What in hell am I saying?

He squeezed my hand gently as a comforting affirmation. "Yes, but not in the way you imagine." His gaze held mine, deep pools of sorrow and regret reflecting back at me. "Lucille is trapped in her wolf form. Her human state is lost to her now."

I struggled to absorb all of this. "So, she's trapped? She's not dead?" I asked, my eyes darting from his face to our joined hands. The reality of the situation was overwhelming.

He nodded solemnly. "Yes, Dana." His voice was whisper-soft now, heavy with resignation. "She resided between worlds until the bond broke completely." He paused for a second, swallowing hard before continuing. "What I do know, is that you are her last living descendant, and that unfinished business she is holding on for may just be you. It's a goddamn miracle you showed up. We simply won't be able to help her without you."

I contemplated his words, trying to wrap my mind around this strange reality.

"You don't have to understand it all yet. Just know that Lucille needs your help. Her spirit is trapped in wolves' form and her human self is fading away. If she remains like this for much longer, she will lose herself entirely."

A pang of compassion for my grandmother pushed aside fear and disbelief. Maybe I did not understand completely what was going on, maybe the rules of life and death were different here, but one thing was certain: this wasn't a simple call for help; it was a plea to save something precious—a life, an existence. I did have family left and I would not let it go if I could help it.

"Alright," I said. "What do I have to do?"

"You'll need to establish a connection with Lucille, and gain her trust; only then can you compel her human spirit back. It won't be easy. She's been stuck in the form of a wolf for too long."

"But... she's a wolf."

"Yes, but remember that she is also Lucille. She may not respond initially, but she will understand you. Lucille is not just any wolf; she is bound to this land, to Benton. She has become more than just an animal, more than just a woman. She's been both and none at the same time for far longer than anyone can remember. And now she is scared. Dana, she was our Alpha."