He didn't know why he let her find out that he was the wolf. There had been plenty of time to leave before she'd woken up. Plenty of time to disappear into the forest and head north. But he hadn't. Maybe it was to test her for fear again, maybe to see whether she would deny what seemed impossible. Maybe he was just curious about what she'd do.

Once more, she surprised him. No disbelief. No terror over facing a creature that changed forms. Instead, she was both shy and frank, her attention as pure as a beast's while she absorbed the few words he said. Even when he challenged her with the fact of his latest kill, her scent remained maddeningly calm, clean with the acceptance of both what he was and what he'd done. He couldn't understand it.

She wasn't even unnerved at questioning him while he dried off from a shower, those large, soft eyes glancing at his cock whenever she thought he didn't notice. Only the lingering weakness of being shot kept him from becoming as hard as a rock. Nothing about him scared her. Instead of recoiling, she offered clothes and a warm meal.

He wanted something else though, feeling a hunger he thought had long faded. "What's your name?"

The question was as sudden as a bite; he didn't remember how to be gentle.

For the first time, she seemed unsure but answered with honesty in her scent. "Alice."

"Thank you, Alice." It tasted sweet on his tongue, heating his blood even before she flushed from hearing it in his voice. As her full lips parted slightly, his lust deepened into a waking up of the memory and instinct and primal need that had once made him the most feared of the black wolves. They were barely there, now, worn and distant like the moon, but his desire to have this girl might hone them yet. Even with her arousal filling his nose, he knew the hunt wouldn't be easy... it couldn't be, not with what she was used to in a lover. Not with what he was.

Rain thrashed at the cabin while she reheated stew and baked bread. Mouthwatering smells filled the kitchen. The black wolf also heard faint trickling that meant a leak somewhere in the roof—probably the attic—but narrowed his focus as he sat at the table to watch the girl. Alice.

The watery morning revealed details hidden from last night's firelight. Her dark green sweater was thick and oversized, hiding the lines of her body down to her thighs, and her black leggings looked faded with age. Her shoes were flat-heeled but wouldn't last a day out in the woods, practical for city sidewalks and hard floors. No jewelry or makeup. Even the clip holding her hair in a bun was unremarkable, picked to do its job and nothing else. Overall, an outfit neat and dull, as close to invisible as clothes could get. She didn't want to be noticed. She didn't want to be remarked on.

The black wolf studied the tightness in her shoulders while she placed the food before him, and how they hunched when she sat in the chair across from his. She probably wasn't even aware of the action, but he recognized it: the body curling to protect itself as much as possible in the hope that, whatever happened next, the pain would be a little less. Ready for punishment and yet desperate for any escape. A growl burned in his chest. He hadn't sniffed out much about the second woman but already wanted to kill her.

Instinct and impatience pushed at him while he ate and Alice nursed a cup of coffee. Despite the rarity of a home-cooked meal, his attention always flickered back to her. His heart was greedier than his stomach. He wanted to know more. For the first time in years, maybe centuries, he wanted to listen to someone.

She was a granddaughter of Franny Harford, as he'd suspected, but connected in blood only. A witch's whelp without the greed, magic, or bare knowledge of her birthright. Her human family sounded cold, willing to cut her off. That left her with just the woman and a twisted love that leashed her close. A hard life, but somehow she was still so sweet and so open, revealing herself without guile. From her scent, he knew she would never believe this, but she had the strength and endurance of any wolf. She would've had to, to make it this far without losing herself to emptiness.

Eventually, she peppered him with questions, growing further intrigued with his short answers. He should've been annoyed, but he wasn't. Her eyes brightened and her shoulders relaxed over asking things without being bitten back, and he liked seeing that. His lust pulsed like a second heartbeat. He had her name and her interest but wanted to know what she tasted like as well, and found himself pushing his bowl aside to lean closer. To be closer. Her breath caught slightly under the weight of his gaze. He drank in that and every other little thing he could memorize.

What was she, to be so unafraid? It baffled him, her interest. She had calmly faced his challenge over her own hunger toward him, and now took his terse responses without offense as well. If anything, she seemed to come alive beneath his attention, blushing a little in response to his scrutiny.

She wanted to know everything about him and he had little to tell, leading her to finally ask, "What's your name?"

His birth name? The grave had taken that. All the others he'd used meant nothing, so he gave the last one he'd taken on.

"Colton," he said, tickled by how excited she looked to have a straight answer. "Might as well get to the questions about what I am and how I can shift between forms."

She shook her head. "Existential problems are beyond me. I leave that up to Magdalene. You're a man who changes into a wolf and a wolf who changes into a man. It seems straightforward enough."

Honesty filled her scent. She truly was willing to accept his nature—all of it. There was a sharp squeeze in his chest that had nothing to do with being shot.

Many of the black wolves tried to find peace in a woman's bed. He knew that well enough, but a few others lived as normal men until time snuffed their lovers like a candle's flame. Not him; he had never hidden his nature despite the urge to bury his face in another's hair and smell warmth, even love. He was too rough, too blunt, too primal. No woman could think him anything but a beast. But sometimes, he still wished for it. The true bitterness of the curse was that he was enough of a man to need love, and too much of a wolf to hold back his bloodthirst.

That Alice remained so unflinching was almost enough to make him hope...

His body was better but not healed. She noticed, surprising him again with her sensitivity as much as her offer to let him stay. The warmth of a fire and the softness of blankets felt like a hidden danger—he could grow to crave this. Same with her scent filling his lungs with each breath. It made him think of countless nights traveling unnoticed past houses with glowing windows and hearth smoke. Sometimes, he'd smelled sour hints from those inside. Anger. Drunkenness. Fear. But two heartbeats in rhythm had been equally common. So had the clean musk of bodies curled together in sleep. All of it distant as a dream to him while he had slipped by, following the moon and its worn light.

The grave had long taken his ability to dream anything except memories, but his sleep remained peaceful, undisturbed until the roar of sliding earth shook the cabin. He listened there in the dark with a steady heartbeat, unsurprised at its direction. The land there had been weak for years and a mudslide was due. It was nowhere close. Nothing to worry about.

Just as he shifted against the couch, ready to roll over and back into sleep, panic seared his nose. Alice darted past the couch and out into the night, swift as a deer and just as terrified. Wind and rain howled through the opened door.

The night and storm couldn't hide her from him; he caught up before she was past the first trees. She shrieked at his touch, scent mindless as he pushed his face near her ear to be heard. "It's not headed this way. Get back in the cabin."

Her voice sounded hysterical. "What is it?"

"Landslide." He tightened his grip, aware that the words weren't doing any good.

"How do you know we'll be safe inside?"

He didn't remember how to be reassuring, if he'd ever known to begin with, and a growl slipped into his answer. "Because I know which area it is."

"In the dark?"

Better to carry her inside than argue. But before he could, the bone-brittle snap of breaking trees joined the roaring from the mudslide. The new noise broke the last of Alice's indecision, and she lunged away with a strangled gasp. His hunter's quickness was back, and he caught and threw her over one shoulder before shock could even fill her scent. Nails bit into his back, easy to ignore.

The mud and rain were more annoying, and another growl rose in his chest once they were inside. It turned into an amused huff when he set her upright and received a slap for it. Her reflexes were good; she'd caught him square in the jaw despite her vision surely spinning. When he turned on the light, though, her expression remained glassy-eyed. Her terror had only deepened. Something was wrong.

Once more, he tried to explain. "Anything that pays attention to how the ground moves knew it was coming. The hill's been weak for years and all the rain left it hardly more than slush. Whatever part of the slope that's just collapsed will slide down in the valley, not off to the side where we are. There's no danger."

She showed no sign of hearing him, made no move to drag her sodden hair away from where it hung past her face. Her heartbeat sounded as fast as a bird's.

He was also soaked, muscles twitching in irritation against his wet clothes. Fur was so much easier to dry in. When the distant rumbling faded into the steady drone of rain, he tried to get a response out of her. "See?"

Silence. Her posture remained stiff and unmoving. She wouldn't even look at him.

The black wolf didn't know what to do. This wasn't a problem that could be solved with teeth. Her fear smelled deep and raw, roused by something in particular. Maybe grabbing her had also pressed on an old scar in her mind. Or a fresh one. Maybe she needed space to calm down.

He left to shower off the mud. The soap and water filled his senses. Erased her scent. There was a strange feeling in his gut, one he didn't recognize for a few minutes—worry. Already, his instincts were so protective toward the girl.

As it turned out, for good reason. After he finished, his nose caught chilled skin. She hadn't changed out of her soaked clothes. She hadn't even moved beyond sinking to the floor. He returned to her, taking in her shivering and the vacant look to her eyes. Her voice sounded thin and lost as she managed, "It's cut us off from everywhere. The road..."

The black wolf had lived in much harsher isolation. It would be easy to keep warm and find food. He tried talking again but doubted it would soothe her. The fear smelled as primal as a scream. What good could a few huffs of breath do against that?

Finally, she seemed to truly see him, and the agony in her expression deepened. "You're leaving."

"Didn't say that."

"But you are. Who would stay?"

There it was. A particular thread of pain that told him this was the true reason for her panic. Suddenly, Franny Harford's voice came to him—her furious words about her daughter leaving and never coming back no matter how many times she called. Alice's mother. A mother that Alice had remained silent about despite being so open over everything else.

He wasn't any good at soothing fear, not after a life of stoking it with his very presence, and the best he could do was get her dry and warm. He took off her clothes carefully, half-expecting another slap, but she merely shivered against him, quiet and vulnerable while he dried her off and wrapped her in a towel.

Liquor might help her shock, but he didn't smell any, and instead began warming her fingers with his own. It had been a long time since he had touched anything with care, and he marveled at how delicate her hands felt in his, holding on even after he got the blood flowing through them again. At that, she roused enough to drop her head against his shoulder, and the press of her throat sent a pang through him, an instinct to nuzzle back.

He couldn't remember anything soft from his past, not really. If he'd ever heard lullabies, he had lost them to howls. But he tried giving her the warmth of his body, and untangled the knots in her hair. And when she spoke at last, voice very dull and small, he listened.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

His next breath was a laugh. As if a slap could wound him, body or pride. "You were scared, angry. I expected it."

She wasn't put at ease by the words, instead pressing her cheek against his shoulder. "It was still wrong of me."

He'd never cared about right or wrong. Humans could worry about that. But her shivering drew him to speak, to find some way to lick at a deep wound that he couldn't yet see. "Someone abandoned you once."

Raw grief slid into her scent. Her breath caught in her chest, bubbling as if she spat out blood instead of words. "Yes. I was four years old and my mother was in the middle of a nervous breakdown. She drove us out to a deserted trail in the woods—not one like this, the trees were stumpy oaks and scrubby manzanita, and wild grass bristled everywhere. When the trail ended, she rolled the windows down a little, turned off the car, and told me she'd be right back. Then I watched her walk away, not toward where we came from, but further in. She just disappeared between the trees."

Then her fingers clutched at him, as if the memory was about to rip her away. The black wolf cradled her close, feeling her flinch and relax in a way that told him she wasn't used to being touched. She felt so fragile in his arms, skin chilled and limbs trembling. He wasn't sure the wetness on her face was only from the rain.

"Hikers found me two days later. I was dehydrated and hungry but otherwise okay. They never found my mother. There were weeks of search parties. It's a popular hiking area. But there's never been a trace of her. She just went off into the wilderness and was gone. They asked me what happened, if she'd said anything else to me, whether I'd heard or seen anything while in the car. All I could tell them was what I knew. That she left and I waited but she never came back."

The last word broke off into a wail as the same fear from earlier returned to her scent. The black wolf pulled her closer, swearing at himself for being no good with this sort of thing, for not knowing how to stop pain beyond a killing bite. This girl needed comfort, but all she had was him.

He coaxed her to bed, hoping that would help. After seeing her tremble beneath the sheets, he got in as well. There'd probably be trouble over it, either from her bitch of a lover or from her own regret, but it didn't stop him from curling his body around hers. Skin against skin, the warmth relaxing her shivers at last. The sweet scent of her hair drew his head near her shoulder. Then he eased a hand onto her ribs, meaning to go no further, but she clutched it in her own and drew it over to her chest, holding it against her breastbone as if needing something to anchor her heart in place. Rain drummed above as they breathed together in silence.

Then—salt in the air. Tears. Her fingers tightened against his as she unsteadily murmured, "Magdalene knows all this. She knows what it does to me to see someone leave. To be left alone. Even after so many years, I still... and she knows."

The black wolf had lived too long to be surprised by the twists and turns of human cruelty. Always deeper than a beast's, always more complicated as if one rip of the teeth could never be enough to hurt. He wasn't shocked, and he should have been too tired to be angry. Instead, he decided the other woman would die the first time they met, and not quickly. It'd ruin any chance with this girl, but better for her to be scared of him than someone who hurt her as only a lover could.

"You're not alone tonight," he said, and felt her shake in a final fit of exhaustion, before her hands slowly relaxed. "Sleep, Alice."

Even after she fell still and quiet, he ran gentle fingers over her hair, along her shoulder, down her arm. Easing away any lingering tension while she slept, breath unconsciously matching his own. For him, rest wasn't an option. All instincts were narrowed to protecting her from any intrusion to her sleep.

There would be trouble over tonight. His heart felt suddenly, painfully alive, and this girl would never leave it.