Page 1 of Kept (Mating Run #4)

The door slammed so hard the frame rattled, and Eli stumbled onto the porch as if spat out.

For a moment he stood there, fists clenched, staring at the grain of the door as though it might open again, as though his mother might appear and tell Scott to stop being such an asshole, that she hadn’t forgotten Eli, that she still saw him…

Nothing. No footsteps, no voice. Only the muffled thump of someone moving upstairs. Light seeped from her bedroom window above, steady and obvious.

She was awake. She had heard everything. She was watching and pretending not to.

As usual.

Goddammit. His chest ached so hard it felt hollow.

Eli shoved his hands into his pockets. Empty—no cash, no wallet, no keys. Not even his phone. Scott had made sure of that. Kicked him out with nothing, like garbage.

The porch light buzzed overhead, casting a yellow circle that turned the chipped steps into a stage.

Eli felt exposed, ridiculous, the “problem kid” standing alone while the neighbors pretended they couldn’t hear the shouting.

He could almost see their heads turning away from upstairs windows, blinds snapping shut.

He hated them. Hated Scott. Hated his mother most of all, for watching and not stopping it.

Don’t cry. You’re nineteen now, not a kid any more. Don’t fucking cry out here where everyone can see.

He pushed off the steps and stumbled into the street.

The night was colder than he’d realized, the air like a blade against his skin.

He wrapped his arms tight across his chest, wishing for a jacket, for anything.

His sneakers slapped the asphalt as he walked fast down the middle of the street, away from the house, away from Scott’s rage, away from the silence of his mother’s turned back.

It should have felt like freedom. It didn’t.

He knew this drill. He’d slept outside before, more times than he could count—park benches, backyards, once in the library, after slipping through an unlocked window. But not like this. Not with the air so sharp it stung. Not with absolutely nothing on him. And not on this night of all nights.

Because tonight wasn’t just another night.

The thought hit him like a kick in the ribs. He froze in the middle of the empty street, chest hammering.

The moon was rising.

Not full, but round enough, white-silver and merciless. And tonight—it was the run.

“Shit.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Everyone in town knew the rules. Flyers plastered the coffee shop windows. Warnings repeated every year: stay in, lock up, don’t go near the woods.

Because once a year, the wolves ran.

Not the nice wolves who bagged your groceries or fixed your tires the rest of the year. No. On this night the boundaries came down. They shed their human masks and took what they wanted.

The run wasn’t just a hunt. It was a claiming. Volunteers signed up for it. Names, contracts. They wanted the money that came with it. Volunteer, and everything will be paid for you until the next year's run.

Some wanted more than the money, the rumors went.

The rest of town stayed inside.

And here Eli was, alone, unprotected, thrown out into the open like bait.

Scott knew. The realization twisted like a knife. That son of a bitch had waited for this. He’d chosen tonight to throw him out, knowing what prowled the streets.

Eli’s stomach flipped. He imagined claws raking the pavement, heavy breath on his neck. Wolves sniffing the air, catching the scent of someone stupid enough to wander unmarked. Catching him.

His pulse hammered. Something dark curled low in his gut, shameful and denied.

Because he knew what the wolves did when they caught someone. Not just stories—whispers in locker rooms, rumors in chats online. Volunteers didn’t just get chased for the fun of it. They got taken. Stripped down, pinned, marked.

Mated until they couldn’t walk straight. Claimed so hard everyone knew.

Eli clenched his teeth. Don’t think about that.

He wrapped his arms tighter, walking faster, trying to outrun the images in his own head.

The houses on either side blazed with light, curtains pulled tight. Safety. Families huddled inside with hot drinks, pretending not to think about what was happening out in the woods. Pretending not to imagine the other humans out running through the trees tonight, stripped and screaming.

Eli stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and kept on going.

Why did he always have to be alone? Sometimes it felt like something fractured in him years ago, and everything since then had only made the crack wider. Everyone else out there had someone.

A sharp pain bloomed in his chest, something raw and ugly and impossible to name.

His fingers clenched at his sides. He wished—god, he wished —there was someone in the world who gave a damn.

Someone strong. Someone who would look at him and see him.

Someone who wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't try to break him down into nothing.

Someone who would stand in front of him instead of pushing him into the dark.

But there was no one.

Another howl split the air. Long, low, echoing through his bones.

Eli’s knees nearly buckled. “Jesus Christ.”

It was closer than he wanted it to be. Too close. The wolves were supposed to stay in the woods. That was their hunting ground, the rest of the town off-limits.

But could you really trust a wolf?

He pictured them already fanning out, sleek bodies loping through shadows, nostrils flaring. Hunting the volunteers who had signed their names to the list…

And anyone else unlucky enough to be out here.

He forced himself to keep walking. Not running. Just moving. Just… moving.

He had to find somewhere to go. Somewhere indoors. Somewhere safe.

The houses here in the older part of town were all locked up, all their lights on, as if that could warn away the monsters.

All the houses except one…

Eli stopped dead in his tracks.

A house loomed behind an iron fence, Victorian, set back from the street. Every other place on the street glowed with light, but this one was dark. No porch light, no lamps, no sign of life.

While the rest of the block was putting on a show for the monsters outside, this place looked like it had been forgotten.

Eli’s heart picked up, leaping ahead of his brain. Empty , he thought. Maybe .

His first instinct was to turn away. You can’t break in to someone’s house, he told himself. Even if it is empty. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the place.

He let himself stare for a good thirty seconds, gaze darting from the porch to the sagged front steps to the shadows tucked beneath the railings. No movement. Not so much as a cat on the windowsill.

If anyone lived here, they sure didn’t want company—which was exactly how Eli felt right now.

The hair on Eli's arms rose. Every instinct screamed to keep walking. But he couldn’t. His gaze clung to that darkness like a moth to flame.

Shelter. The wolves were out there. He couldn’t spend the night in the open. And here was a house with no eyes watching, no lights blazing…

He swore under his breath, then climbed the fence. His sneaker caught on the top rail, and he tumbled into the weeds with a muffled curse. He froze, heart hammering.

Nothing stirred. No lights flicked on.

He tested a window—locked. Another—locked. At the third, the sash slid up smoothly under his shaking fingers.

His pulse thundered. This was it. Shelter. Safety—maybe.

Maybe.

Half in the night, half in the darkened house, Eli drew one last deep breath of cold air. For a split second, the silence felt like anything could be waiting—danger, discovery, or mercy.

Then, pushing every fear and doubt aside, he climbed inside.