Page 1 of Ours (Mating Run #5)

The edges of the photograph had gone soft, worn thin by years of handling. Cole ran his thumb over the faded image—two smiling faces, pressed together, frozen in a moment that had long since shattered.

His chest ached, a dull, familiar throb. Stupid. He should've thrown all this shit out months ago. Should've burned it, shredded it… Anything but sit here and let it gnaw at him. But still, he looked. Still, he let himself miss what was already gone.

"What a fucking mess." His voice cracked in the empty apartment.

He shoved the photo aside and pushed back from his desk. Chair legs scraped across hardwood. Too loud. Everything was too loud when you lived alone.

Cole moved to the window, pressed his forehead against cool glass. Three stories below, the city pulsed with Saturday night life. People laughing, drinking, hooking up—living, basically.

Unlike him. He was stuck on repeat, haunting his own life since Marcus walked out.

"You're too much," Marcus had said, pulling his hand away when Cole reached for him one last time. That perfectly controlled expression, like Cole was a problem to be solved. "Too needy. Too desperate. It's exhausting."

The apartment door had clicked shut with such finality. All this time later, Cole still heard that click in his nightmares. Still felt Marcus's fingers slipping away.

He pressed his palm against the glass, watching it fog.

At twenty six, he should be down there in the mix, not up here marinating in memories.

But the thought of dating apps made his stomach turn.

He couldn't handle seeing that look again—that moment when someone realized he cared too much, felt too deeply, needed too intensely.

God, he was pathetic.

His phone buzzed on the desk. Saturday night check-in from his mom, probably. Or worse—another wedding invitation. Jake's this time, from the preview notification. Another college friend who'd figured out how to be loved without destroying everything.

He didn't pick it up. Couldn't deal with typing out another polite decline, another excuse for why he'd be missing another celebration of someone else's happiness.

His eyes drifted upward to the full moon creeping into the night sky. Almost unconsciously, his mind wandered to rumors about the upcoming werewolf mating run.

Every year, the local pack opened their ritual to a handful of humans. A night of primal abandon under the full moon: no names, no messy emotions, no morning-after regrets. Just instinct and hunger.

To be chosen. To be claimed. To be wanted—even if just for one night.

Heat pooled low in Cole's belly at the thought.

He'd always been the careful one. The planner. The dependable architect who designed spaces for others while his own life gathered dust. Twenty-six years of coloring inside the lines, and what did he have to show for it? A too-quiet apartment and a photo album of regrets.

Maybe it was time to try something different. Something reckless.

He dragged a hand through his dark hair—when had it gotten so long?

—and caught his reflection in the glass.

Christ, when did he get so thin? His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut, and the shadows under his eyes had become permanent fixtures.

He looked exactly like what he was: someone who'd forgotten how to take care of himself.

When was the last time someone had touched him? Not a casual brush in a coffee shop, but really touched him, with intent, with want?

He couldn't remember.

The moon pulsed, calling to something wild beneath his skin.

"Fuck it." The words tasted like freedom.

Cole snatched his jacket from the hook, suddenly energized by a decision that felt entirely his. No more wallowing. Tonight, he was going to feel something—anything—even if he had to offer himself up to monsters to make it happen.

The drive to the forest took thirty minutes of white-knuckle courage. Each mile stripped away another layer of doubt.

What the hell was he doing?

His hands shook as he turned off the engine. For thirty seconds, he just sat there, listening to the tick of cooling metal. The cars parked nearby meant he wasn't the only one desperate enough to be here. Somehow that didn't make him feel better.

Last chance to go home. Pour another whiskey. Pretend this was enough.

But it wasn't enough. Hadn't been for so fucking long.

The mating run was notorious—wild, dangerous, intense. Some humans came back changed, electrified with life or haunted by what they'd experienced.

Either would be better than this… this numbness .

Cole stepped out into cool night air, goosebumps prickling on his skin. A trickle of nervous-looking humans were moving toward the tree line, their body language screaming second thoughts . He fell in behind them, letting their momentum carry him forward when his courage faltered.

He took a deep breath of forest air—leaves, soil, and something muskier that made his pulse jump. His boots crunched dead leaves as he followed the others into the trees.

The forest closed around him, vast and ancient. Shadows played between massive trunks. Every tiny noise shot adrenaline through his system.

As a kid, Cole had been afraid of the dark. As an adult, he feared the emptiness that came with too much light—the harsh reality of seeing exactly what was (and wasn't) there. But here, in this halfway place of shadow and moonlight, he felt strangely alive.

The faint glow of lanterns appeared ahead, where a figure waited in the shadows. Too tall to be human, but the darkness obscured everything else. Cole's steps faltered.

This was real. He was really doing this.

"Registration for the run?" The voice was feminine but held an edge that made his skin prickle. Not quite a growl, but close.

Cole's throat tightened. "Yes."

He couldn't see her face, just the vague outline of her form, but he felt her studying him.

The weight of that invisible gaze made him want to fidget, to explain himself, to run.

She held out a contract, her arm extending from the shadows.

Her fingers were too long, tipped with something that caught the moonlight.

"Take your time," she murmured, but her tone said she already knew why he was here. Another lonely soul looking to be devoured.

His fingers trembled as he signed the liability waiver. How did you even put "might be mauled by werewolves" into legalese? The absurdity of paperwork for this almost made him laugh.

In the gloom, it looked like she cocked her head. “The run can be... intense. Especially for first-timers."

Cole's jaw clenched. He didn't need her concern. Didn't need anyone's pity.

Marcus's voice echoed in his head— too needy, too desperate .

"I need this," he said, raw truth scraping his throat.

Needed to feel something again. Needed hands on his skin that wouldn't leave. Needed to lose himself in something real and wild and uncomplicated by human expectation.

She watched him a beat longer—or at least, he assumed she did, though he couldn't see her eyes—then nodded. Took his form with finality.

"Follow the path to the gathering point." Then as he turned to leave: "And child? Be careful what you wish for."

The trail wound deeper into the forest. Moonlight filtered through leaves, dappling the ground. With each step, the constraints of his life fell away—schedule, routine, expectation. Out here, none of that mattered.

The past year flashed through his mind in snapshots of loneliness. Sleeping in a bed too big for one. Watching friendships drift into casual acquaintances. Working himself into exhaustion just to avoid his empty apartment.

He'd tried to move on. A handful of first dates that went nowhere. One drunken hookup that left him feeling hollower than before. Eventually, he'd stopped trying. Easier to be alone than to keep offering pieces of himself, only to have them handed back.

But tonight would be different. Tonight, he wouldn't be measured and found wanting. Tonight, he would be enough simply because he was here, offering himself up to the hunt.

The trail opened into a clearing bathed in moonlight where a dozen humans stood waiting. Some shifted nervously, casting glances toward the trees. Others appeared excited, exchanging grins like this was just another extreme sport to conquer.

Cole moved among them, heart pounding against his ribs. The air tasted metallic with fear—his own and everyone else's. Sweat prickled along his spine despite the cool night. Someone nearby was breathing too fast, almost hyperventilating. Another person kept cracking their knuckles over and over.

A guy about Cole's age stood near the edge of the group, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands. When their eyes met for a split second, Cole saw his own desperate hunger reflected back. They both looked away. Neither of them belonged here, probably. Both of them needed to be.

All volunteers. All willing prey. Christ, what kind of fucked up people signed up for this? The self-loathing curled in his stomach, mixing with the growing anxiety until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

No one spoke above a whisper, as if breaking the silence would somehow make this all too real.

Cole flexed his hands, surprised to find them steady now.

The knot of anxiety in his stomach was transforming into something else—a sharp, sweet tension that hummed along his nerves.

He was hyperaware of everything: the pine needles crushing under shifting feet, the way the cold air burned his lungs, how his heartbeat seemed too loud in the oppressive quiet.

His skin felt too tight, like his body was already preparing for what was coming.

The moon hung directly overhead, massive and silver, casting the clearing in harsh light while the surrounding forest remained a wall of impenetrable darkness. Deep, endless, waiting.

Was he really doing this? Offering himself up like some sacrifice to creatures that could tear him apart?

What would Marcus think if he could see him now? Probably laugh. Or worse, feel validated. See? Too desperate. So desperate you're literally throwing yourself at monsters.

Too late now.

The sharp blare of a horn shattered the stillness.

Birds erupted from the trees.

Cole flinched—and then everyone was running.

His body moved before his brain could catch up, instinct launching him toward the tree line.

The ground blurred beneath his feet, dead leaves slick under his boots.

Branches clawed at his arms and face, but he barely felt the sting.

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of his own harsh breathing.

The forest swallowed him whole, shadows and moonlight playing tricks on his eyes. He had no plan, no direction—just the primal urge to run, to make them work for their prize.

Then—the first howl.

It came from somewhere behind him, deep and resonant, a sound that bypassed rational thought and struck straight at something primitive in his core. His cock went half-hard in pure, fucked-up response.

Jesus. What kind of person got turned on by being hunted?

The lonely kind, apparently.

A second howl joined the first. Then a third. Until they surrounded him, echoing through the trees, filling the night with dark promise.

Cole's heart slammed against his ribs as reality crashed over him.

This wasn't a game. This wasn't a fantasy. This was real.

He was being hunted by creatures that could track him by scent alone, that could move faster and see better in darkness than he ever could. Creatures that wanted to claim him, mark him, take him.

His stomach twisted, fear sinking its claws deep. But beneath the fear, something else unfurled—a dark, hungry excitement he barely recognized in himself.

Because there was no hesitation in those howls. No doubt, no restraint. They weren't asking. They were coming for him.

And no matter how fast he ran?—

They would catch him.

That certainty sent heat rushing through him. For once, he didn't have to question if he was worthy of being chosen. For once, he was simply prey. And something out there in the darkness wanted him badly enough to hunt.

So Cole ran.

Not because he hoped to escape—that was never the point—but because every pounding step, every gasping breath, every scratch of branch against skin made him feel more alive than he had in years.

He wasn't just running from werewolves. He was running from Marcus's ghost, from empty rooms and cold beds, from the suffocating safety of a life half-lived.

With each stride, the howls grew closer. More urgent. More hungry.

And as Cole pushed deeper into the forest, heart racing and blood singing with adrenaline, he realized he was smiling.