Page 3

Gabe

B ack in the washroom, I check the IV Adam set up for the wolf before he left, his detailed instructions still fresh in my mind. I glance at the animal lying on the blanket, his chest rising and falling in shallow but steady breaths. The stark black fur glints under the dim light, dense and sooty, a contrast to the white towel edges beneath him.

He needs a name.

All the dogs I rescue get names. Calling him ’the wolf‘ feels impersonal, and something about this one demands more. He’s not just another rescue—there’s a gravity to him, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

I crouch beside him, one knee on the ground, and tilt my head as I study his features. His eyes remain closed, but the wolf isn’t entirely still. His ears twitch slightly, a soft movement that tells me he’s aware of my presence.

“ Okay, buddy,” I say, my voice soft. “We’re going to have to come up with a name for you.”

One of his eyes cracks open, the rich brown of his gaze locking onto mine. There’s something too human in that look—too understanding. It’s like he’s waiting, like he already knows we’re connected somehow.

I grin, a sense of camaraderie bubbling up unexpectedly. “You’ve got a lot going on in that head of yours, don’t you?”

The wolf lifts his head slightly, his tongue darting out to lick my hand. The rasp is rough, but it makes me chuckle. “Okay, okay I’ll take that as a vote of approval.”

My hand trails over his neck, slipping through the thick coat of fur. It’s unexpectedly soft, silky even, despite the dirt and grime. My fingers move instinctively, burying into the dense warmth and skimming over the hard muscle underneath.

“How can something so smooth and soft be part of a big, tough wolf like you?” I murmur, almost to myself. “You’re a study in contrasts, aren’t you?”

He lets out a low rumble, and I pause, my fingers hovering over his fur. The sound isn’t a growl—it’s something deeper, more resonant. It reminds me of contentment, almost like a dog’s version of a purr.

“You like that, huh?” I ask, my voice light as I keep stroking him.

The wolf shifts closer, and I feel his warmth seep through my jeans. His head lifts again, this time to rest against my lap. It’s such a trusting gesture, one that takes me by surprise. A dull ache settles in my chest as I watch him, my hand still tangled in his fur.

Without thinking, I sit down fully, leaning back against the wall. The wolf doesn’t move, his head heavy on my thigh. “Don’t blame you, buddy,” I say, my voice dropping to a murmur. “Everyone needs to be petted every now and then.”

Ano ther low rumble echoes through the quiet room, and I can’t help but smile. The bond between us feels unshakable already, though I know how dangerous it is to let myself feel this way. Releasing him back into the wild, where he belongs, is inevitable. But the thought already twists something deep inside me.

“Not gonna worry about that right now,” I mutter, my voice husky with sleep.

I glance down, catching the way his body shivers under my hand. Is it my voice causing that, or just a reflex? Either way, I keep stroking him, moving my fingers more slowly now. The heat of his fur and the steady rhythm of his breathing pull at me, dragging me under.

“S’okay, buddy,” I murmur, my words slurring slightly. “We’ll figure out a name for you…”

My fingers still, sinking into the wolf’s coat. Sleep takes over before I can resist, creeping in slow and seductive until I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.

When I wake, pain stabs through my body with enough force to make me groan. My hand is still buried in the wolf’s fur, warm and comforting against my palm. But it’s my other hand that sends heat flooding to my cheeks—it’s pressing against the front of my jeans, stroking the hardness beneath.

Dreams of a man with dark hair and golden-brown eyes flash through my mind. His hands had been warm, rough in the best way, drowning me in a haze of desire.

“Jesus,” I mutter, yanking my hand away from my cock. The pressure lingers, hot and needy, and I grind my palm against it once more before shoving myself upright.

The wolf’s head lifts, his amber gaze watching me steadily. There’s no judgment in those eyes, but the intensity of his stare feels like a spotlight on my unraveled state.

“ Not a word,” I say to him, half joking as I step toward the bathroom. But the heat of that dream, and the way those eyes seem to follow me even now, make my chest feel tight all over again.

Muttering under my breath and walking with a decidedly uncomfortable gait, I check the IV hooked up to the wolf one last time. Everything looks fine—the slow, steady drip doing its job. The wolf is calm, his body still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

But me? I’m far from calm.

I can’t get the dream out of my head. Those golden-brown eyes, the dark hair, the feeling of another man’s touch on me—it’s all so vivid, so real. My body feels like it’s on fire, and there’s no way this erection is going away on its own. Not anytime soon.

I head for the shower, my hand already moving to the button of my jeans. The heat between my legs feels unbearable, the images from the dream replaying in my mind, sharper and hotter with every step. By the time I’m in the bathroom, the zipper’s down, and I’ve got my cock in hand, hard and aching for release.

Stepping into the shower, I groan as the lukewarm water splashes over my skin. It’s not cold enough to calm me down, and I’m not sure I want it to. Closing my eyes, I let the dream take over.

The man’s face is hazy, but his presence is seared into me. I imagine his hand sliding over my shaft, firm but smooth, his thumb pressing against the sensitive slit at the tip. My own hand mimics the motion, and a shiver races down my spine as I grip myself.

In my mind, his lips replace his hand. Full, firm, and perfect, they glide over me, and I gasp, my hips jerking forward as if I can push deeper into the phantom sensation.

A groan escapes me as I lean against the wall, my free hand trailing down my back. My fingers slide into my crease, seeking the hidden opening there. When I find it, my middle finger presses against the ti ght muscle, tapping experimentally. A spark of pleasure shoots through me, sharp and electric, making my knees buckle.

I moan, louder this time, as the tip of my finger breaches my hole. Heat floods through my body, radiating from my ass to my cock, building higher and higher. My hips thrust forward erratically, my hand pumping faster along my shaft, the pre-cum and water lubricating my way as I squeeze my cock and twist my wrist to add more friction. Sensation shoots from my groin into my legs and my thigh muscles clench, my hips thrust forward as my balls pull up tight and I jerk my fist hard and fast.

My orgasm hits me like a freight train.

My back arches, my mouth falling open in a hoarse yell as pleasure detonates through me. My cock pulses in my hand, thick, creamy ropes of cum spilling out and splattering against the tiles before the water washes them away.

I slump against the wall, gasping for breath as the last waves of my orgasm fade. The euphoria is brief, giving way to an aching emptiness that settles low in my stomach.

I watch the water carry the evidence of my release down the drain, the whirlpool pulling it out of sight, and I feel a pang of something I can’t name.

What’s wrong with me?

The need still lingers, an intensity I don’t understand. It’s not just physical—this feels deeper, more primal, like something’s missing. The sensation burns under my skin, sinking into my muscles, my tendons, my very bones.

I try to puzzle it out, but after several minutes, I give up.

For now, I rinse off and finish my shower, the ache still simmering inside me, and decide that what I need is a glass of water. If I can’t cool my libido in the shower, a cold drink will h ave to do.

I lean against the kitchen counter, my hair still damp from the shower, debating whether to drag my sleeping bag into the washroom. The wolf’s care requires attention, especially with the IV, and it would be easier to monitor him if I just camped out there.

But the thought of sleeping in the same room as the wolf fills me with something I can’t explain. It’s not fear—at least, not entirely.

I’ve always had a strong connection to dogs. But this is different. This wolf feels different. It’s like something inside me resonates with him, something I can’t identify.

I shake my head, trying to focus on practical matters.

There’s also the anger I felt earlier. The rush of possessiveness when Adam touched him— where the hell did that come from? It’s not rational, and I can’t even begin to unpack it.

The blaring of the alarm rips me from a restless sleep for the fourth and final time. I groan, my body aching with exhaustion. It feels like I haven’t slept at all, even though I managed to snatch a few hours here and there. But those hours had been anything but restful, filled with vivid, sensual dreams that cling to me even now, refusing to fade.

Dark hair, warm brown eyes, and the sweetest, most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.

The man in my dreams had been beautiful, magnetic in a way I couldn’t explain. But that wasn’t what unsettled me the most. His presence seemed to blur and shift, blending with the wolf’s image before snapping back to the man again. It didn’t make sense.

And then there was the name.

Mik a.

It had floated from his lips, spoken in a voice so sultry it made my toes curl even in sleep. Mika. It wasn’t a name I would have thought of, not something I’d ever encountered before. Where had my subconscious pulled it from? The whole thing was bizarre, layered with an intensity I couldn’t shake.

If I ever went to a psychiatrist—which I won’t—they’d probably have a field day analyzing this dream. A man who turns into a wolf? And sex so mind-blowing it made my skin tingle just thinking about it?

No thanks.

I shrug off the lingering fog of confusion, tossing the blankets to the side. I’d decided my bed was the best place to catch a few hours’ sleep and had ambled there from the kitchen late last night. My body is as restless as my mind, my morning erection pressing insistently against my boxers. For a moment, I consider taking care of it, relieving the tension clawing at me, but guilt flares hot and sharp.

The wolf.

I can’t justify seeking my own pleasure when there’s still an injured animal in the house. It feels wrong, even if I know he’s probably fine. Shoving the thought aside, I pull on my boxers and hope they’ll at least hide my situation. Wandering into the washroom with a raging hard-on would just feel…weird.

Smiling in anticipation, I push open the washroom door.

The smile dies instantly.

I freeze in the doorway, my heart lurching in my chest as my eyes dart around the room. The IV bag hangs limp and empty, the drip line lying abandoned on the floor with a needle still attached.

But the wolf is gone.

“What the hell?”

I s hoot into the room, my voice echoing off the tiles as I search frantically. There’s no sign of him. My pulse pounds as I scan every inch of the space, my mind racing. He couldn’t have gotten out.

Could he?

My stomach twists painfully as I bolt into the hallway, calling out, even though I know it’s useless.

I search every room in the house, tearing through the living room, the kitchen, even my bedroom. Nothing.

And then I see the window.

I’d left it cracked open last night, unable to resist the cool breeze drifting in. Now, the screen hangs slightly ajar, the latch unhooked. But something’s off.

The latch isn’t torn or broken. If the wolf had gone out through the window, he would have ripped the screen right off the frame, and the noise would’ve woken me. I would’ve heard something—anything.

Wouldn’t I?

My breath comes in short, ragged bursts as I race outside, my bare feet slapping against the dirt. The house doors are still closed, the locks untouched. Not that I lock them much anyway, but it’s not like the wolf could’ve opened them.

Thumbs are kind of necessary for that.

Desperation makes the air catch in my lungs as I check the garage, the kennels, every inch of the property where the wolf might’ve gone.

But there’s nothing.

No tracks, no fur, no sign he was ever here.

I drop onto the porch steps, my knees weak as I bury my face in my hands. Something vital feels missing, a strange hollowness gnawing at me like a hunger I can’t satisfy.

Tea rs prick my eyes, and I clench my fists, angry at myself for the reaction. I need to stop acting like this, damn it. I don’t cry, especially not over things I can’t control.

But then icy fear floods my veins.

What if Kaufman came here while I was sleeping? The sheriff wouldn’t have taken the wolf alive—that much I know. If Kaufman had been involved, there’d be nothing left of the animal to find.

It doesn’t seem likely, but it’s the only explanation I can think of.

Swallowing hard, I push myself to my feet and head inside, my hands already reaching for my phone.

I need to call Todd.

“‘Lo?” Todd’s groggy voice comes through the phone, and I immediately smack my hand against my forehead. Of course, he’s tired. He’s working second shift. I should’ve remembered that before calling. Not that it would have stopped me—I need answers—but still.

“Todd, hey,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry to wake you, man. There’s a problem here.”

I close my eyes, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my head. A low rustling sound comes through the phone as Todd clears his throat.

“What’s up, Gabe?” His voice sharpens, the grogginess disappearing as he shifts into alert mode. It’s one of the things I admire about Todd—he can go from half asleep to fully switched on in seconds.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to speak clearly. “I woke up this morning, and the wolf…is gone.”

There’s a beat of silence before Todd responds, and I launch into an explanation of the morning’s events. I recount everything as best I can, from finding the IV line on the floor to the open window screen. Todd interrupts now and then with questions, his tone thoughtful, but mo st of the time, he lets me ramble. By the time I finish, both of us are quiet, turning over the situation in our heads.

Finally, Todd speaks. “I’m guessing you’re wondering if Kaufman had anything to do with this?”

The idea had been gnawing at me since I noticed the wolf was gone, but hearing Todd say it out loud makes my stomach churn. “I don’t know what to think, Todd,” I admit. “It doesn’t seem cruel enough to be him, but…shit, can you think of anything else?”

Todd exhales, the sound crackling faintly through the phone. “You’re right—it’s not Kaufman’s style. He’d make a mess of it, leave some kind of calling card just to piss you off. Still, it’s weird. If the sheriff was involved, he’d need help to take the wolf. You saw how much work it took for us to get him into your truck. He wasn’t moving on his own yesterday.”

I nod, even though Todd can’t see me. The image of the sheriff hauling the wolf away doesn’t quite fit. But if not Kaufman, then who?

Something cold runs down my spine as a fleeting image flashes in my mind—the wolf standing on two legs, opening the door with an eerie, human-like precision before walking out into the night.

No. That’s ridiculous.

Shaking the thought away, I pinch the bridge of my nose and focus. “There had to be some way the wolf got out,” I say finally. “Maybe he swiped at the door handle just right and got it to turn. Or…” I hesitate, the absurdity of my next words making me wince. “Maybe he turned it with his mouth. I’ve seen that happen on TV.”

Todd snorts softly, but his tone stays neutral. “Did you check for tracks outside?”

“I didn’t see anything,” I admit. “But I’m not exactly an expert tracker. If he stayed on the grass, I probably wouldn’t be able to find any prints.”

“ Still, it’s worth considering,” Todd says. “Wolves are smart. You saw the way he looked at you yesterday—there’s something going on behind those eyes. If he figured out how to open a door, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Something about his words twists in my chest, leaving an ache I can’t shake. If the wolf left on his own, does that mean he wanted to? The thought stings more than I expect, and I rub at the hollow feeling growing beneath my ribs.

Why does it hurt so much?

Todd’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll swing by the vet clinic later today, before my shift, and ask Adam about your vanishing wolf. He might have some ideas on whether it’s possible the wolf got out on his own—or how to find him if he did.”

The idea of Adam helping is a small comfort, but it doesn’t ease the gnawing worry in my gut. Todd continues, “Maybe the wolf’s instincts kicked in, and he headed back to his native territory. It’s not like he got a warm welcome here.”

That thought makes my stomach churn even worse. The idea of never seeing the wolf again claws at me, and I try to tell myself it’s just concern for his welfare. That’s all it is—concern.

It’s not safe for him here. Kaufman’s version of ‘animal control’ is a death sentence, and even if I found a way to keep the wolf here, it wouldn’t last. Shasta isn’t changing anytime soon.

Still, the thought of him being gone—really gone—leaves me feeling strangely hollow.

“Thanks, Todd,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Let me know what Adam says.”

“Will do,” Todd replies.

I h ang up, staring at the phone in my hand for a moment before setting it on the counter. The ache in my chest doesn’t fade, no matter how much I try to rationalize it.

The wolf is gone.

And it feels like I’ve lost more than I had to begin with.

The idea of finding the wolf only to release him somewhere safer—and never see him again—sits heavy in my chest, like a weight pressing down. It doesn’t make me feel better. Hell, it makes me feel worse.

It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong to want to keep him for myself. He’s a wild, magnificent creature, and he doesn’t belong to anyone. But no matter how much I tell myself that, the feeling lingers.

It’s more than just a sense of connection. I can’t shake the idea that the wolf is mine.

Which is bullshit.

The wolf doesn’t belong to anyone. He’s a creature of the wild, meant to roam free. Yet, even as I think it, a strange notion whispers in the back of my mind.

Maybe I kind of belong to him…

I pause, the thought leaving me unsettled. It’s ridiculous—just as ridiculous as the dreams and the strange emotions that have been swirling in me since he arrived.

Shaking my head, I focus on the present. I finish my call with Todd, thanking him for his help, and head to my room. The other dogs still need me, and I’ve already wasted too much time searching for the wolf. As much as I want to keep looking, my responsibilities can’t wait.

Turning into my room, I force my mind away from the wolf and toward my to-do list. The dogs need feeding, the kennels need cleaning, and there’s always more to handle around here. My morning erecti on has long since deflated, forgotten in the midst of my frustration and worry.

Jerking open a dresser drawer, I start digging through the mess of clothes I never bother folding properly. “Where are my freaking sweats?” I mutter, shoving aside T-shirts and mismatched socks. “I swear they were here…”

The loud pounding on the front door startles me so badly that I slam my fingers in the drawer as I shove it closed.

“Ouch! Shit!” I hiss, clutching my hand. My heart pounds, partly from the surprise and partly from dread. Who the hell is banging on my door this early?

The only person I can think of is Kaufman.

The idea draws a groan from deep in my chest. If it’s him, this day has officially gone from bad to worse and it’s only just started. It’d be just my luck for him to show up now, right when I’m at my wits’ end.

Muttering a string of curses, I march to the door, frustration boiling over. If Kaufman’s here, he’s getting a piece of my mind.

I yank the door open, ready to let him have it—but the words die in my throat.

Standing on my porch isn’t the sheriff. It’s a man.

And not just any man.

He’s wearing my missing sweats and an old Alice in Chains concert shirt that I washed last week. My heart stutters as I take him in, my breath catching.

It’s him . The man from my dream.

I blink, half expecting him to vanish like some kind of mirage. But he doesn’t. He stands there, solid and real, and he’s even more stunning in person.

His shoulder-length black hair falls in soft waves around his face, framing sharp cheekbones and a straight nose that somehow makes him lo ok both regal and wild. His full, sensuous lips curl into a small, half-hearted smile, but it’s his eyes that hold me captive.

They’re deep brown, warm and familiar, like they’ve been watching me my whole life.

My body reacts instantly. Heat floods through me, and my cock hardens painfully, pushing against the waistband of my boxers as if it has a mind of its own.

His nostrils flare, and for a moment, I swear he can smell my arousal.

The thought makes my face burn. I jerk my gaze away from his, my heart hammering. My gaze drifts lower—and stop dead.

There, peeking out from the neckline of my shirt, are faint scars.

My breath catches as I take in the almost-healed wounds around his neck, wounds that look exactly like the ones I saw on the wolf.

My mind races, trying to process what I’m seeing. Black dots dance in my vision, and a strange buzzing fills my ears. This can’t be real.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, my voice strangled and weak. My brain screams that it’s impossible , that I must be losing my mind. But no matter how much I try to deny it, the familiarity of those scars won’t let me go.

“Who are you?” I manage to choke out, my throat dry and tight.

The man tilts his head slightly, his lips parting as he speaks.

“I’m Mika,” he says, his voice deep and rich, rumbling like distant thunder. The sound settles over me, and I feel the ground sway beneath my feet as the darkness rushing in finally overtakes me.