Page 4 of Scarlett’s Wicked Wolf (Filthy Fairy-tales #1)

Reid

The couch is long because I built it that way—extra timber, extra patience, not nearly enough sleep.

It’s still shorter than I am. The wool itches through my shirt; a spring prods my ribs; the fire snaps and paints the rafters in restless orange.

I deserve worse. Maybe nothing. I’ve taken Scarlett’s life in my hands and rearranged it without asking if she wanted different.

Or maybe I saved it.

I won’t know until she survives the change.

A log collapses in the hearth, sending sparks spiraling. Cold slicks the windows in a silver skin, and the dark heart of the forest leans close to listen. I gave her the bed—my bed—because the fever burns a little easier with the fire’s heat, and because the mattress is softer.

Like me, Scarlett wasn’t born for this. I remember my first change—the Frankenpunch fever chewing through me while bones cracked and re-knit, skin trying to hold two lives at once.

Born wolves are built for it—two souls sharing the same skin.

She isn’t. Her body has to be remade from the inside out, sinew by sinew, nerve by screaming nerve. Fever is the price of re-forging.

So I watch. I wait, suffering with her because I would never have chosen this for her. I’ve made her as comfortable as she can be while her DNA is being rewritten inside her bones.

And there’s the other thing—the bond tightening between us, a thread humming brighter each hour. I haven’t told her all of it. Not yet. She deserves the whole truth when she can actually hold on to it. Right now, the bond would make “yes” sound like a reflex, not a choice.

I won’t touch her unless she asks. After the change.

At some point, the flames go soft at the edges. I don’t mean to sleep.

When the dream hits, it detonates.

She’s under me—heat and soft gasps, her breath breaking against my mouth. My hands fill with the perfect weight of her breasts; my tongue finds an aching, rosy peak, and her moans are both prayer and sin. I drag my mouth lower, hungry for the taste of her… and the dream turns.

Her skin slicks red. Copper floods my mouth. The noise in my ears isn’t pleasure; it’s screaming.

“Scarlett!”

I’m already moving, my gaze raking corners, windows, shadows for an external threat. But it’s only us. Scarlett sits bolt upright in the bed, the blankets twisted around her legs, fear in her wide eyes.

“What is it?” My voice comes out rougher than I intended.

She pushes sweat-damp hair off her face. “Bad dream. Vision. I saw him. The wolf that attacked me. I don’t—” She swallows, searching the air for a word that doesn’t exist. “Thorns in his fur,” she whispers. “And bones.”

The scent of her fear hits me like a blade, and every protective instinct inside me rises to soothe it. I sit on the edge of the bed, and she doesn’t flinch. This new, fragile trust feels like a glass bird that could shatter at any moment.

“It was a dream,” I murmur, easing an arm around her shoulders. “Just a dream.”

Her fingers flatten over my chest as if the steady thump can anchor her. Heat knifes down my spine at the contact as desire coils insistently. I shift my hips away and breathe past it. She shakes against me, small and fierce.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she mutters against my chest, dragging the sleeve of the shirt she borrowed over her eyes.

“Don’t be.” I stroke her hair. “I’m here.”

Because I am. Because I will be.

“You’re not a born wolf,” she says quietly. “Does the—our—bond work the same as natural shifters?”

There it is—the part that needs daylight.

“I don’t know.” And the not-knowing sits under my ribs like a stone.

“I’ve researched, but there’s no handbook for men turned monsters by a drunken dare.

Born shifters talk about timelines, the pull, how the bond eases once mated.

” I shrug. “I never expected to find a mate, so for me, it’s guesswork and gut.

Maybe our thread will be weaker. Maybe it’ll be stronger.

Maybe the compulsion is different, more human, and less lore.

What I do know is you get a choice. I won’t use the bond to take it. ”

She studies me for a long moment. “You thought I was going to die.”

“Yes.” No way to soften it. “You were.”

“And you believed the bite would save me.”

“I did. It did.”

Her mouth flattens. Her throat works. Anger is there, but it’s tempered.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Then two things can be true: you saved my life, and I didn’t get a say in how. I’m not going to pretend I’m fine with the second part, but I’m not running home so my grandmother has to watch me burn. I won’t do that to her.”

Something inside me unclenches. “We’ll tell her when it’s safe,” I say. “Together, if you want.”

A quick nod. “After the fever breaks.” Her gaze flicks to the door, then back.

The bond loosens fractionally, like a muscle that’s been clamped too long. “All right.”

“Ground rules,” she continues, as if organizing a crisis calms her.

“One: you don’t touch me unless I ask. Two: you tell me everything you know and everything you don’t know about this bond and the shift.

No protective omissions. Three: if that gray wolf is hunting me, we protect this cabin now.

Wards, salt, traps—whatever you’ve got. I have magic; I can help. ”

“Done,” I say, and mean it. “There’s iron shot and a warding lattice in the trunk. I’ll defer to your sight.”

Scarlett’s eyebrows lift as if she’s surprised I didn’t argue. She exhales, and some of the tension in her shoulders melts. “Good. Because I’m hot and dizzy and every nerve feels like a sparkler. I apologize in advance if I say something I don’t mean. It’s the fever talking, not me.”

“I’ll know which words belong to the fever and which belong to you.”

Her chin lifts. “We should ward now.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and grimaces, but stays sitting, calculating. “You place what needs strength, I’ll set sigils where the wood’s most willing. We thread protection through the seams.”

“You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“You can carry the heavy things,” she says dryly. “I can still draw.”

I almost smile. Almost. “Deal.”

She presses her palm to her sternum. “One more thing.”

I wait.

“I’m angry,” she says plainly, “but not at you. At the circumstances.” Her emerald eyes lift to mine, revealing the fear and vulnerability beneath her practical facade. “Still, you saved my life. Thank you.”

My chest throbs with a foreign emotion. “You’re welcome,” I say gruffly.

“If I decide I want…” She swallows, color high in her cheeks. “If I want more, it will be my decision. Not the bond’s.”

My nod is like a vow. “Yours.”

Her shoulders loosen another fraction. “Okay. Tell me what you know about the first shift.”

I pull up a chair. “Fever spikes, then breaks. Bones ache like the worst flu you’ve ever had, multiplied by ten.

Your sense of smell will surge; the world will go loud and bright.

You’ll feel pulled toward the forest. When the change occurs, I’ll guide you through breathing and bracing techniques.

If you want me out of the room, I'll go. If you want me there, I’m there. ”

She listens like a student memorizing every word. “How long?”

“For me, it hit before dawn and burned out after sunrise. Your timing might be different. We’ll take it minute by minute.”

“Fine.” She licks her lips. “We should still warn Grandma. Not in person. A message.”

“I can send one,” I offer. “There’s a crow that roosts at the east ridge. He owes me a favor.”

Her mouth tips, almost a smile despite everything. “Of course, you have a crow on retainer.”

“He’s compensated in walnuts.”

She smiles. “Pay him double.”