Chapter 2 Beneath the Surface

That moment between us, thick with silence and want, felt more intimate than anything I'd ever known.

Then the wind shifted and I felt... watched.

Not by him. By something else.

Something colder.

I turned, scanning the park.

There-far beyond the arcade lights, past the line of empty booths-stood a figure.

It was still and watching.

My breath was caught.

"Bryson," I said quietly, nodding toward the shadow.

He followed my gaze with his eyes narrowing. His expression flickered - not in fear nor surprised but in recognition.

Then, it was gone.

"No one's there," he said smoothly.

I looked again but the figure was gone but I knew what I saw or I thought I did.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just... probably popcorn paranoia."

He chuckled, and the tension eased. But his shoulders didn't fully relax. Neither did mine.

We walked again, but slower, like something unspoken lingered in the air behind us.

"I don't usually talk like this with people I've just met," I admitted.

"Neither do I."

"So why now?"

He looked at me.

Like the answer was too big to say.

"I think... sometimes, we meet people who remind us of who we really are. Even if we don't want to remember."

I swallowed hard.

"Bryson," I said, "what would you do if the stories were real?"

He stopped.

"You mean the Forbidden?"

I nodded.

"What if they weren't just legends? What if they were here-right now-and we just didn't know who they were?"

He didn't answer at first.

Then, with a low voice that sent a ripple down my spine, he said, "Then I'd hope someone like you could still love one of them."

Silence follows.

I didn't even realize I was shaking until he reached out and gently touched my hand.

It was warm, strong and human.

And yet... not.

I looked up into those eyes - golden brown with flecks of something brighter, something wrong.

And for a second, just one heartbeat of time, I wondered:

What are you, Bryson Wilder?

We stopped at the edge of my street.

I turned to him, the carnival now just a hum behind us.

"Thank you," I said. "For walking with me."

He smiled, but it was tight. Like he was battling something inside.

"I'll see you again, Evelyn."

"That's a promise?" I asked.

He stepped close again, his fingers brushing mine.

"No," he said. "It's fate."

And with that, he turned and disappeared down the path, swallowed by shadows that didn't quite seem to touch him.

I stood there for a while with my heart racing.

Far away, in the corner of the darkened city, a low growl echoed.

It's not close nor loud but enough to make birds scatter from trees and a silence fall over the night.

~

The cold breeze hit me as soon as I stepped into my apartment.

I leaned against the door once it shut behind me, still gripping the doorknob like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to this reality. The city buzzed faintly outside, lights flickering across my window, but I wasn't really here.

I was still standing under those fairy lights.

Still feeling the ghost of his fingers brushing mine.

Still hearing his voice echoing in the hollow space between my ribs.

"It's fate."

A shiver crawled up my spine-and it wasn't from the cold.

I moved on autopilot, toeing off my boots, shrugging out of my coat, dropping my keys in the dish by the door. I didn't bother turning on the light. The room glowed faintly from the street lamps outside, and that was enough. Too much light might make the memory feel too distant and unreal.

I collapsed on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

"What are you, Bryson Wilder?"

The question pulsed inside me like a second heartbeat. There was something... not normal about him. Something that made my instincts wake up and tremble, but not in fear, instead, it's curiosity and want.

And that terrified me more than anything.

My phone vibrated against the arm of the couch. Claire's name flashed across the screen.

I picked it up with a sigh and swiped.

"Hey," I said, voice soft.

"Hey you! Where are you? Did you go home already?" she asked, the sounds of carnival music and laughter still behind her.

"Yeah. I'm home."

"Wow, you just disappeared! Did the popcorn betray you, or did you ran off with a man?"

I bit my lip and turned my head to the side, eyes closing slowly.

"...Something like the second question."

Claire gasped. "You didn't!"

"I didn't do anything," I replied, a little too defensively. "We talked and walked. He walked me home."

She was quiet for a bit, then her voice turned serious. "Evelyn... are you okay? You sound-off."

I pressed my hand against my chest, where it still ached.

"I'm fine. Just... tired."

"Alright," she said, but I could hear the suspicion behind it. "I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah. Sleep well."

"You too."

I hung up and stared at the ceiling again.

Sleep.

That sounded like a good idea.

I dragged myself to bed, changed into a soft T-shirt, and curled beneath my blanket. The scent of carnival sugar still clung to my coat in the corner. I turned onto my side and closed my eyes.

But sleep didn't come easy.

Every time I drifted, his face hovered behind my eyelids. His voice. His heat. His eyes that didn't quite look... human.

Who are you, Bryson?

And why do I feel like meeting you rewrote something inside me?

~

Bryson's POV

The wind carried the scent of her long after I left her street.

Vanilla, ink, something faintly citrus.

It clung to my coat, curled in my hair, sank into my skin like her presence had claimed it. I moved through the alleyways like a shadow, every step perfectly silent. My body could've crossed the entire city in minutes if I wanted to-but tonight, I didn't rush.

I let myself linger.

The girl was unexpected.

No... Evelyn was unexpected.

And that made her dangerous.

I reached the rooftop of the old stone building across from my flat and leapt effortlessly to the balcony. The glass door was unlocked. I stepped inside.

He was waiting for me, my beta.

"Tell me you didn't," Axel growled, arms folded across his chest, shoulders tense.

I didn't answer.

He paced in front of the fireplace, his scent like cedar and smoke, eyes as pale as winter. His wolf wasn't far beneath the surface tonight.

"You were supposed to observe, not charm her. And not bring her scent back on your skin like a damn mark."

"I didn't mark her," I said quietly.

Axel turned sharply. "But you wanted to."

Silence.

I pulled off my coat and dropped it across the back of the chair.

He let out a sharp exhale. "You're too close, Bryson. You forget what they are. What they've done to us."

My jaw clenched.

"I haven't forgotten anything."

"Then why are you looking at her like she's your mate?"

I stilled.

"Because some part of me feared she was."

"And some part of me hoped she is."