Chapter 2 The Stranger

The wind stung my face as I tore through the woods, paws thudding against the wet earth. I didn't care where I was going-I just needed to run, to escape the crushing weight in my chest.

Branches snapped underfoot. Trees blurred past. My wolf didn't stop. Not until the pain dulled to a low throb and even she was tired of being angry.

By the time I shifted back, my skin was damp with rain and sweat. My hair clung to my face, and I was somewhere deep in the northern edge of Graybridge-far from the pack, far from home, if I could even call that place home anymore.

I didn't plan on going back. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

In the distance, I spotted flickering neon lights-Blue Moon Tavern. Fitting.

I walked barefoot toward it, mud caking my feet, still wearing the tattered remains of my shift clothes from under the wedding dress. A few people outside started, but I didn't stop. I pushed the door open and was greeted with loud music, stale smoke, and the clink of glasses.

The bartender blinked as I approached.

"You alright there?" he asked, eyeing my torn dress and matted hair.

"I need a drink," I croaked. "Something strong."

He poured without another word. I downed the first shot, then the second, then three more. The burn didn't bother me. I wanted it.

I wanted to forget.

"Rough night?" the bartender asked after a while.

I slammed my sixth shot glass down. "You have no idea."

"Maybe a bed would be better than the bar."

"Maybe," I muttered, swaying slightly. "You rent rooms?"

"Upstairs. We've got a few for overnight travelers."

"I'll take one."

He handed me a key. "Room twelve. Down the hall, second left, past the stairs."

"Got it." I nodded... or tried to.

I grabbed the key, slid off the stool like a newborn deer, and made my way toward the hallway. I forgot the number immediately.

Was it ten? Or twenty? No-twelve.

I squinted at the numbers on the doors, my vision dancing. I stopped at a door that looked vaguely right. 210? 201? 120? Who cares.

The key fit.

I turned it and stumbled in.

Dim lights. A warm scent of cedar and something spicy.

I yawned and dropped my purse, letting my dress fall from my shoulder.

Then I heard the door to the bathroom open.

"What the hell?" a deep voice rumbled.

I froze, heart lurching.

A man stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet, water dripping down his abs like a slow tease from the goddess herself.

He stared at me, stunned. "Who are you?"

I blinked. "This is my room."

"No. It's not."

I looked down at the key still in my hand, confused. "Room twelve?"

He raised a brow. "This is twenty-one."

Shit.

"Oh," I mumbled. "My bad."

He walked forward, still dripping, still towel-clad, and just-why did he look like that? The body of a warrior, but the face of a man who could ruin someone without saying a word.

"I'll leave," I said quickly, trying to back up.

But I stepped on the hem of my dress and slipped.

"Whoa-!"

He caught me before I hit the floor, one strong arm around my waist.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Our eyes locked.

There it was. That damn electric snap. Like the universe had grabbed my spine and yanked.

My hands were on his chest. His skin was hot. My head spun-but not from the alcohol anymore.

"Don't," I whispered.

"Don't what?" he murmured, his voice low, steady.

I should've pulled away.

I should've walked out.

But I didn't.

Instead, I leaned in and kissed him.

Hard. Desperate.

He froze for half a second, then gripped my waist and kissed me back-deeper, rougher, like he'd been waiting for something to break him open too.

My dress dropped to the floor.

His towel hit the ground.

There was no name, no promise, no future. Just breath and skin and pain and need.

He pressed me to the wall, lips grazing my jaw. "What's your name?"

I closed my eyes. "Does it matter?"

He paused. Then, "No. Not tonight."

That was all it took.

He lifted me with ease, laid me on the bed, kissed every broken part of me like it could be stitched together by mouth and tongue and fire.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.

It was raw.

And somewhere between the gasps and the tangled sheets, I gave something I'd never given anyone else-my body, my heart, my firsts.

My virginity.

To a stranger.

And I didn't regret it.

Not even a little.

I woke up to sunlight slanting through the window and the weight of an arm draped across my hip.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

Then I turned and saw him.

God, he was even more beautiful in the light.

His face was relaxed, lashes dark against his cheekbones, jaw rough with stubble. He looked peaceful. Untouchable.

I slipped out of bed carefully, grabbing my dress from the floor and wincing at the soreness between my legs.

Last night came back in pieces-drinks, heat, skin, his voice whispering something I didn't understand in my ear as I collapsed on top of him.

I didn't even ask his name.

And I still didn't want it.

Not yet.

I needed the illusion-that just once, I'd done something reckless for myself. That just once, I wasn't someone's pawn.

I scribbled a note on a hotel notepad:

"Thanks for the rescue. No regrets. – Q."

I placed it on the bedside table and slipped out quietly.

I didn't even look back.

Outside, the town was waking. I stood at the corner of the street, unsure where to go. No home to return to. No pack to belong to.

But for the first time in years, I felt something close to free.

Still hurt. Still pissed. Still burning.

But free.

My phone buzzed. I'd forgotten I even had it.

Caller ID: Mom.