Wild Love -- The Wild Love Chronicles.

"Certain animals, like snakes and spiders, have killed a lot of people throughout human history. Some experts believe that men and women may have evolved to carry a fear of them because doing so offered a survival advantage," I say, eyes scanning the lecture hall. "According to some research, it's easier to instill fear of snakes and spiders, even in people who don't have phobias, than it is to make them afraid of dogs or other 'friendly' animals."

I pause briefly. "Fear and anxiety, though not pleasant, are essential for keeping us safe. If the dog down the street bites you, the fear that follows helps you avoid getting bitten again. But what if that reaction becomes excessive? What if you start to fear all dogs, not just the one that bit you? That kind of overgeneralization can severely impact your behavior, making fear more harmful than protective."

I glance at my wristwatch.

"Shmuel Lissek, PhD, an associate professor of psychology in the Faculty of Liberal Arts, is particularly interested in this phenomenon, how anxiety changes our behavior even when there's no real threat. Lissek is the director of the ANGST Lab, Anxiety Neuroscience Grounded in cross-Species Translation. His team studies how anxiety affects learning, memory, and decision-making in humans. Their work sheds light on how to treat anxiety disorders, including PTSD, and helps identify where emotions like fear and anxiety 'live' in the brain."

I look up at my students, many already scribbling notes. "Here's what needs to be done. Write a seminar paper, no less than twenty-five pages, adequately referenced, on the relationship between fear and psychology. Can it be severed? Dazzle me. Class dismissed."

I smile, watching them pack up and leave.

It's rare to see a professor as young as I am. I'm aware of my privileges, and grateful, but right now, all I want is to collapse onto my bed. I shut my laptop and gather my books. I mean, it's me; I can't go anywhere without a novel.

My phone rings, and I grin. "Hey, baby."

At twenty-eight, I'm supposed to be married, at least according to where I'm from. One of the many reasons I love New York: freedom. Here, I can live how I want. I'm successful, accomplished, and in love. What more could I ask for?

"Aurora," Cyprus says, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice. "Still at work?"

"Just finished my last class. You?" I ask, swinging my bag over my shoulder as I leave the lecture hall.

"On my way to the airport."

I stop walking. "Where are you going? We had plans tonight."

"I'm sorry, baby. It's Mom. Her illness is flaring up again, and no one's with her. If I leave now, I should get there by midnight."

I sigh. "It's alright, Cyprus. I keep telling you to bring her to New York. Let her stay with you instead of flying to Romania twice a month."

"She's stubborn. Doesn't want to leave home. Thank you for understanding, Rora. I can't wait for you to meet her."

"I can't wait either. Let me know how it goes, okay?"

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you too. Safe flight."

I end the call, a little disappointed, but I love that he loves his mom.

Cyprus and I met five years ago in Italy. I was on vacation and bumped into him, literally, my head buried in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. In my defense, I was completely enchanted. Then I looked up and saw him. It was love at first sight. We've been inseparable since.

It took a while for him to open up. It wasn't hard to guess he had some unresolved childhood trauma and psychological baggage, but I stood by him. I helped him heal.

One of the first things I noticed about him were his eyes, unnaturally yellow, hauntingly beautiful. I was in the middle of my PhD, stressed, depressed, and completely burnt out.

My best friend Zoe and I took a spontaneous trip to Italy, spending all our savings on luxury hotels, boat cruises, and expensive wine. That year was wild, impulsive, one of the best of my life.

Meeting Cyprus changed everything.

We've been together for almost five years, well, four years and nine months. Zoe didn't like him at first, and the feeling was mutual. It took time and effort to bring them together, but now they're close. They even planned my last surprise birthday together, a trip to Mali, where I met my favorite author.

Sometimes, I wonder when Cyprus will propose. Not because I'm desperate to get married, but because it feels right. We've built something strong. Still, I'm happy going at his pace. I have goals to achieve, a life to live.

Being a professor wasn't my original plan. I wanted to be a singer, an artist who touches lives with her voice. Life had other ideas. I still sing, just not on stage. Over time, I've grown to love teaching psychology. But I'm not done. I'm aiming to be Dean someday. I have time and ambition on my side.

In ten years, I want to be married to Cyprus, with two kids. He'll be partner at his firm. Zoe will be a head chef. My life will be complete.

I smile at my reflection in the rearview mirror, ignoring the familiar ache in my chest. That emptiness I pretend isn't there.

---

"Girl, he ordered a breadless breadstick. My mouth was wide open," Zoe says, and I burst into laughter.

Zoe is a chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Los Angeles. She graduated from culinary school while I was getting my master's.

We met nine years ago, in our UCLA apartment. I had transferred the year before and couldn't afford to live alone, so I posted an ad for a roommate. She showed up looking just as lost and homesick as I felt. That was the beginning.

She was twenty-three, I was twenty. We became inseparable. She taught me the art of reckless living; I taught her balance and drive. We once got matching tattoos on our thighs and pulled all-nighters reading books. She was my personal chef, and I, her critic. I was her therapist; she was my patient. We found equilibrium in each other.

Then Cyprus came along, and I gave both of them my whole heart. They became my world.

"Breadless breadstick!" I repeat, laughing.

"Exactly! These posh assholes be making up fake fancy shit." She grins, her dark skin glowing.

"You complain every day, but you show up every morning."

"And Cyprus leaves without warning and you still love him. We love what we love."

I smile, nodding. "Tell me about Connor. How was the date?"

Zoe has never had a stable relationship. Sometimes I worry she feels left out, so I set her up every chance I get.

"I tapped that ass," she says, mouth full of her special spaghetti.

I grin.

"He was charming and all. Opened the car door for me. But I told you, B, I'm in love with someone else."

I drop my spoon, annoyed. "And you still won't tell me who he is!"

She shrugs. "We all have our secrets. He's mine."

"Come on, give me something."

She sighs and finally relents. "He's the best in bed. Knows my body better than I do. He speaks to me, even from miles away. I don't believe in soulmates. I believe in something bigger than that. And he's it."

I swoon a little, ignoring the tight pull in my chest.

"That's beaut-"

My phone rings. I glance at the screen and frown. Dread coils in my stomach.

It's my dad.

"Excuse me, my love. I have to take this," I say, heading to my bedroom.

"Daddy," I answer.

"Daughter!" he says, full of cheer, and I exhale in relief.

"Hi." I smile. "How's Mom?"

"She's here. She wants to speak to you."

"Adaline, come home," she says, and I freeze.

"Is something wrong?"

She laughs softly. "No, Adaline. It's our anniversary next Saturday. This year, I don't want a delivered gift or a video call. I want my daughter-my only child."

"I miss you, Mom. But I haven't been home in almost ten years. I left for a reason."

"I'm not asking you to come back permanently. Just visit your mother. Am I not enough reason?"

I roll my eyes. "Enough with the guilt trip, Mom."

"Excellent. I'll see you Wednesday. Bring me a huge cake. Your dad wants a baseball hat. Love you, bye!"

She hangs up before I can respond.

I groan in frustration.

I don't want to go back.

I don't want to go home.

But it's been eight years. I don't want to see him.

Maybe it's time to return to New Orleans.

Just for a week.

I growl as I wake. Panting. I had another nightmare.

My fangs, my claws reminding me of what I am. Who I am. A person I'm proud of. I breathe in, calming down, watching as my fangs and claws recede.

I grunt. I can feel it. Something is coming, something bad, and we have to be ready.

I get up from my bed; it creaks beneath me. I need a stronger one. I walk to the bathroom and stare at my house's interior. Pride swells in me. I built this house with my own hands. I glance at the mirror, Alina insisted I put it there, at least for her sake. I study my face.

I'm a Lycanthrope. A Lycan. Like a werewolf, but stronger. Better. Faster. I'm the only Lycan in my bloodline in the last hundred years, unexpected, considering both my parents are werewolves.

I'm the Beta of the Blue Moon Pack. I grew up in New Orleans, so did my father, and so will my child. New Orleans is home. The Pack is family. And I'm sensing a threat. I don't know what it is or who it is, but something foreign is intruding on my pack.

I grew up in a family of five. I had two siblings, Alina and Luc, but Luc, my younger brother, died just days after he was born. Naturally, I took his name in his honor. My parents live in Uptown New Orleans. I live in Midtown. I'd have preferred the French Quarters for its history and aesthetics, but as the Beta, I'm expected to stay in the classy part of town. My house is different from everyone else's, I like to think of it as unique.

I return my gaze to the mirror and begin shaving my beard.

The Blue Moon Pack, and New Orleans as a whole, used to be considered an outcast part of Louisiana. We kept to ourselves. But Caleb, our Alpha at the time, wanted change. He said we had to evolve with time. So we opened ourselves to the world forty years ago. As a Lycan, I age much slower than werewolves, but I'm thirty-five now. I should be mated already. Yet another thing that makes me different.

I bring the hammer down on the nail again and again until it's done. I growl, surprising even myself. That's when I realize, I'm in heat. I haven't felt this degree of lust, of hunger, in almost ten years. I don't have time for this.

"Alex, are you okay?"

I hear her voice and my claws are out before I can stop it. In a flash, I turn. I already know it's Camille, and from the look on her face, my eyes must be glowing.

I blink it away. "Hi, Camille."

She's grinning. She's always grinning.

"You look like shit, Alex," she says, emphasizing the shit.

I drop the hammer, wiping away the sweat. "I feel like it."

Camille is one of the women who raised me, always checking up on me.

"My wedding anniversary's on Saturday. You could make me a book holder-like the beautiful one you made last year."

She smiles and I nod.

I've known Camille and Petro all my life. They've been married thirty-five years. I envy that. Petro is one of the elders in the Pack.

"I have to take the kids," I say, locking my door as I leave.

Camille looks so much like her, well, the other way around, since she's her mother, but every time I see her, I'm reminded of Aurora. I've spent the last decade trying to forget her. It's not just that she left.

It's how she left. She triggered every abandonment issue I had. Left me in a ditch. I fell into a dark place. I was heartbroken. And it didn't help that the day she left, I had made a realization. God, I hate her.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was excited, desperate, to tell her what I'd found out. I hoped she felt it too. But all I saw was an empty room and her sad parents. She took off. No warning. No care. Just... gone. I stayed in wolf form for a month, hoping it would dull the ache. But it didn't.

__

"Cutting, shaping, and installing building materials are the main tasks carried out by carpenters when constructing structures such as buildings, ships, timber bridges, and concrete formwork," I explain, teaching. "Carpenters used to work solely with raw wood, performing harder tasks like framing. Today, a variety of materials are used, and even refined trades like cabinetmaking and furniture construction are included in carpentry. In 1999, carpenters made up 98.5% of the workforce in the U.S., making it the fourth most male-dominated profession."

New Orleans may have opened itself to the world, but we're careful. We're self-sufficient. We have a hospital with top-tier doctors. A school, where I help out. When Aurora left, the Pack stood by me. I was lost, and they found me.

"Depending on whether a carpenter works in rough or finish carpentry, their duties change. Some even specialize in specific woodworking techniques or products," I continue, watching the eager students. "On Saturday, we'll finally put our theory into practice."

"Uncle Alex!" Desire, one of my students, stops me on my way out. "Saturday is Grandma Camille's party, so maybe Monday?" She grins, and I nod, smiling.

"Mom packed this for you." Fabien, Elena's son, hands me a cooler. I take it.

"Heads up, it's really spicy," he whispers. I laugh, ruffling his hair.

"Tell us a story, pleaseeee!" they chorus.

I roll my eyes, setting the cooler down and sitting. "You know the drill. Get plates and spoons, we split the food, and you stay quiet while I tell a tale of our heritage."

They erupt in joy, and I laugh, because it's contagious.

"But we have to be fast. I have a meeting."

They obey quickly. I dish out the meal. They eat quietly as I begin.

"The werewolf is a legendary creature that has appeared in many myths, and nightmares, throughout history. Some say werewolves are humans who can transform into powerful wolves. Others say we're a hybrid - part human, part wolf. But we all agree: we are beasts with a hunger for blood.

"We are werewolves. And some of us are Witches, like Grandma Camille. The origins of the werewolf myth are unknown. Some say it started in The Epic of Gilgamesh, when Gilgamesh rejected a suitor who had turned her last lover into a wolf."

Their eyes widen with interest. I go on.

"Another legend says that Zeus was tricked into eating human flesh by Lycaon, son of Pelasgus. Furious, Zeus turned him and his sons into wolves. Early Norse folklore tells of a father and son who found wolf pelts that transformed them for ten days. They went on a killing spree until the father accidentally injured his son. A kind crow gave him a healing leaf, saving the boy."

"There are many myths about us. But we don't dwell in the past. We are the future."

__

"I found you a mate," Rick, our Alpha, says, clapping me on the shoulder as I walk in.

I try not to stiffen. I ignore him and sit down.

Rick laughs. Pack hierarchy is based on strength and bravery, and while I'm one of the strongest, I don't crave leadership. I'd rather follow. Still, I was made Beta. Even when Rick and I disagree, I defer, he's the Alpha.

"Trouble is coming," Rick says. Faye, his wife, sits beside him.

"I felt it too," I say, my voice hoarse.

"We all did," Zach, the Omega, nods.

"We've got to be ready, whoever it is," Faye adds.

"Camille, gather the witches. Make a protection spell. No one enters or leaves New Orleans without our knowledge," Rick says.

Camille nods.

"It won't be enough. We need guards everywhere. And we all know who's coming," I say.

"Romania?" Petro asks.

"We haven't heard from the Buckland Pack in fifteen years. Why strike now?" Rick frowns.

"I don't know. But they're our greatest enemy. They want to end us. They said so."

"We've got many enemies. The Blue Moon Pack is the largest in America. It could be anyone," Catalina, Zach's wife, says.

I nod, jaw clenched. "I don't like not knowing. But we wait. Ready for anything. We don't let them see us worry. We stay on guard."

"Extend the protection charm across Louisiana. Subtly. They could have a spy," Rick says. Camille nods again.

"By the way," Faye grins, and I know the meeting is over. "When's your daughter com-"

She's cut off as the door swings open.

I tense. I forget how to breathe.

I'm angry. I think I'm angry. I don't know.

She walks in, and there's a knot in my throat.

My blood is on fire.

My beast growls.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks.

"Oh, my baby girl, you look so grown," Mom gushes, kissing me repeatedly on the cheek.

I smile and hug her tighter, trying to ignore the hollow feeling gnawing at me, the ache of staring at someone who once completed me. There's a void in me, and I've mastered the art of pretending it doesn't exist. Or at least, I thought I had.

"Let me hug my daughter too, wifey," Dad chuckles. I pull away from Mom and wrap my arms around him. He feels almost like him, almost.

"You've been missed, Adaline. I hate that I missed out on your growth," he murmurs. Guilt floods me.

I left New Orleans almost nine years ago. No one knows why, only I do. I grew up in the Big Easy, in the Blue Moon Pack. My mother is a witch, my father a werewolf. Everyone turns at sixteen. A few months later, they meet their mate. By 'mate,' I don't mean marriage, unless they choose it. Mates are like soulmates: your wolf's chosen partner, the one you're meant to spend forever with.

I remember praying every night to the moon for a good mate, for the chance to become a werewolf. But I never did. I waited. I hoped. I watched as my best friends shifted, hunted, trained in their wolf forms, while I remained the only eighteen-year-old left behind. The abnormal one. After five years, I gave up. I left.

"You didn't miss much, Dad," I say, forcing a grin as I step back.

I glance around the room, resisting the overwhelming urge to look at him.

Alexandru.

Fuck.

I smile as I greet the Alpha, biting my lip to stifle the emotions rising in me. I finally glance at Alexandru, only to find him already staring at me. His eyes, bluer than ever, study me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.

He's changed, roughened.

I tear my gaze away and greet Faye and Catalina. The pleasantries stretch on until I've greeted everyone, except him. I finally look again. He's still watching me, like he sees through me. Like he sees me.

This is awkward. I force a smile. "Hi, Alexandru."

He grits his teeth, and something rushes through me. I try to ignore it.

"Fuck you, Adele," he says quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

I bite my lip, shocked. He storms out of the room, each step echoing like thunder.

"I'll talk to him," I say, already heading toward the door.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Zach calls out.

"I've got this. It's just Alexandru," I shrug.

__

I pull off my jacket, New Orleans heat pressing against me. Feeling oddly self-conscious, I glance down at my outfit: a black skirt and a nude crop top. Not exactly ideal.

It doesn't take long to find him.

"I said fuck off, Adele," he snaps, his eyes clouded.

"Hello to you too. Long time no see," I reply, rubbing my arms.

He glances at me, just a moment, and it sets me on fire. What is this? I don't feel this way with Cyprus.

"Why are you here?" he asks bluntly.

"I'm here for my parents' anniversary," I shrug, stepping closer. God, New Orleans is hot.

Before I left, Alexandru was my best friend. Now? I'm looking at a stranger.

"You should leave. You don't believe in us, remember?" He smirks.

After I failed to shift, I turned to psychology. I studied the inner workings of human minds. I came to believe they are the abnormalities, not me. Science helped me heal.

"Yeah, I don't believe in you," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

I step even closer. There's a pull, an urge to touch him, to kiss him. I shake my head, trying to banish the thought. He watches me, amused, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask quietly.

He laughs. "Fuck you, Adele."

I tilt my head, studying him. His face looks older, hardened, scarred. His eyes are the deepest shade of blue I've ever seen. His hair is dark, probably like his soul. It mirrors mine. I glance at his arms, his muscles, his body, taking it all in.

There's fire in me. I want us to burn together.

"Fuck you, Alexandru," I snap, playing his game. God, I need to get away from him. I hate him... and the way he makes me feel.

I turn to leave but he grabs me, yanking me back into his arms. Our bodies collide.

God.

The sensation is divine.

"Don't call me that," he growls.

I gasp, it's like his voice vibrated between my legs.

I cling to him. My hands find his hair. He closes the distance and kisses me. I melt into it, drinking him in like oxygen. My legs wrap around his waist, and he presses me against the wall.

Mine.

I heard that.

But I didn't say it.

I pull away. His hands grip my waist, my ass. My head spins.

"Did you say something?" I ask breathlessly, licking my lips.

"Did you hear something?" he smirks, licking his.

I gulp. I hate how that makes me feel.

"Let me make something clear, Adele," he says, leaning in. I'm backed against the wall. I should run.

But I don't.

I can't.

I don't want to.

"I want to tie you down and have my way with you. I want to hurt you like you hurt me. I want to hit you where it hurts most."

I gasp. "Alexandru..."

But he didn't speak.

I just heard him.

In his thoughts.

And I'm not a werewolf.

Werewolves can hear their mate's thoughts. That's the bond. But I never shifted. I'm not one of them.

I must be hallucinating. I need sleep. A bath. Something.

"Science won't help you," he says, reading my face.

I freeze.

"Don't try to rationalize what you feel," he murmurs.

I say nothing. My heart is pounding.

Still.

"Still think you're not one of us?" he asks, no longer smirking, just looking at me with those damned kind eyes I hate.

"Fuck off, Alexandru," I say through gritted teeth.

I turn and walk away, heart thundering. I've been here barely an hour, and I already want to run.

__

I smile and sip champagne.

It's my parents' 35th anniversary.

Disgusting.

Werewolves are one of a kind. We believe in something deeper than soulmates. Mates. The one true connection. Mates can heal each other. When my dad was injured, Mom healed him, not with witchcraft, but with the bond.

Mates can read each other's minds. Every thought.

That's insane. And terrifying.

To be that bare, that seen.

But maybe that's what love is meant to be.

They feel each other's presence. Their emotions. Even their arousal. The mate bond heightens everything.

It's love in its most brutal, beautiful form.

I glance around the room. I feel it, the sense of family, of community. And I've always been the outsider. The observer.

"Here's the cake!" someone announces.

I freeze.

Elena.

Alexandru and I, Elena made us a trio. And I ruined it.

She smiles brightly at my parents. "Happy Anniversary."

"Happy anniversary, Grandma!" a little boy shouts.

Elena's child. He has her features.

"Thank you, my love," Mom beams at him.

Jealousy stabs through me. That should've been my child. But I left. I got replaced.

It hurts.

I smile faintly. No one's watching, so I turn to leave, only to find Alexandru.

"Going somewhere?" he asks, frowning. He looks... cute.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. He's staring at me, at my dress, my cleavage. It's blue, like his eyes. God, did I subconsciously wear it for him?

"You're showing too much cleavage," he snaps.

"Now you're telling me what to wear?" I laugh bitterly. "Get out of my way."

He doesn't move. He just looks at me.

"You are not replaceable, Aurora."

I stiffen. "Stop doing that, Luc!"

He chuckles. "Doing what? Say it."

He's so frustrating. I need to find a way to close my mind to him.

"Aurora! I've been looking for you," Elena says, appearing at my side.

"So have I," I lie, smiling brightly as I hug her.

When I glance back, Alexandru is gone.

"How have you been?" she asks.

I smile and tell her.

Moments later, my parents join us. My mom wraps an arm around my waist. They look so happy.

I feel a pang.

I should call Cyprus.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," I blurt out, awkwardly.

"What?" Mom frowns. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah." I shrug. "I have to be back in New York before Monday, I have a class."

"We thought you'd stay for at least a few weeks, darling. You can't leave now," Dad says, his voice filled with quiet disappointment.

"I'll call you. We'll talk. I just... I need to go back home," I say.

"Home?" a voice echoes behind me.

I turn and find Alexandru standing there. His gaze is sharp, unreadable. I narrow my eyes.

"What is your problem, Adeline? You disappeared without a word, and now you think I'll just let you leave again? Especially with what I know, what we both know."

He steps toward me. His eyes are starting to glow, that eerie neon that always sends a chill down my spine.

"Let me?" I snap. "I don't need your permission!"

"Tell them," he says, voice low and steady.

I freeze.

"What is he talking about, Adele?" Mom asks, her tone wary.

"Tell them. Now." Alexandru's voice is firmer, more commanding.

My anger bubbles to the surface. "You don't get to do this."

"Adele!" Mom snaps.

I let out a shaky breath. "Alexandru and I might be mates," I rush out. "Which isn't possible because I'm not a werewolf. Not like everyone else."

The room falls into stunned silence.

"Might?" Dad finally says, his voice strained.

"You are my mate," Alexandru says, stepping closer. "And I'd rather die than let you walk away again."