Mary didn’t want to call it a night.

  "I don’t believe you’re really planning to waste this evening at home. We’re going clubbing."

  "I’m not sure..."

  "Don’t even start. You owe me a night out. For the missed meetup. For my night of stress. For everything."

  It was easier for Gerda to agree than to come up with excuses.

  The club was the kind where the line starts at the parking lot and the bouncers only smile if their hockey team wins the Stanley Cup. But Mary had a "contact," and eventually they made it inside: bar, loud music, flashing lights, shadows in every corner.

  Gerda laughed, danced, drank, trying, really trying, to believe things were back to normal. But the new reality stared at her from every dark corner. Her instincts seemed to whisper who in the crowd was human and who wasn’t. Or maybe she just drank too much.

  She turned away from it. Hid inside the music. Mary didn’t notice. She was everywhere at once, talking, flirting, spinning like a tiny hurricane.

  "Want to come over to my place?" Gerda asked after midnight, uneasy about returning to an empty apartment and that glare on the bedroom window she hadn't wiped. "Unless you have plans with that bearded guy at the bar?"

  "Pfft. He can’t handle my IQ. Of course I’m coming."

  At Gerda’s place, they camped in the kitchen, then moved to the bedroom, but never actually went to bed. They talked until sunrise.

  "So come on, spill," Mary said, lying across the bed on a pillow. "Chris. Who is he? What is he? What did he do to make you forget your favorite girl?"

  Gerda twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. "He’s... weird. Super attractive. There’s just something about him... like you’re not talking to a person, but standing near a fire. No one touches you, but you still feel the heat."

  "So...?"

  "No." Gerda laughed nervously. "It doesn’t mean anything. He... turned out to be a gentleman." A crooked smile as she remembered him leading her out of the club by the elbow that first night.

  Mary snorted. "Right. You two just talked. Sure."

  "I’m serious! Well... mostly."

  "Oh Gerda. You’re either lying to me or you forgot how flirting works. You really think he wasn’t into you? You light up when you say his name."

  Gerda didn’t answer. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

  I want him. I just want him. The body, the feelings, the fire. But I can’t see us. I can’t see the future. He’s too predatory. Too weird. It’s just hormones.

  "I think I’ve got it bad," she said out loud.

  "Big time," Mary smirked and turned off the light.

  Sunday was so quiet and normal, Gerda almost believed it.

  But by Sunday evening, the peace started to crack. The weakness returned. Her bones ached. Her eyes burned. Her body was heating up again.

  Please not the flu...

  Monday morning, she messaged the office: sick, probably the flu, canceling everything. She stayed home.

  By noon, it was worse. The broth Mary brought didn’t help.

  Mary's presence had become exhausting. Gerda had to pretend she was okay. That she was getting better. That she was just tired. Pretend the chatter was still sweet. Pretend she could stand the sharp jasmine smell. It clawed at her nose.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  That evening she told Mary she was going to sleep. Mary left.

  A couple hours later, Gerda texted her: "Thank you so much. Feeling better already. The broth helped. And... Chris called. Invited me over. He has a small place outside the city. I decided to go. I’ll tell you everything later!"

  Mary replied almost instantly: "Ooooo! Enjoy it! And YES, you’re telling me EVERYTHING, got it?"

  Gerda leaned back on her pillow. Closed her eyes. Tried to believe the lie she just wrote.

  ***

  By Wednesday evening, Gerda felt worse. Much worse. Not just physically, mentally too.

  Her dreams grew darker. The fire that once felt golden and safe, whenever she thought of Chris, ad changed. It didn’t warm her anymore. It crawled under her skin. It pulsed in her veins. It scorched. Bent. Undid her. And rebuilt her into something else.

  She woke up soaked in sweat, kicking off the covers, pressing her hands to her chest like she could pull the heat out of her body.

  Her thoughts tangled. Flashbacks spinning. A trip to the zoo with an ex. Cages. Wolves. Lions. Jackals. All those animals...

  What if they were all shifters? she thought. Then immediately: That’s insane.

  But the heat under her skin was rising, like it was bubbling up from underground, like it wanted to burn her down to ash. And part of her wanted that too.

  She emptied her fridge. Ate without thinking, without tasting. Meat. More meat. Fish. Seafood. Arugula? What a joke. Like trying to quench fire with dew.

  Her fingers were shaking. She could barely press the buttons to order more food. She asked for it to be left by the door so no one could see her. Her forehead was burning. Her skin was itching. The temperature kept jumping: 103.1, then higher. Finally, the thermometer gave up.

  The mirror didn’t show her face. Not really her. Something else. Her pupils were changing shape. Her cheeks were red. And her eyes.

  They glowed. For a second. Flashed. Or maybe it was just fevered madness.

  No. No way.

  She backed away from the mirror, pressed herself against the wall.

  Panic lit her up from the inside. Her heart pounded like it wanted out.

  Her thoughts scattered like cornered animals. Who am I? What’s happening? Why hasn’t anyone come?

  "I don’t want to be a wolf!" she choked. "I want to go back..."

  But "back" didn’t exist anymore.

  She stood in the kitchen, shaking. She didn't know whether to run or hide. The door scared her. Where did it lead, why did she have to go out. The heat was getting stronger, her thoughts were racing, she almost lost herself...

  Then the doorbell rang.

  She jumped up. She ran to the door without thinking. She opened it on impulse, without thinking.

  Chris was standing there.

  He was calm. But his eyes looked like fire. No words. Just him. Just his eyes.

  She couldn't help herself. She stepped forward and buried her face in his chest,

  like it was the only place that made sense.

  His arms closed around her. In order to soothe her, and at the same time, to claim her. Whatever... A silent show of strength. She could feel the animal in him - not gone, just focused, tending to a creature on the edge. Calm. Warm. And only then did she realize how close she had been to falling apart completely.

  But now he was here. And there was this calmness coming from Chris. Deep and steady. His heat didn’t burn her any harder. It balanced her. Softened her. Ignited something inside that didn’t hurt.

  He didn’t ask anything, just picked her up like she weighed nothing and carried her inside. He closed the door.

  They settled on the couch. She curled up in his lap, nestled in his arms. He rocked her slowly. Like a baby. Like that was all that mattered.

  Chris whispered something. Soft and steady. In a language she didn’t know.

  She didn’t need it. It was smooth and soothing.

  Like a lullaby.

  Like something ancient, sung before she was born. It didn’t just calm her mind. It calmed her fire.

  Her breathing evened out. The fever began to fade. The fire inside became something else. Like a fireplace. Not like a forest burning to the ground.

  For the first time in days, she wasn't afraid. He stroked her back, slowly and surely, as if he knew exactly how to bring her back to him.

  "It's okay," he said, almost in a whisper. "You're not alone anymore."

  Gerda didn't answer. She simply allowed herself to stop pretending to be strong.

  And this time, the night was warm.

  She fell asleep in his arms. The sleep was light and restful, though she woke up again and again, but each time he was still there. Warm. Steady. Real.

  He didn’t leave, didn’t pull away, just held her as if this was where they were both supposed to be.

  As the morning approached, her breathing deepened. She had finally fallen into a real sleep.

  ***

  She woke up to the smell of vanilla.

  Someone was in her kitchen. For a moment, she thought it was Mary. And she panicked. Shit! She caught me. I lied. I said I was at Chris’s…

  And then the memories came back. Fever. Night. Hands. Whispers. Chris...

  So it was him in the kitchen.

  She sat up, burying her face in her hands. Shit. Her hair was a mess. She looked like a disaster. She hadn’t cared last night. But now? Now it didn't matter. And that meant she was feeling better.

  Gerda snuck into the bathroom, took a quick shower, washed her hair. She picked something out of the closet without looking. It turned out to be a house dress. Not bad.

  When she returned to the room, she was quiet and a little nervous. But she was smiling.

  Today she wasn't going to run away. Today Gerda wanted to ask questions. And maybe, just maybe, get some answers that she might not want to accept, but she wouldn't have a choice.