Page 27

He tilts his head, and I laugh softly. The reaction is immediate. His gaze sharpens, and his posture changes, not threatening but attentive.

I go to the kitchen and reach for the back door, then stop. Maybe that’s too much. The wolf book was very clear about territorial behavior and instinctive responses.

I settle for returning to the living room and opening the window despite the rain. Cool, damp air rolls inside. The wolf lifts his nose and goes utterly still. I recognize that too. The same thing happened on Nightjar Row when our hands touched. The same intensity. Same sense that all of his attention has narrowed onto me.

My skin prickles. “Hi.”

His ears twitch again.

I lean my forearms on the sill, careful not to push the window any farther. “You know, you could have mentioned this. The white fur is impressive. Very dramatic.”

One ear flicks.

I grin. “Is that annoyance?”

His head lowers slightly.

I laugh again. Talking to him like this is easier somehow. The wolf doesn’t pretend he wants me gone. And the more I think about it, neither does Hewit. Not really.

I look at him again. The rain is thickening now, beading along his coat. He could go home. His house is thirty feet away. Instead, he’s standing beneath my trees, watching me in the window.

A warmth that has nothing to do with the tea spreads through me. “You came to check on me.”

The wolf’s ears flatten.

I smile. “You did.”

He takes one step backward.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to retreat now because I noticed.”

The wolf turns his head toward the woods.

I bite back a laugh. “If you leave now, I’m taking that as confirmation.”

His gaze comes back to mine. For one strange, suspended moment, neither of us moves. Then he sits. I exhale shakily, and the tenderness that rises inside me catches me off guard.

I lower my voice. “I was joking. You don’t have to stay.”

But he does, so I retrieve my tea and sit in the chair beside the open window while the rain continues outside. Every few pages, I glance up to find him still there. At some point, I realize I’m no longer reading the same paragraph repeatedly because I’m distracted by the white wolf in my garden. This is just my evening now.

Screaming Woods ordinary.

Twenty minutes later, I close the book and look out the window. He’s still there. The rain is coming down heavier now. He should go inside.

“Hewit, you’re getting soaked. Your house is right there.”

His ears twitch, but he remains seated.

I sigh as I stand and carry my empty mug to the kitchen sink. When I return, he’s on his feet.

I rest one hand against the window frame. “Goodnight, Hewit.”

The wolf looks at me for another second before he turns and disappears between the trees. Not toward his cottage, but into the forest.

I stay at the window until the white of his coat is gone. The woods feel different after he leaves. Quieter.

I close the window and draw the curtains. Then I look at the wolf book sitting on the chair. Alice underlined one sentence in pencil near the end of the chapter I was reading. I didn’t pay much attention to it before.