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Hudson closed his eyes for a split second and let out a steady breath. Duty always seemed to pull at him, but there was no resentment in it, just resolve.

He looked back at me, his intense gaze holding mine. “I have to clear that trail. Do you mind waiting about fifteen minutes for me? I’ll shift and run out there real quick, then we can go on the walk.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, the words slipping out before my brain could process the hesitation I usually clung to. “Go help Trevor.”

“Fifteen minutes. Promise,” he said as he handed me the bag of food.

The smart choice would have been to sit on the hood of my Civic, pull out my phone, and wait out the fifteen minutes in predictable, human comfort. But as the forest swallowed the last sounds of Hudson moving into the woods, I imagined what he would look like when he shifted.

My feet moved before logic could catch up.

Driven by an irresistible friction of fear and fascination, I walked silently toward the tree line. The cool mountain air hit my face, heavy with pine and the scent of incoming rain. I stepped into the shadows, using the thick trunks for cover, moving toward the sound of rustling brush in the small, moonlit clearing twenty yards ahead.

I stopped behind the trunk of a massive oak and held my breath.

Hudson stood under the pale ribbons of moonlight. He didn’t take off his shirt or unlace his boots. He simply stood tall, closed his eyes, and took a slow, expanding breath.

Then, he shifted.

It was fluid, terrifyingly physical, and absolute.

I watched, frozen, as his spine flexed and elongated. His hoodie and denim stretched seamlessly across a sudden, explosive expansion of bone and dense muscle, dark fur sweeping through the weave of the fabric like ink spreading through water. His shoulders rolled forward with an audible, heavy snap, his boots reshaping as dark, thick claws in a fraction of a second. The clothes didn’t fall off. They morphed with him, fitting the massive, muscular frame of the beast as if they were part of his very hide.

The sheer size of him hit me right in the gut.

Where a broad-shouldered man had stood a moment before, an enormous wolf now occupied the glade. Dark fur bristled along his back, his chest wide enough to shatter timber. He shook himself once, a massive ripple moving down his spine, before lifting his head.

His eyes caught the moonlight. They were the exact same vivid, striking green.

My heart hammered so wildly against my ribs I was certain he could hear it. A cold, primitive spike of fear seized my muscles—a visceral realization that I was standing yards away from an apex predator who could tear through a pine tree without breaking a sweat. My knees turned to jelly, and I grabbed the tree to steady myself.

Yet, right alongside the terror was an overwhelming, breathless awe. He was wildness incarnate. Magnificent, terrifying, and breathtakingly powerful.

He bounded into the deep brush with silent, impossible speed, vanishing to help Trevor.

I backed away slowly, my knuckles scraping against the oak’s bark, my chest heaving as I forced my feet to carry me back to the hall. I sank down on the porch, clutching the takeout bag between my trembling hands.

What am I doing here? The thought looped in my head like an alarm bell. He isn’t just a guy with a quiet smile and broad shoulders. He’s a wolf. A real, massive, logic-defying monster. I saw his bones rewrite themselves. I saw his eyes gleaming in the dark.

I studied my hands, feeling the fragile reality of my own human skin. I was entirely out of my depth. Every sensible bone in my body screamed that I should get in my car, lock the doors, and drive back to the city where things made sense—where people didn’t turn into animals to clear fallen trees.

And yet, as I looked at the dark forest, the fear didn’t turn into panic. It was turning into a quiet, electric realization. Hudson had asked me to wait. He had looked at me like I was the only anchor in his chaotic night. And despite the sheer, mind-bending impossibility of what he was… I didn’t want to leave.

Eventually, heavy, quick footsteps crunched against the gravel, pulling me from the spiral.

Hudson emerged from the shadow of the trees, jogging toward the porch. He was slightly out of breath, his chest rising and falling. His hoodie was completely intact, though faintly dusted with pine needles and dirt. His hair was a mess, and a faint smear of mud marred his jawline, but his green eyes locked onto mine the second he cleared the tree line.

He slowed to a walk as he reached the steps, running a hand through his hair and offering an apologetic, slightly sheepish smile.

“Fifteen minutes flat,” he said, his breath hitching slightly from the sprint. “Trevor’s clear. Just has a sprained ankle and a bruised ego.” He wiped a hand down his jeans. “I’m really sorry about the delay. But… I’m ready for that walk, if you’re still up for it?”

I looked at him… really looked at him. The broad shoulders, the gentle, expectant tilt of his head. The monster from the woods was standing right in front of me, asking me to go on a walk with him like he was just a regular guy.

I swallowed hard, pushing myself up from the wooden step and extending the greasy bag toward him.

“You earned this,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “Lead the way.”

Hudson’s smile broke through, warm and genuine, relieving the remaining tension in his face. He took the bag, his fingers brushing briefly against mine—warm, solid, and entirely human.