Chapter 2

• Monica's wide light brown eyes stared at the huge wolf, just as his blue gaze was frozen on her. She found him in the exact same position as she left him—on a few blankets on the ground. His head was between his front legs, and his long beautiful ears were pointed up. He didn't move. He lay there, chained to the column. From this distance, he almost looked like an enormous pet dog. Almost.
• But he wasn't.
• He was feral and deadly. Monica could tell from all the muscle on his body and that look he had given her during the surgery. It was the first time she had to triple the anesthetic to keep an animal asleep. A thought occupied her mind. What did he feel when he woke up while she was working on him? She was sure he was drunk on pain and horror. She was drunk on fear, but she was amazed and kind of proud of herself for not fainting when he tried to snap his jaw at her. Monica was a fighter, and she wanted to help him.
• “I brought you food.” She lifted the bag and smiled warily. Her adrenaline was pumping through her veins, making everything even better than it already was. If people knew what she was thinking, they were going to say she was crazy. Her enthusiastic dreams when she was little to discover an amazing kind or a hidden island of wonders could turn true. This wolf was her hope.
• Her name was going to be in papers for years. Photos of her in a white coat spun in her mind and made her fame-thirsty. She swallowed and ripped them out of her mind. What she wanted most was this creature to be okay.
• Monica headed to the table and put the food on it. Unpacking, her eyes focused on the wolf and his still figure.
• “Don't you feel stiff?” she questioned, wanting to break the awkwardness in her heart. “You haven't moved from your spot in almost two weeks. I'm sure your muscles are tense.”
• When she didn't receive an answer, she felt stupid. But her stubbornness made her continue, “Did you enjoy the TV channel I left for you?”
• Monica jerked her chin towards the TV and smiled. She got no answer again. Of course.
• She rolled her eyes to herself, mumbling, “Why am I even talking to a wolf? Am I going crazy? I'm too young for that. I'm not even twenty-six yet,” she grumbled and huffed, but when she moved from the table, she saw the wolf's eyes were trained on her.
• Her chest tightened in anticipation.
• “Here, beast, food!” she cooed and slowly approached him. His eyes weren't leaving her, and when she got close enough to slide the tray of meat to him, she kneeled and pushed it to him. What caught her attention was that the area around him was totally clean. There was no stench, no marks of bodily fluids or excrements. She expected him to be constipated, his surgeries had been hard, and he was barely moving around. But two weeks... This was a long period.
• The wolf stood on his fours, and the chains around his neck pulled up. He couldn't break the house, could he? Her skin prickled. She doubted he was that strong.
• The wolf pulled the tray to himself with his paw and sniffed the beef. He grunted and plopped down on his place. Huh, it was the first time he was refusing meat. Was he tired of it? Monica always made sure to get good quality food.
• “Aren't you hungry?” she continued talking to him as if he could understand her. But sometimes she felt like he could. There was just something in his eyes. A spark of knowledge and conscience. He was so much different from the other animals she had saved from hunters. He looked like a god to them. So much more evolved and smart. Human-smart.
• Monica hummed under her breath, and the creature looked at her.
• “Do you... understand me?” She furrowed her brows, eager to know the truth. “Are you... a werewolf? You're not, right? They don't exist.” She scoffed, but after all the research, all the things she knew about animals, their bodies or behavior... he didn't fit anywhere.
• And also... she had read the books and seen the movies. They'd always fascinated her with their creativity and the ability to turn from human into an animal.
• The wolf narrowed his eyes, and a small snarl showed his sharp canines. This was the most she had gotten out of him after his awakening during surgery when he had tried to kill her.
• She hit a sensitive spot.
• “Am I right? Are you a werewolf?” Monica lifted her brows, a grim thought entering her mind. What if she was right and this triggered him? What if he tried to kill her because she found out the truth?
• “You can't be. I'm just imagining things and getting carried away.” She shook her head and smiled but mentally couldn't stop blaming herself for how stupid she was to do this without a weapon. Her father's gun was in the drawer in the kitchen.
• “I need more snacks.” Monica shrugged and turned around, climbing the stairs a bit faster than intended. Her guts churned, praying she wouldn't attract his attention or look suspicious.
• Reaching the kitchen, she dashed to the drawer, and somebody knocked on the front door. Why now?
• She opened the drawer, her soul screaming at her to first make sure she'd be safe, but another hand made her close it. Monica sucked in a shocked breath and swirled around to face the dark presence behind her back. An extremely handsome man stood just inches away from her. He was naked, his almost shoulder-length hair was so dark blond that it looked brown, just like his long beard. And his eyes... those beautiful dark blue eyes. Gorgeous. And deadly.
• She opened her mouth to scream, but his big palm slammed on her lips, and the man leaned closer. Her heartbeat went insane at the death in his beautiful eyes.
• “If you scream or do something inappropriate, I... will... kill... you!” he hissed in a low, gut-wrenching voice.
• Monica's eyes watered, and her stomach flipped in fear. What was going on? Was he really the werewolf downstairs, or was he just a pervert who had broken into her house?! She nodded slowly when another rasp on the door sounded.
• “Open.” He jerked his head towards the door and made some space for her to breathe.
• Monica headed to the door, shuddering in fear. Her limbs were consumed by terror, and the shadow behind her prickled her back. He was glued to her.
• When she reached for the handle, the stranger slammed his hand on the door over her head and with slow, very clear words threatened, “One wrong move and you both die.”
• Her heart twisted and rolled into a ball of anxiety. She forced herself to nod and opened the door.
• “Hello, Monica!” her elderly neighbor, living half a mile away, said. She was soaked but still smiling in that cute granny way. “My house is old, and because of one of these god-damned thunders, my electricity ran out. It would take a few hours for my son to come and fix it, so I was wondering if—”
• “No, Ms. Carrera, I'm sorry. I'm too busy right now, and I can't keep you any company. You shouldn't have come all the way here. I'm sorry,” Monica apologized and tried to close the door, but her neighbor's hand stopped it.
• “Please, don't refuse this old grandma! I promise you, when this weather gets better, I'll bake you some of those cookies!” the older woman pleaded.
• “No, I'm sorry!” Monica forced a sad smile, drumming with the need to close the door. Ms. Carrera was a wonderful person, and she knew she wouldn't be able to take it if she got hurt. “You should've brought an umbrella. Go home before the storm gets even worse. You know it's dangerous walking around!” A push on her back let her know she was talking too much. She needed to hurry up.
• “Monica, please!” Ms. Carrera begged in disbelief. “I never thought you'd—”
• “She told you she's busy!” a male voice roared and appeared from behind Monica. It was rough and not used in a while, but the man's anger was palpable.
• Ms. Carrera's eyes widened when she caught his figure. “I...” she stuttered. “I didn't know you had company. I know three months ago—”
• “Go!” he bellowed and slammed the door in her face.
• Monica slowly turned around and lifted her eyes to him. How tall was he, damn it? From this distance, she felt like a midget. She had to tilt her head up to be able to see his face. It was so sour that he looked like he was in the middle of eating a whole lemon. The scowl on it made her thin her lips, and her guts twisted into knots.
• The man took a step back, and Monica's eyes instinctively roamed his body. His scar-filled, muscular, fit body. And the... tattoos! Those big, intricate, black tattoos! They were real, and they started from his right shoulder and continued down to his navel. But they were so bizarre. They had pieces of them that were missing, like the skin there had been cut off and replaced with new, clean flesh. When her eyes traveled further, even under his navel, he snapped his fingers at her.
• “You have no business down there!” he snapped, and she swallowed.
• He was right, so... Why had her eyes examined him like that? To confirm he was the werewolf? He probably was. All the scars from the knives, cuts, gun wounds... They all fit in the same places like on the wolf.
• “Were— werewolf?” Monica croaked out, her fear immobilizing.
• “Clothes,” he barked instead.
• Her eyes shot up to him again, and the stranger motioned with his arm at his body. He needed clothes.
• “I don't—” she began, but he quickly interrupted her.
• “You do.”
• She frowned. So, he had really roamed around the house while she was gone. She was the only person who used the villa, so when she found the bath slightly wet a few times and some of her items in the rooms put in different spots, she knew something was wrong. Monica headed to the second floor. She could feel he was right on her track. If he knew there were men clothes in the house, why hadn't he grabbed them on his own?
• She reached the room she had tossed Brad's clothes in and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt. Extending her arm towards the man, Monica stared at his face.
• For a second, his scowl turned into a grimace, and he pulled his unruly hair out of his face. Taking the clothes, he examined them and lifted a brow. They were so not going to fit him. He was tall, muscular, and lean, while Monica's ex had been just a bit taller than her. And she was mostly on the short side.
• “These are the only male clothes that I have here,” she mumbled when a thought hit her. He had waited to ask for her permission to take them, he hadn't touched them on his own.
• This realization made her gawk, and he glared at her from the corner of his eye. When Monica noticed he was putting the tight jeans on, she gasped and spun around.
• “W-why didn't you change to a human sooner? Like, for an instance, while I was gone? You could've left without me knowing,” she asked, her mouth working without discussing it with her brain first.
• “It took you a while to finally get that I'm a werewolf. I just wanted to see how smart you are.”
• Monica blushed. She had suspected it for a while, but she hadn't dared to say it out loud.
• “Are you implying I'm stupid?” She demanded, even if she knew how dangerous that was.
• A small scoff was his answer, and Monica turned around to glare.
• He motioned his head to the door. “Food.”