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Sneaking him into the village was far harder than Amerie had anticipated. He was weak—so weak that she was practically dragging him—but he still refused to let go of the pelt around his shoulders. She understood, in a way. It wasn't just a cloak, not just some stitched-together fur. It was his second skin. A part of him.

But that didn't make it any easier to get him through the quiet streets undetected.

"Come on," she whispered, carefully guiding him through the dense treeline, her ears straining for any sign of movement beyond the crickets and rustling leaves. The last thing she needed was a curious villager stumbling upon her hauling a half-conscious, barely-clothed man through the woods.

The man leaned heavily into her, his arm slung over her shoulders, his body a furnace against her side. His head lolled forward, forehead brushing her temple as his breath—warm, unsteady—ghosted across her skin. Every step he took was sluggish, fragile, a stark contrast to the monstrous force she had barely escaped from just minutes ago. She had watched him tear through the woods like a hurricane, uprooting trees, splintering them with claws longer than her fingers.

And now?

Now, he could barely stand.

Had the transformation taken this much out of him? Had the pelt drained him of his life force?

"Do you have a name?" she asked, her voice hushed as they neared the fork in the path leading to her village. Right or left? Her mind scrambled to recall.

A beat of silence, then— "Veyr."

The name was breathed into her skin, rough and quiet, his lips nearly brushing her jaw. She shivered but ignored it, turning left. "Nice to meet you, Veyr. I'm Amerie."

He made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and exhaustion. Then, before she could react, he inhaled deeply—too deeply.

"You smell different," he murmured, his voice vibrating against her cheek.

Amerie frowned but kept walking. "How so?"

A pause. Then a quiet, almost confused, "Never met a human before."

That made her stop, just for a moment.

She turned her head slightly, catching his expression in the dim moonlight. His eyes were heavy-lidded but sharp, watching her like she was some strange new thing he couldn't quite figure out.

"You're not afraid," he added, almost like an accusation.

Amerie huffed a quiet laugh as she pushed forward, the trees thinning, the familiar outline of rooftops peeking through the gaps. "I certainly was afraid when you were chasing me."

Veyr went still, his entire body tensing against hers.

"I..." His voice came slow, hesitant, as though the words themselves were foreign. "I am sorry."

She smiled, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'll accept your apology if you do me a favor."

A grunt. A flicker of amusement in his otherwise exhausted expression. "What would that be?"

"Answer my questions while you rest."

That seemed to rouse something in him. His head lifted slightly, his weight shifting off her just a fraction. "Where are we?"

"A village," she said simply, steering him toward the back alleys where the shadows were thickest. "My village."

Veyr stiffened. "A human village?" The words came out rough, edged with something sharp—wariness, maybe even distrust. His voice dipped into a growl. "You brought me..."

"To heal you," she interrupted before he could work himself up. "You're weak."

A low, frustrated sound rumbled in his throat, but he didn't argue.

Amerie exhaled, relieved. The village was quiet, most of its residents tucked away in their homes for the night. She moved quickly, half-carrying him through the narrow, winding paths until they reached her small cottage nestled at the edge of town.

She eased open the door, her heart hammering in her chest as she slipped inside, pulling Veyr with her before shutting it just as quietly behind them. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of embers still burning in the hearth. The scent of dried herbs and pine filled the air, calming and familiar.

"Sit," she ordered, guiding him toward a chair by the fireplace. He all but collapsed into it, the pelt still clutched tightly around him. His skin was too pale beneath the shifting firelight, his breathing shallow.

Amerie busied herself immediately, stoking the fire and grabbing ingredients from a nearby shelf. The rhythmic sounds of chopping filled the space as she prepared a simple broth, something warm and easy for him to stomach.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder. He was watching her, unreadable, his fingers twitching against the pelt's edge.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "are all Wolvenkin like you?"

Veyr's jaw tightened.

She turned fully, leaning a hip against the table. "You did agree to answer my questions."

A slow inhale. A flicker of something in his eyes, something guarded. Then— "No." A pause. "I am... different."

Amerie hummed, stirring the pot. "Different how?"

Veyr exhaled sharply, clearly uncomfortable. "I do not wish to speak of it."

She tilted her head, studying him. He was exhausted, his body practically folding in on itself from the sheer toll of the transformation. She could push, but... no. Not yet.

Instead, she ladled some of the broth into a wooden bowl and placed it in front of him. "Eat," she said, softer this time. "You need your strength."

He hesitated, then finally—reluctantly—reached for the bowl.

Amerie watched him for a moment before turning back to the fire. She had questions, endless ones.

Veyr looked like any other man—broad-shouldered, lean with muscle, his skin tanned from a life spent outdoors. But there was something verifiably other about him, an edge to his presence that set him apart from the villagers she had grown up around.

Maybe it was the way he held himself, even in exhaustion—like a predator who could spring at any moment. Or maybe it was his eyes, golden in the firelight, too sharp, too knowing.

He was handsome in a rugged, untamed way. His features were strong, all harsh angles and weathered lines, but softened slightly by the exhaustion weighing on him now. His dark hair was tangled, damp with sweat, falling into his face as he hunched over the bowl she had given him. He ate slowly, methodically, as if unused to such a simple act.

"Do all Wolvenkin take their meals so seriously?" Amerie asked, breaking the quiet.

Veyr's gaze flickered to her, unreadable. He swallowed before answering. "We do not eat like this."

She raised an eyebrow. "What, no bowls of stew around the fire?"

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No."

Amerie tilted her head. "Then how do you eat?"

Veyr's fingers flexed slightly around the bowl. "Hunting. Fresh kills." He studied her, as if expecting her to recoil at the thought.

She didn't.

"That makes sense," she said easily, propping her chin in her hand. "I imagine it's hard to cook when you're running around as a wolf."

He exhaled a short breath—not quite a laugh, but close.

For a moment, silence settled between them, the only sounds the quiet crackling of the fire and the occasional clink of wood against ceramic as he finished his meal. Amerie let him be, sensing the way his body sagged further into the chair, his exhaustion finally winning out.

Still, there was something heavy in the air, something unspoken.

"Why were you out there tonight?" she asked softly.

Veyr's grip on the empty bowl tightened.

His eyes flickered with something dark, something unreadable.

"Because it was my first time changing," he admitted after a long pause. His voice was quieter now, rougher, as if the words cost him something. "My blooding."

Amerie frowned. She had never heard the term before, but something about the way he said it sent a chill down her spine. "And that means...?"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching.

She had the distinct feeling that this was not something he would normally share. That this moment, this conversation, was an exception.

"It means," he finally said, "that tonight was the first time I changed into a wolf."

Amerie swallowed, her fingers curling against the edge of the table.

She thought of the way he had chased her through the woods, the way he had torn through the trees like they were nothing. She had felt the danger in her bones, had seen the raw hunger in his eyes before she had calmed him.

"What does it do to you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Veyr's gaze didn't waver from hers. "Exhausts me. Allows me to be...me."

"Do all Wolvenkin go through this...change?"

"Yes," he said, finally dropping his attention back to his soup.

She missed his attention. Amerie could have kicked herself.

He took a bite of his soup, and then speared her with that silver gaze once more. "I have questions for you."

A smile spread across her face. "Bring it on. I'm an open book."

"Why are you not afraid?"

Amerie leaned back slightly in her chair, considering his question. Why wasn't she afraid?

She had seen what he was capable of. She had felt the earth tremble beneath his paws, had heard the splintering of trees as he tore through the forest in pursuit of her. By all rights, she should be terrified. Any normal person would be.

But she wasn't.

She watched the way the firelight played across his features, the glow making him look both more human and somehow even more inhuman at once. He was otherworldly, a creature of myth and shadow sitting at her table, eating from her bowl.

Yet, he had let her lead him here. He had let her see him in his weakest state. He had spoken to her when he could have just stayed silent.

"I don't know," she admitted finally. "Maybe I should be."

Veyr's eyes narrowed slightly, but not in a threatening way—more like he was studying her, picking apart the truth in her words.

"You should be," he agreed, though there was no real bite to it.

Amerie smirked. "Then why aren't you afraid of me?"

Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe. A curiosity that had not yet been sated. "Because I could kill you if I wanted to."

The way he said it was so matter-of-fact, like he was stating the weather or mentioning how much salt was in his soup.

But Amerie didn't flinch. Instead, she let her smirk widen, resting her chin in her palm as she met his gaze head-on.

"And yet, here you are, in my house, eating my food, completely at my mercy."

Veyr exhaled a short, quiet laugh through his nose. "You think you hold power over me, little human?"

"I think you let me," she countered.

He tilted his head, considering that, before finally saying, "Perhaps."

Amerie's heart gave a strange little twist at that. She wasn't sure why.

Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it wasn't uncomfortable. It was something else—something thick and charged, something different.

She let out a breath and stood, reaching for the empty bowl in front of him. "You should rest," she said, her voice softer now. "You look like you're about to pass out on my table."

Veyr didn't argue, which told her exactly how exhausted he was. He just watched her for a moment longer, something unreadable in his gaze, before finally leaning back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

Amerie turned away, taking the bowl to the small wash basin near the hearth. As she scrubbed it clean, she felt his eyes on her still.

She didn't mind.

For reasons she didn't yet understand, she liked the feeling.

WC: 1872