Then he stops. His whole body goes rigid for a second, head tilting as he studies me with those incredible green eyes. Something passes across his face, and then he begins to shift.
The transformation is smooth and practiced, bones and muscles rearranging themselves with the kind of ease that comes from doing this thousands of times. His body blurs and reforms, fur receding to reveal skin, muzzle shortening to human features.
Within seconds, a man kneels where the wolf stood.
A very, very naked man.
I should look away. That would be the polite thing to do. The Llewelyn thing to do—maintain proper distance and emotional reserve even in situations like this.
But I don’t look away.
He’s tall, at least six-two, with a lean but powerful build. The kind of body that comes from actual physical work rather than gym memberships and protein shakes. His skin is tanned from spending time outdoors, darker on his arms and face where the sun hits most. Scars crisscross his torso—some old and faded to white lines, others fresh from tonight’s fight and still oozing blood.
Broad shoulders taper down to a trim waist and narrow hips. His chest is well-defined without being bulky, with just enough muscle to make my mouth go dry. I can see every breath he takes, watch his abs contract and release, follow the lines of muscle that frame his stomach.
There’s a trail of hair leading down from his navel that my eyes follow before I can stop myself, tracking lower and lower until—
Heat floods my face, but I still don’t look away. Can’t look away.
His thighs are thick and strong, built for running and fighting. And between them—
My throat goes completely dry. I’ve never been particularly interested in the male body before. Llewelyn women are taught to be reserved about such things, to maintain detachment even in intimate situations. But looking at him now, I understand what desire feels like. What it means to want someone on a purely physical level that has nothing to do with logic or propriety.
I want to touch him. To run my hands over all that bare skin and feel the muscles move underneath. To taste the salt on his skin and make him make sounds that have nothing to do with fighting.
The thoughts shock me almost as much as the kidnapping did.
I finally drag my eyes back up to his face, my cheeks burning hot enough to probably glow in the dark.
Dark blond hair sticks up messily, damp with sweat and blood. His face is all hard angles—high cheekbones, strong jaw, that crooked nose. And his eyes, those vivid green eyes that I recognized even in his wolf form, are locked on mine, making my pulse race.
Around his neck hangs a pendant on a leather cord. The stone is deep black, threaded with swirls of purple—Amanzite. As I watch, it begins to glow, pulsing with magical energy that feels alive somehow.
Clothes start materializing on his body. First, dark jeans appear, covering those strong legs and everything between them. The fabric forms from nothing, wrapping around him like it’s being woven in real-time. Then a plain t-shirt materializes across his chest, the dark gray fabric clinging to still-damp skin in ways that really shouldn’t be affecting me this much.
Within seconds, he’s fully dressed.
And I’m still staring at him like I’ve never seen a man before.
He stands slowly, favoring his left side where the gray wolf’s claws opened up those gashes across his ribs. Blood seeps through his shirt, creating dark, wet patches, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. His entire focus is on me.
That’s when it clicks. The historian from Raegan’s wedding. The one who caught my attention during the ceremony, whom I couldn’t stop watching, even with everythingelse happening. The man with the green eyes and messy hair who made something pull in my chest every time our gazes met.
Reeyan.
Chapter 4 - Reeyan
My mate is staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I don’t blame her. Five minutes ago, she was being kidnapped by Thornridge operatives, and now she’s watching me stand here covered in blood after killing three wolves with my bare hands. Or teeth. Whatever.
The mate bond hums through my veins like electricity, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her. Every instinct screams to touch her, to verify she’s real and safe and mine.
She’s mine.
The certainty of it rocks through me with enough force to make my knees weak. This woman I’ve never officially met, this Llewelyn omega who makes my wolf lose all sense of control…she’s my mate. On some level, I knew what she was to me, and I was terrified of it, so I avoided her like the plague anytime she came to Grayhide territory.
When she finally speaks, her voice comes out breathless, as though she can’t quite believe it. “You’re Reeyan. The historian.”
