We started cleaning his wounds. Krystin took the lead, dabbing carefully at the claw marks across his ribs. They were deep, angry, still bleeding sluggishly. The bite on his shoulder looked like something had tried to tear him apart. The gash on his thigh made my stomach turn.
“These need stitches,” Krystin murmured. “Serious stitches. But we can’t exactly take him to the ER, so...”
“Yeah, we established that hospital is out,” I said.
I was trying to help with bandages, but my hands were shaking. Every time I touched his skin, there was this weird tingle. Warm. Electric. It made my heart race, and not just because there was a possibly magical man bleeding in my bookstore.
There was this pull. In my chest. Tugging toward him. Making me want to lean closer, to touch more, to-
Nope. Absolutely not. I was not going there. I was running on adrenaline and fear and probably having a mental breakdown. That was all this was.
But god, he was gorgeous.
Even unconscious and bleeding and completely insane, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Strong jaw that looked chiseled from stone. Sharp cheekbones that cast shadows in the candlelight. Lips that were way too pretty for someone who might be a literal wolf monster. His body was ridiculous. All muscle and scars and raw power that made me feel small and safe and terrified all at once.
I’d spent the last three years thinking I might be asexual. Nobody had ever done it for me. I’d bailed on relationships before things got physical because the idea of being touched made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Apparently all I needed was to accidentally summon a werewolf from a spell book.
My therapist was going to have a field day with this.
“He had fur,” Daphne said quietly. She was holding a clean towel, still looking shaken. “I saw it. Actual fur receding back into his skin. And his eyes were glowing. Red. Glowing red.”
“And he called Wen his mate,” Bella added. Her voice was barely a whisper. “What does that even mean?”
“In werewolf lore-” Daphne started, then stopped. She laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. “I can’t believe I’m saying ‘inwerewolf lore’ about a real situation. But in the books, mates are... they’re soulmates. Fated pairs.”
My hands froze on the bandage I was wrapping around his ribs.
“No. Nope. We’re not doing this. He’s confused. Or cursed. Or we’re all having a shared psychotic break brought on by too much demon romance and not enough sleep.”
But that tingle got stronger every time I touched him. And the pull in my chest was getting worse, not better. It felt ancient. Inevitable. Wrong in every logical way but right in a way that bypassed logic entirely.
I hated it.
We finished bandaging him up as best we could. Krystin wrapped his ribs with professional efficiency. I handled his shoulder, trying not to notice how warm his skin was. Bella bandaged his thigh with her eyes half-closed, face red as a tomato. Daphne held supplies and murmured encouragement that sounded more gothic poetry than actual help.
The bleeding stopped, at least. The wounds still looked bad, but they weren’t actively trying to kill him anymore. He was breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that I found myself matching without meaning to.
I sat back on my heels, staring at him. At this impossible, beautiful, terrifying man who’d called me his mate and then passed out on my floor.
“What do we do now?” Daphne asked.
“We wait,” I said. My voice sounded hollow. “And when he wakes up, we get answers. Where he came from. How to send him back.”
The four of us sat there, surrounded by bloody towels and first aid supplies. The storm was still raging outside, rain hammering the windows in waves. Thunder rumbled, more distant now. The LED candles flickered in the draft from somewhere, shadowing his face.
Krystin grabbed the vodka bottle and took a long drink straight from it. She didn’t offer to share. Nobody blamed her.
“So,” she said into the silence. She was now wiping blood off her hands with a towel. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”
“The naked werewolf?” I asked.
“The fact that you summoned him. With your blood. And he immediately called you his mate. On Halloween.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I have no defense.”
“This is so romantic,” Daphne whispered. Her eyes were bright despite the fear. “Forbidden love. Fated mates. A summoning gone right.”
