Page 8 of Chaos At Second Sight

And a radio was on. No, not a radio. A chant, inside my head.

I groaned as my hands and feet spasmed, readjusting to the movements of being awake. The plopping stopped.

My mind clawed its way out of the confused cave of unconsciousness.

Then I realized three things at once.

One: The plopping wasn’t rain; something had drooled on my face.

Two: The blanket carried tiny electric shocks. Mate sparks.

Three: I knew that scent.

The cream on the scone? My wolf was the horrible radio inside my head, just as restless and hyped as the day I had met my⁠—

“Mate, mate, mate!” The lunatic had been chanting it on repeat.

My eyes flew wide open, and I found myself nose-to-muzzle with a black, hairy face. A bullet of realization blasted through my awareness. The gates of hell had been opened, and a creature smelling like Logan had crawled out of it, chased me through the woods, shredded Lachlan’s cap, and called me mate.

With a startled squeak, I flapped my arms, untangling myself from its tail—what I had mistaken for a blanket—and scrambled backward, heart racing, mouth hanging open.

“Mate, mate, mate!” My wolf bounced in circles, limbs flying everywhere as she performed deranged airborne cartwheels.

Like it could hear her mania, the creature tilted its humongous head, its furry beard flailing in the dull sunlight.

Still seated, I crab-walked away using my hands and heels. One huge red eye streaked with silver remained fixed on me. Unblinking. Watching. Tiny blond lashes curled around it.

I slapped my cheeks. “Wake up. This is a nightmare. I’m not here.”

The beast dropped its muzzle with a sigh and glanced at its curled, clawed fingers resting on its lap. Can he understand me?

If I hadn’t been busy having a small existential crisis, I might have recognized the emotion flickering across those impossible features. Instead, I was staring at the claws. Freddy Krueger’s glove looked like a set of innocent teaspoons in comparison; those things could crack my skull like a macadamia nut.

What is it? Surely not a werewolf. Could it be some hidden species? Our version of a mythological creature that was somehow real, the same way humans didn’t know werewolves existed?

My wolf continued bouncing in circles. “It’s our mate, you silly human! He came for us!”

Confusion joined with shock. Shock invited fear. Curiosity pulled up a chair beside them. The scientist in me refused to sit this one out.

I cleared my dry throat.

“You’re Lucien.” The name came out with a slight stutter.

The effect was immediate—his ears twitched and his head snapped back up.

“Lucien.” It bobbed its muzzle once, twice, thrice. Then the corners curled up, revealing rows of gleaming sharp teeth. Apparently, that was a smile. A chilling, wolfish smile that promised medical emergencies, but still a smile.

I stared at his fangs. All of them were sharp, but four oversized canines interlocked at the front on the sides. A butcher would have wept with envy.

When he moved toward me, so very slowly—shoulders rolling out with caution, paws hesitant—I remained glued to the moss. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t leave. Boulders were piled up behind him, and there were even more behind me.

“Mate…so perfect.” He sighed, making me gasp, eyes full of adoration roaming all over my face. “So beautiful.”

The beast crouched in front of me, staring with his scorching eyes like headlights from hell, his head cocked to the left. Up close, he was massive. I was left breathless.

“Much more beautiful in person. Yes. Mate, yes.”

Gawking at me, he lifted one hand and reached out for my face…with those slightly curved, tipped claws that could slice necks, bones, and small airplanes.