Three Werewolves: The First Semester

The last bell of the day was still echoing through the hall when I caught up to Gabriel at his locker.
“Got plans after school?” I asked.

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “Nothing major. Why?”

“Come over to my place tonight,” I said casually. “We’ll hang out, maybe shoot some pool, watch a movie. You can crash there and I’ll get you to school in the morning.”

His brow arched higher. “Your parents cool with that?”

“They don’t have to be,” I said with a shrug. “Besides, they’ll be home. You’ll finally get to meet them.”

“That sounds… like it’s not a selling point,” he said, suspicion in his tone.

“It’s not. But it’ll give you context.”

That earned me a crooked grin. “Alright, Conriocht. Lead the way.”

We walked down to the docks, the late afternoon air cool against the skin. The passenger ferry wasn’t busy—just a handful of commuters and a couple of tourists with cameras around their necks. Gabriel leaned on the railing as the boat pulled away from Hyannis, watching the mainland shrink into haze.

“I’ve always wondered,” he said, “what’s it like living on an island like this?”

I thought about it. “Peaceful when you want it to be. Claustrophobic when you don’t.”

“And your parents live there full-time?”

“Unfortunately,” I said dryly.

He laughed under his breath. “This is going to be good.”

By the time we pulled up to the mansion in the black town car that picked us up from the pier, Gabriel had gone quiet. The place loomed at the end of a long, manicured drive—stone façade, tall windows catching the last of the sun, the kind of house you’d see in a glossy magazine.

Inside, it was colder than the sea breeze—temperature, sure, but mostly in the way my parents’ eyes cut to me the second we walked in.

“Thane,” my father said, his voice like someone trying to make “hello” sound like “what do you want.” His suit was perfect, his tie knotted with military precision.

My mother’s smile was the kind that didn’t touch her eyes. “And who is this?” she asked, gaze sweeping over Gabriel like she was inspecting an unwanted delivery.

“Gabriel,” I said. “A friend.”

“Friend,” my father repeated, like the word tasted bad. “Does he have parents who know where he is?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said evenly. “They do.”

The silence stretched, and I could feel my jaw tightening. “He’s staying here tonight,” I said, my tone firm enough to carry a warning.

My mother’s lips parted—probably to object—but I stepped closer, just enough that my shadow cut across her shoes. “Don’t,” I said quietly, but with enough edge to put a knife to the air. “Not one word. To him or me.”

Something in her expression flickered, and she glanced away. My father cleared his throat and muttered something about “work to do,” and just like that, they were gone—retreating deeper into the house.

Gabriel exhaled slowly. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”

“Come on,” I said, turning toward the hall. “Let me show you the good parts.”

The tour started with the theater room—thick leather recliners, a wall-to-wall screen, and a sound system that could rattle your bones. Gabriel whistled low.

Then the indoor pool, steam curling in the warm, chlorinated air. “You could swim laps in January,” he said, eyes wide.

The game room came next, with polished wood floors and a pool table lit by a stained-glass fixture. Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “We’re playing later. No arguments.”

Finally, I led him to the garage—a cavernous space lined with gleaming vehicles: a pair of classic sports cars, a motorcycle, and in the corner, like it had just rolled off the battlefield, my real military Humvee.

Gabriel stopped dead. “Holy… You own that?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell don’t you drive it to school?”

I smirked. “Because keeping a low profile is easier when you’re not driving something that looks like it could roll through a war zone.”

He tore his gaze from the Humvee to look at me. “Low profile? You?”

I paused, staring at the matte green beast, its angular body catching the fluorescent light. Then I grinned. “You know what? Screw it. Tomorrow, we’re taking this. No ferry, no bus. We’ll drive straight in.”

Gabriel’s grin matched mine. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

The afternoon dragged until fourth period, the kind of slow that made the clock sound louder. Word must’ve traveled; the usual shoulder-check crowd gave us space in the hall. Not a lot—just enough to be noticeable if you were paying attention.

By the end of last period, the hallways boiled again. You could feel the pent-up static of everyone wanting out. Gabriel and I were halfway to the doors when Brent—the linebacker with more bicep than brain—peeled off from a knot of guys and stepped into our path. Jake and Tyler drifted after him like orbiting junk.

“Hey, guitar boy,” Brent said, blocking the exit with his body. “Heard you’ve been feeling brave.”

Gabriel didn’t slow. “Heard you’ve been feeling bored.”

Jake snorted. “You get a mouth with those strings?”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked once to me, then back to Brent. His voice stayed calm. “You gonna let us walk, or do you need a chorus?”

Brent grinned, all gums. “You think your shadow’s gonna save you again?”

I didn’t grin back. I didn’t move, either. Just angled a half step so I could see all three at once. A teacher’s voice floated down the hall behind us, too far to help and too close to risk anything flashy. Not here.

Tyler tried the classic shove, the kind that says I’m testing the water. Gabriel pivoted, weight planted. The shove landed and went nowhere.

“Last chance,” Gabriel said. His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried.

Brent’s grin thinned. He reached out, slow, like he was going to tap Gabriel’s chest with two fingers—a condescending little gesture that usually worked on smaller kids.

I moved.

My hand closed around Brent’s wrist mid-extension, not a grab so much as a quiet stop. I didn’t squeeze. I didn’t twist. Just enough pressure—a warning written in muscle and tendon.

“Hands to yourself,” I said, level.

For a second, we were a picture: his fingers caught inches from Gabriel, my grip steady, the hall noise dropping a notch as the nearby crowd felt something shift.

Brent tried to yank back. His eyes flicked to mine. Whatever he saw there took a notch out of his certainty.

“You good?” I asked Gabriel without looking away from Brent.

“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “I’m good.”

I released Brent’s wrist like I’d just remembered to be polite. He stared at his hand, then at me, then at Gabriel, recalculating.

Jake tried to fill the silence. “This is dumb. Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Tyler muttered, suddenly fascinated by anything that wasn’t us.

Brent stood there a beat longer, pride fighting with instinct. Pride lost. He stepped aside, the way a door does when it realizes it’s not a wall.

We walked. The crowd breathed again, volume snapping back like a rubber band.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool. We cut toward the buses without talking. Halfway there, a shout snapped behind us—someone dropped a metal toolbox on the pavement near the auto lab. Heads turned late. I’d already mapped the sound and location before the first clatter finished echoing. When I glanced at Gabriel, he was already looking at me, eyebrows raised.

“You heard it first,” he said.

“Every bolt,” I said. “Every bounce.”

He huffed a laugh, more relieved than amused. “I thought you were going to snap his wrist.”

“I thought about it,” I said. “Then I thought about the paperwork.”

That pulled a real laugh out of him. He slowed near the bus line, foot resting on the curb. “You didn’t step in until I needed you.”

“That’s the idea.” I tipped my chin toward the doors. “You stood your ground. You didn’t need a rescue.”

“Felt like… I don’t know. Like I knew which way it would break before it did.”

“Instinct,” I said. “You’re reading them.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “If they try again?”

“Then we do it again,” I said. “Until they learn.”

A brisk set of footsteps cut toward us. Mr. O’Leary, Algebra, a stack of folders under one arm. His eyes flicked over the two of us and the cluster of kids by the doors, measuring something he’d half overheard and mostly guessed.

“Everything alright here?” he asked.

“All good,” Gabriel said, easy.

Mr. O’Leary looked at me a beat longer than necessary, then back to Gabriel. “Good,” he said, like he’d decided to leave whatever he thought he’d seen right there on the pavement. He headed for the faculty lot.

We stood in the exhaust-scented quiet for a moment. The bus hissed, doors folding open. Gabriel glanced at the line, then back at me.

“You coming by later?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can tell me how many chords you learned not to throw at people.”

“Funny,” he said, but he was smiling. “Thanks. For the… micro-intervention.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t do anything.”

He gave me the look that said he knew better. Then he climbed on the bus, turned once in the aisle to meet my eyes, and that small, conspiratorial grin flickered—the inside-secret grin. The one that said he knew exactly what I was, and that it didn’t scare him.

The doors folded shut with a sigh, and the bus pulled away. I watched it go, the wolf in me calm, satisfied. Lines had been drawn today. Not with teeth. Not yet. But clear enough for anyone paying attention. And from here on out, they’d be paying attention.

Monday mornings at this school always felt like the hallways had been built too narrow on purpose—press of bodies, voices too loud, lockers slamming like someone was scoring points. Gabriel and I moved through it side by side, our stride matched without even thinking about it.

He’d grown bolder since the weekend. Not loud or cocky, but sharper at the edges. Eyes up, chin lifted, like he wasn’t expecting someone to take a shot at him every five minutes. I noticed it in the way people looked at him—some curious, some cautious. And in the way he ignored all of them.

We passed a cluster by the trophy case, the kind of guys who never seemed to run out of garbage to say. One of them—a tall, wiry kid with a permanent smirk—turned just as we came up. His shoulder started to dip toward Gabriel in that casual, “oops, didn’t see you” way. I didn’t break stride, just shifted half a step. My eyes caught his a fraction of a second before contact.

Whatever he saw there made his weight falter mid-step. He veered, not enough for anyone else to notice—except Gabriel, who glanced sideways at me.

“You didn’t even touch him,” he murmured once we were clear.

I smirked. “Didn’t have to.”

His smile was small, but there was pride in it.

First period passed in its usual blur of monotone voices and clock-watching. Second dragged. By third, Gabriel was fielding less crap than usual—enough that he leaned back in his seat during study hall and whispered, “You realize they’re starting to avoid me, right?”

I shrugged. “Perks of having a shadow.”

By lunch, we were moving through the cafeteria line when another little moment hit. One of the same guys from the trophy case crew was holding court by the drink cooler, tossing loud comments to his friends. Gabriel reached past him for a milk carton. The guy’s mouth opened like he had something lined up—but the words died as soon as his eyes flicked over to me.

I didn’t snarl. Didn’t say a thing. Just met his gaze for one slow heartbeat.

He stepped back.

We walked away with our trays, found a table near the back. Gabriel set his drink down, grinning now. “You’re like a damn force field.”

I stabbed my fork into the sad excuse for salad. “Nah. Just teaching them new instincts.” “Yeah,” he said, still smiling as he shook his head. “Ones that stick.”

Saturday afternoon had that kind of easy, late-winter sunlight that filtered through bare branches and made everything look sharper, cleaner. Gabriel’s text had been short: “Come over. Dad’s grilling. Might go for a walk after.”

When I pulled up, the scent of woodsmoke drifted from the backyard. His grandparents’ cape cod sat quiet among the trees, bird feeders swaying in the breeze. This time, the porch was full of wildlife—squirrels, doves, a couple of fat raccoons picking through spilled seed. But the second I stepped out of the truck, the whole lot scattered like I’d dropped a stick of dynamite. Gabriel caught the movement through the window and smirked as I came in.

“Still your fan club,” he teased.

“Guess I don’t pass their vibe check,” I said, kicking my boots off by the door.

Nathan was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a soda in his hand. He glanced up, saw me, and immediately took a long sip like the carbonation might be a shield. Then, with a muttered, “I’m out,” he disappeared into the den.

Gabriel grinned. “It’s like living with a rabbit that’s seen a hawk too many times.”

We ended up on the back deck with his dad, Jim, who was tending the grill with a pair of tongs and the kind of calm only people who love cooking outdoors seem to have. “Burgers in ten,” Jim said, glancing up at me. “You eat like a normal guy or should I make these… rarer?”

Gabriel choked on his iced tea, laughing. I shrugged. “Rarer’s fine.”

After lunch, we cut through the woods toward the neighborhood park. Gabriel had his hood up, hands stuffed in his pockets, but there was something in his stride—looser, less guarded than I’d seen at school. Every so often, he’d flick me a sideways look, like he was still processing the fact that The Reveal hadn’t been a dream.

We hit the basketball court where a few guys from school were hanging out. One of them—Jake, the type who thought his varsity jacket was a crown—grinned when he saw Gabriel. “Hey, I know you. You’re the guy who—” He made a limp-wristed gesture, the kind meant to humiliate. His buddies snickered.

I felt my hackles lift, but before I could move, Gabriel stepped forward. Just enough. Not aggressive, not backing down either. “You got something to say, Jake, or are you just bad at charades?”

Jake blinked, clearly not expecting pushback. “Just messing around.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, his tone flat, “you’re hilarious.” He didn’t break eye contact until Jake looked away.

The moment Jake did, I shifted just enough in his peripheral—no words, no threats, just the kind of stillness predators use. His pulse jumped; I could smell it. He muttered something about needing a drink and walked off.

Gabriel waited until they were out of earshot before he looked at me, the edge of a grin playing at his mouth. “You didn’t even touch him.”

“Didn’t have to,” I said.

We kept walking, side by side. For the rest of the afternoon, the park felt like it belonged to us—our unspoken agreement holding it safe.

That night, Gabriel texted me. “You up?”

I called instead of answering. “What’s up?”

He was quiet for a second. “I don’t know… I just… today felt different. Like, when Jake pulled that crap… I didn’t freeze. I didn’t back down.”

“You didn’t have to,” I said. “You stood your ground. That’s the whole trick.”

“Yeah, but… I think it’s ‘cause you were there.”

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe at first. But you carried it yourself.”

There was a pause, then a softer, “Thanks. For… y’know. Not letting people walk over me.”

“Anytime,” I said. And I meant it.

The day let out under a low, washed-out sky, the kind that made the parking lot feel bigger and emptier than it was. Most kids streamed toward buses or their parents’ cars, but Gabriel and I cut down the side path toward the neighborhood.

He was quieter than usual — not tense, just thoughtful. I could feel it in the way he walked, a little taller than he had a month ago. He noticed things now: who was behind us, where the sound of a voice carried from, when someone’s footsteps sped up. He didn’t flinch at it anymore.

Halfway home, two guys in varsity jackets came out of the gas station on the corner. I recognized one — a smirker who liked to spit words over his shoulder at easy targets. His gaze landed on Gabriel, and I saw the flicker of interest. That look always came before trouble.

Gabriel noticed it too. I saw the smallest shift in his posture — a squaring of the shoulders, his chin coming up just enough. He didn’t stare the guy down, but he didn’t look away either. Just kept walking like the sidewalk was his.

The smirker hesitated. His friend said something under his breath, and then they turned toward the parking lot instead.

Gabriel didn’t say anything until we were past them, but the edge of his grin told me he’d felt the win. “Guess some people just… lose interest.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Yeah. Sometimes all you need is to not look like an easy mark.”

He glanced over at me. “You’ve been doing that for me since day one, haven’t you?”

I didn’t answer directly, just let my silence do the talking. By the time we reached his street, he was lighter on his feet. Whatever happened in the hallways, whatever I was teaching without teaching — he was carrying some of it now. And I liked the way it looked on him.

The morning air had that faint bite of fall, the kind that made every sound sharper. My Keen hiking boots crunched over the brittle leaves scattered across the front walk as we cut through the school’s main doors. Gabriel was next to me, his hoodie hood half-up, earbuds slung around his neck instead of in his ears.

Already I could see it — the way he carried himself now. Head a little higher. Steps more even. Not trying to shrink himself into the crowd anymore.

We were halfway down the hall when one of the usual suspects — Brent, a linebacker with too much neck and not enough brains — made a lazy attempt to shoulder into Gabriel. It was the kind of half-assed “accident” that’s supposed to knock you off balance.

Gabriel didn’t flinch. Didn’t even slow down. He pivoted just enough that Brent’s shoulder met solid resistance and actually bounced. The thump of contact echoed, and a couple of nearby kids looked up in surprise.

“Watch it,” Gabriel said — calm, but in a way that carried weight.

Brent sneered, muttered something about “fresh meat,” but he kept walking. Gabriel didn’t even look back.

“You enjoyed that,” I murmured.

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Maybe a little.”

By third period, the shift was obvious. In class, he actually spoke up twice when called on. At lunch, he sat straighter, didn’t keep his eyes locked on the table like before. I stayed a few tables away — close enough to watch, far enough not to crowd him.

That’s when it happened. Another one — Chad, smaller than Brent but meaner — drifted up behind him with a carton of chocolate milk in hand, aiming for the classic “oops, spilled” routine.

I moved without thinking. One moment I was halfway through a bite of sandwich, the next my hand shot out and caught Chad’s wrist mid-swing. The carton never tipped.

“Careful,” I said, voice low enough that only he heard.

Something in my grip made his whole arm go still — maybe the pressure, maybe the way I was looking at him. He swallowed hard and backed away without a word.

Gabriel caught my eye as Chad slunk off. I didn’t smile, but I dipped my head once, slow.

The rest of the day passed without incident until the final bell. We cut out toward the student lot, where a knot of kids were clustered near the steps. Gabriel was mid-sentence when it happened — a sharp metallic crash from the far end of the lot, like a dropped toolbox.

The sound hit me differently. My ears picked it apart instantly — metal on asphalt, distance, weight. I froze for half a second, head tilted just slightly, ears (the ones no one could see) tracking the echo.

When I glanced back, Gabriel was staring at me. Not just looking — seeing. He’d noticed the way my head moved, the way my whole body oriented toward the sound before anyone else had even turned their heads.

“What?” I asked, playing it flat.

He shook his head, but there was that grin again — slow, knowing. “Nothing.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence, the kind that wasn’t empty at all.

The quiet stretched just long enough for me to start thinking we were done for the night — until I heard the uneven rhythm of someone walking down the hall. Too slow to be Gabriel’s dad, too heavy to be his grandma.

Nathan.

Gabriel heard it too. His eyes cut toward the door, that little half-smirk already curling at the corner of his mouth.

The footsteps got closer, hesitating outside the room. The handle twitched.

I didn’t move at first — then, on a sudden impulse, I let my bare foot shift just enough for the claws to slide free, hooked and sharp against the floorboards. Not full-wolf, but enough that they caught the dim light from the desk lamp.

The door cracked open an inch.

Nathan’s eyes landed on me, then immediately dropped — right to my feet. His face drained of color so fast I almost laughed. Without a word, he shut the door again. The retreating thump of his steps was quicker this time, almost a jog.

Gabriel’s laugh burst out first — loud, sharp, delighted. Mine followed a half-second later, lower and rougher, like gravel under tires.

“Do you practice that?” he asked between breaths.

I flexed my toes, claws catching the light one more time before sliding back in. “Nope. Comes naturally.”

“Poor guy’s gonna start sleeping with a cross under his pillow,” Gabriel said, grinning.

I shrugged. “Cross won’t help.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but there was something else in his expression now — that same surety I’d seen before. The unspoken promise that whatever Nathan or anyone else thought, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Gabriel settled onto the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, still looking at me like he was trying to reconcile the human he’d known with the creature standing in front of him.

“So…” he said slowly, “why would anyone want to beat this out of you?”

I stayed standing for a moment, the weight of his question hanging heavy in the air. Then I shifted back, letting the fur retreat, the claws draw in, until I was just me again. It felt colder somehow, even though the room hadn’t changed.

“Because it scared them,” I said simply. “And scared people… they try to control what they don’t understand.”

Gabriel frowned. “Your parents?”

“Mostly them,” I said, pacing a slow line along the side of the room. “They decided I was ‘wrong’ before I was old enough to know what that meant. Said I was dangerous. Said I needed help.” My voice hardened on that last word.

He was quiet, watching me.

“They sent me to a place,” I continued. “Not some summer camp with therapy dogs and arts and crafts. This was locks and straps and needles. Doctors who never looked you in the eye. People who spoke about you like you weren’t in the room. Or like you weren’t… human.”

Gabriel’s jaw worked, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I learned quick that if I let anything slip — anything — they’d make it worse. Sedate me. Isolate me. Call it treatment while they chipped away at me until there was nothing left but what they wanted to see.”

I stopped pacing, meeting his eyes again. “I don’t give them that satisfaction anymore. I’ve kept it buried. Hidden. I don’t even let myself…” I trailed off, realizing my fists had curled again.

“…until now,” he finished for me.

I nodded once. “Until now.”

Gabriel leaned back, the mattress creaking under his weight. “I don’t know how anyone could look at you and see something broken. But I guess I should say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me enough to show me,” he said. “For letting me in.”

That one landed deeper than I expected, enough that I had to look away for a beat. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

He smiled faintly. “Not a chance.”

From the hallway, a floorboard creaked — distant this time. Probably Nathan keeping his distance. Gabriel’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to me, and for the first time, I realized the fear wasn’t mine anymore.

Gabriel didn’t speak right away. His eyes moved over me like he was memorizing every line, every shift of fur, every curve of claw. It wasn’t fear — not even close. If anything, the way he looked at me was closer to reverence.

“You’ve been hiding this for how long?” he asked finally, voice low.

“Since long before I could drive,” I said.

He stepped closer, close enough that the heat from him brushed my fur. His gaze kept drifting to my hands, the curve of each claw catching the desk lamp’s light. “I thought your reflexes were freakish before,” he said, almost to himself. “Now I get it.”

“You only think you do,” I replied.

His attention dropped lower, following the shape of my legs. Then he crouched, tilting his head. “And the feet?”

I gave him a slow, amused grin. “Curious?”

“Extremely.”

I shifted my weight and stepped forward, planting one foot flat on the floorboards where the light could hit it. Claws long, dark, and sharp hooked forward from each toe, catching just enough glint to make them look dangerous. The pads beneath muted every sound when I moved, even as the claws clicked faintly when I flexed them.

“Holy hell…” he murmured, reaching out — but he stopped just short, like he was checking for permission.

I gave a small nod, and his hand closed gently around my ankle. His thumb brushed the thick fur along the top, fingertips trailing over the pads before skimming along the side of a claw.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” he said.

I smirked. “Good for digging in. Or out.”

His laugh was quick and quiet, but there was a little awe in it still. “No wonder people get out of your way.”

“They don’t know why,” I said. “They just… do.”

He looked up at me from his crouch, head tilted. “You’ve been hiding all of this because of what happened back then.”

“Because people see a monster before they see me,” I corrected. “Because I learned what happens when you give them a reason to be afraid.”

Gabriel rose slowly, still holding my gaze. “Well… I’m not afraid. And you can’t exactly un-show me now.”

“Guess you’re stuck with it,” I said.

His mouth curved into a grin. “Good.”

We stood there for another long moment, both of us grinning now, the air still buzzing with that shared secret — something that belonged to us alone.

Gabriel’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “Careful what you wish for,” I’d said, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, that stubborn blue fire burned brighter.

He reached back with one hand and pushed the bedroom door until it latched, the soft click loud in the quiet room. “I’m wishing,” he said. “Show me.”

I leaned back in the chair, studying him for a long beat. “If I do this, you don’t get to unknow it. You don’t get to pretend later it was a trick or a dream.”

“I won’t,” he said, voice low but steady. “I want to see you. The real you.”

The way he said it landed deep. My pulse thudded in my ears. I stood slowly, feeling the tension coil tight in my muscles. The air in the room shifted, heavier somehow.

“This stays between us,” I warned. “No one else. Not your grandparents. Not your dad. And especially not Nathan.”

Gabriel nodded once. “You have my word.”

I let the breath out, long and controlled. My skin prickled, heat pooling in my core before it bled outward. Fingers lengthened, nails darkening and curving into claws. Fur rippled over my hands, arms, spreading across my shoulders and down my neck. My face tightened, shifted, bones reshaping in a slow grind that always felt half-pain, half-release. Ears lifted, pulling sound in sharper, the ticking of the clock on his desk suddenly loud as a metronome.

By the time it settled, I was standing there in full—taller, broader, the room somehow smaller around me. Blue eyes locked on his, wolf-ring burning like a storm front around the iris.

Gabriel’s breath caught, not in fear, but in awe. He stepped forward, close enough I could feel the warmth coming off him. His hand lifted slowly, hesitating for just a second before resting against my forearm. Fingers traced the line of muscle under the fur, brushing over where skin met claw.

“Holy… shit,” he whispered. “You’re… beautiful.”

That one word hit me harder than I expected. I almost laughed, but it came out as a low, amused rumble in my chest. “Not the first thing people usually say.”

“Well, people are idiots,” he said without looking away. His hand drifted to my shoulder, testing the weight, then to my jawline where the fur was shortest. “It’s… you. Just… more.”

I leaned down slightly so we were eye to eye. “This is the part they tried to beat out of me,” I said. “The part they locked away.”

“They failed,” he said instantly. “And I’m glad they did.”

I didn’t realize how tight my fists had curled until I forced them to loosen. For a moment, neither of us spoke—the only sounds were the faint hum of the house and the distant creak of floorboards somewhere beyond the closed door.

Then I heard it—Nathan’s footsteps coming down the hall, light and quick. The door handle twitched like he was about to barge in… and then stopped dead. There was a pause, and without a word, his retreating steps carried him away again at twice the speed.

Gabriel’s lips curved into a slow grin. “Guess you don’t even have to say anything.”

I smirked, a low growl of agreement vibrating in my chest. “Some lessons… stick.”