Rise of the Fallen Wolf

Zoelle trudged along the gravel path, kicking stones like they owed her money, her monologue reaching new heights of self-pity.

"I can't believe I did it again. Me and my dumb choices. Third time this year!" She sighed loudly, as if the universe needed to hear her woes. "Why can't I just hold down a job like a normal human being? I wish I'd kept the dog. At least I wouldn't feel so—" she paused to kick an impressively large pebble, "—miserable!"

Lost in her spiraling thoughts, Zoelle barely noticed the eerie rustling in the bushes nearby. But then her spine tingled in that oh-so-cliché way. Someone, or something, was watching her.

"Who's there?!" she barked, spinning on her heel. "Don't even think about it! I know martial arts!" She did an awkward kick in the air to prove her point, nearly tripping over her own foot.

The bushes shivered more violently. Zoelle's heart pounded as a pale leg slithered out, like some creepy B-horror movie moment. That was it—Zoelle's bravery had limits. She bolted to her scooter like her life depended on it (and maybe it did), firing it up and zooming away as if she were auditioning for Fast & Furious: Scooter Drift.

But no matter how fast she went, the prickling sensation of being pursued wouldn't leave her. Whatever was back there wasn't giving up.

"Seriously?!" she shouted at the invisible menace. "Don't you know I've had enough today?"

In a split-second of reckless genius—or sheer stupidity—Zoelle decided she'd had enough of running. Gritting her teeth, she aimed her scooter straight toward the unseen force and closed her eyes, hoping for a miracle.

She didn't get a miracle. She got a crash.

When she came to, one of her neighbors was standing over her, misting her with water like she was a wilting houseplant.

"Zoelle, are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Where's my scooter?" she groaned, struggling to sit up.

"Not sure what you hit," he said, scratching his head. "I think it was a dog? Or...a wolf, maybe. It was big, whatever it was. It ran off toward the forest."

"A wolf?!" Zoelle's face lit up with hope. "Did it look white? Fluffy? Did it have a name tag?!"

The neighbor blinked at her, bewildered. "Uh… it looked dirty? Injured? I didn't exactly get a good look—"

But Zoelle was already on her feet, wobbling toward the forest like a woman on a mission.

"Is it your wolf or something?" her neighbor called after her.

"What nonsense!" she snapped over her shoulder. "I'll explain later.

Zoelle marched into the woods, her voice echoing through the trees. "Snow! Snow! Here, Snow!" She felt slightly ridiculous but pressed on.

Then she saw it—a heap beneath the leaves. Her heart dropped.

As she brushed the leaves away, Zoelle's stomach turned. It wasn't a wolf. It was...a man. A very naked man.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" she gasped, fumbling for the medical gloves she inexplicably carried in her bag. (A habit from her days as a veterinarian, where gloves were often a literal lifesaver.)

She reached out tentatively, only for the man to groan and flinch.

"Don't touch me!" he rasped, his voice hoarse but weirdly melodious.

Zoelle screamed, leaping back like he'd turned into a werewolf. "Don't touch me! I—I wasn't trying to!" She started pacing in frantic circles.

"Please," the man croaked, barely able to form the words. "Help me."

Zoelle froze. Against her better judgment, she crouched beside him again. "Okay, but you're freaking me out. Who even are you? Do you have a name? A wallet? Clothes, maybe?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut, and he passed out.

Getting the unconscious man to her house was an Olympic-level challenge. He was huge—easily twice her size—and Zoelle was not exactly built for heavy lifting. She managed to drag him into her hallway, muttering curses under her breath the entire way.

Once there, she inspected his injuries by the dim hallway light. Her stomach churned as she noticed a fresh cut on his side. It was eerily familiar, like the wounds she'd seen when performing surgeries on large animals at the clinic.

"That's weird," she mumbled, shaking off the thought. "Focus, Zoelle."

She cleaned and bandaged the wound as best she could, trying not to notice how ridiculously good-looking he was. His face was so flawless it was almost offensive. Seriously, who had cheekbones like that? And his lashes? Unfair.

"Stop it," she told herself, yanking a blanket over him like she was tucking in a toddler. "He's hurt. Not a Calvin Klein model."

Still, she couldn't help stealing a glance or two as she sat across the room, her back against the wall. Her mind was a chaotic mess of questions. Who was he? Why was he naked? And why did he look like he belonged on the cover of some supernatural romance novel?

Zoelle's last coherent thought before sleep claimed her was a begrudging admission.

"If this is love at first sight, the universe has terrible timing."