Rise of the Fallen Wolf

Zoelle stirred awake, her face pressed awkwardly into the couch cushion. She groaned softly, rubbing her temple as she tried to shake off the haze of sleep. It wasn't the morning light or an alarm that woke her—it was laughter. Deep, rich laughter, annoyingly close to her face.

Her eyes snapped open, and she was greeted by a pair of striking blue eyes, so vibrant they seemed to pierce right through her. The man's pale skin glowed faintly in the soft morning light, and his messy blond hair only added to his disheveled, mysterious look.

For a moment, she just stared, her sleepy mind trying to process why a man was in her house. Then her irritation kicked in.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, pushing his face away with her palm. "It's too early for your nonsense. Go be weird somewhere else!" She climbed off the couch and stomped toward the restroom, muttering under her breath about the audacity of strange men who laughed like maniacs.

Behind her, Maxwell just laughed harder. Her fiery temper, the messy bun barely holding her hair together, and her dramatic attitude—he found it all unexpectedly... charming.

Zoelle splashed cold water on her face, trying to wash away the cobwebs of sleep. Memories of yesterday started to return in pieces: driving her scooter, the Dark Forest, a man bleeding in the dirt. Her stomach twisted. She was still trying to piece it all together when a soft voice startled her.

"Hello," came the cheerful greeting from behind her.

She whirled around, her wet hands flinging droplets of water everywhere. "In the name of Mary, Jesus, and Joseph—who are you?" she shouted, clutching her chest like she'd seen a ghost.

Maxwell leaned casually against the doorway, his arms crossed, a crooked grin on his face. "Maxwell Jones. The guy you ran over with your scooter yesterday?"

Zoelle blinked at him, her brain stalling as the memory clicked into place. "Oh no," she whispered, her face paling. "Oh no, no, no." She dropped to her knees dramatically and clutched his leg. "Please don't tell the cops! I can't go to prison! I just lost my job, and my boss already thinks I'm crazy—"

Maxwell crouched down, gently prying her hands off his leg. His expression softened as he looked at her. "Relax," he said, his voice calm. "I'm not going to the cops. You saved me. Why would I do that?"

For a moment, Zoelle just stared at him, caught off guard by the kindness in his piercing blue eyes. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly stood, brushing herself off. "Fine," she muttered. "But you're still a weirdo. And, uh... why are you naked?"

Maxwell sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. "It's a long story. My grandfather passed away recently and left everything to me, which didn't sit well with my cousin. He tried to have me killed. I barely escaped, but I ended up running into a pack of wolves in the forest. They shredded my clothes, so I've been wandering around ever since."

Zoelle stared at him, deadpan. Then she let out a snort. "And here I thought my life was bad." She crossed her arms, tilting her head at him. "I lose one job and think the world is ending. Meanwhile, you've got murderous cousins and wolves tearing your pants off. Guess I'll stop complaining."

Maxwell chuckled, a soft, genuine sound that made her stomach do a weird little flip. "Glad I could help you feel better."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "Whatever. You need clothes. Stay here. I'll grab something."

A few minutes later, Zoelle returned with an armful of clothes from her brother's closet. She tossed them at Maxwell without ceremony. "Here. At least try not to look like a lunatic."

Once dressed, Maxwell looked far less out of place. The old flannel shirt and jeans fit him surprisingly well, and Zoelle found herself staring a little too long at the way the fabric hugged his frame. She quickly shook herself out of it, brushing past him toward the kitchen.

"Thanks," he said quietly, watching her. "I should probably get going now."

Zoelle paused, her back to him. She bit her lip, hesitating. "Wait," she said finally, turning around. "You can stay. At least until you figure out where to go. I don't want your crazy cousin finding you and finishing the job." She gave him a pointed look. "But if you're some kind of psycho, I will call the cops. Got it?"

Maxwell's lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Got it."

Back at the castle, Elizabeth woke in her luxurious bed, her spirits lighter than they'd been in years. She answered Ryland's call with a rare cheerfulness.

"Tell me something good, my child," she said, gazing out at the stunning view from her window.

"It's done," Ryland said, satisfaction dripping from his tone. "We found his remains. The DNA is a match. Today is the day we've been waiting for."

Elizabeth's breath hitched, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Finally," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Our dream has come true." She hardened her tone. "Alert the media. I want the world to know."

Ryland ended the call, his companion fidgeting nervously beside him. "What about the other body?" the man asked hesitantly.

Ryland sneered, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Don't ruin my mood. The cripple's gone, and that's all that matters."

Back in Zoelle's apartment, Maxwell sat on the couch, cradling the cup of tea Zoelle had handed him. She hovered by the kitchen counter, watching him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"You're still a weirdo," she said finally, though her lips twitched into the smallest smile.

Maxwell grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. "And you're still the most interesting person I've ever met."

Zoelle's cheeks warmed, and despite herself, she smiled back.

Something between them shifted—quiet but undeniable. Neither of them knew where this strange connection would lead, but for the first time in a long while, Zoelle didn't feel so alone.