2

Nathan

When I saw her walk out of that building, I knew I had to get to know her. I had never desired anyone this way before. She had my full attention without even trying. She looked sad, disappointed, and hopeless. Being a writer, I assumed her work had been rejected. So, when she left the building, I decided to follow her to see what she would do next.

No, I'm not a stalker. I simply caught sight of a beautiful blonde girl with glassy blue eyes and couldn't resist the urge to follow her. I suppose it fits the definition of stalking, but she was just too beautiful to ignore.

As I watched her drown her sorrows at the bar, it was evident that the rejection had hit her hard. She downed her vodka so quickly as if she hadn't had alcohol in years. Perhaps getting drunk would help her forget the disappointment of her rejected work. I wanted to console her, to reassure her that rejection is a normal part of the writing journey. Although I'm not a writer myself, I know that many successful writers have faced rejection in their time.

But then, I witnessed a man forcing himself on her. Without hesitation, I swooped in and quickly intervened, pretending to be her boyfriend. Her clever response in getting the man to leave her alone proved she didn't need my help. She could handle herself.

As we sat in the car together, I longed to understand what she was thinking. She kept gazing out of the window, and I believed that after this encounter, I would never see her again. However, to my surprise, she invited me to stay at her home. I never expected that.

Now I find myself in her living room, waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. Once she assures me that she's alright, I'll take my leave. Her home is charming, adorned with quotes from great authors on the walls. Books are scattered everywhere, and her laptop is decorated with celebrity stickers. The old, brown couch looks worn but inviting, and the medium-sized TV is just right. She lives alone in this tiny apartment, and I sense contentment about her. Perhaps she dreams of having a mansion, but for now, she's satisfied with what she has.

She's incredibly diligent, too. I can see countless pages of her work spread around. I wonder if these are the same pieces that have been rejected in the past month. I can't be sure.

A small frame on a stool near the couch catches my eye. It contains a photo of her in a red graduation gown, standing next to a woman who strongly resembles her—presumably her mother. They share the same blonde hair and blue eyes. In the picture, she exudes happiness and success. I can't help but smile at her infectious joy. Her beauty is so captivating, it makes me want to howl in appreciation.

Shaking my head, I quickly place the picture frame back on the stool where I found it. I stand up, realizing that I can't let myself become more entangled in this situation. She's human, and I'm a man who transforms into a wolf under the full moon. Being with a human is against the laws of nature, and it would not be well-received by my pack.

I could have easily propositioned her for a one-night stand and never seen her again, but that's not what I desire with this girl. She's different. She's not someone you simply have sex with and discard afterwards. She's the kind of girl I want to know deeply, to go on dates with and cuddle. But I can't subject my pack or her to the complications of our relationship. She doesn't deserve a monster as a boyfriend.

I need to get out of here. Yet, just as I'm about to leave, I hear the tap close and the bathroom door open. She's coming. My heightened senses allow me to anticipate her every move.

She walks towards me, wearing a pink robe, her blonde hair wet. Her bare feet glide across the floor. Her legs are smooth and unblemished. When she sees me in my wolf form, she'll surely never invite me into her home again.

"Hey," she says, standing before me with a radiant smile. Who knew a smile could transport you to another universe? Her smile is more intoxicating than any drug people take. I might be exaggerating, but she smells delightful, and the remnants of alcohol no longer bother me. She's just so beautiful.

"Hey," I respond, sighing softly. "Are you okay?"

She nods, and I nod in return. I hesitate, considering making my exit, but she stops me by gently grabbing my arm. The first time she did that, back when we were at the door, I was captivated. I never expected her to invite me into her home. I'm a stranger, yet she trusts me.

What's going on with this girl? I can't fathom why she wants me around. I'm a monster. Maybe I should make it clear by revealing my eyes—a gleaming golden brown like all werewolves possess.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to—" I begin, but she interrupts me by kissing me. God, her lips are so soft. She breaks the kiss, staring at me in astonishment, her blue eyes locked on mine.

To hell with it. I kiss her back. Our lips intertwine, and our tongues engage. Things have escalated rapidly.

I pause for a moment, glancing at her robe. I don't need to ask if I should remove it; she does so herself. She stands before me, completely naked. Despite being a writer, her body is like that of a model. Her breasts are round and flawless, almost as if she's had surgery, although I trust that she hasn't.

I realize I've been staring too intently when she giggles.

"Sorry," I mutter, then quickly remove my clothes. 

Now, both of us were naked, and we continue kissing. Her hands rest on my stomach, and mine caress her breasts. I have never enjoyed a French kiss so thoroughly in my life.