@feral_pages
wolves, fallen angels, and the dangerous ones who only soften for you.
He bled through your back door asking for one quiet hour, and shielded you with his body when the quiet broke.
He fell out of a torn sky and crashed onto your balcony, bleeding silver and refusing every hand you offer.
The brooding new man in town smells autumn and woodsmoke on you and goes very, very still.
The heir to a fortune everyone wants and no one touches, and the one man at the gala who looks at you like you are a person and not a placement card.
He rules a court that fears him and bows to no one. He kneels the world for the one name he refuses to let his enemies have: yours.
He parachutes onto the burning ridge above your family's orchard and lands face to face with the woman who left him at the altar ten years ago. He has six hours to cut a firebreak. And you won't leave without him.
Three years of silence, and now he's leaning in the doorway of your seminar like no time passed at all.
Everyone at Halloran University watches him. He has never once cared, until the one person in the room refuses to watch back.
Your most fascinating patient reads everyone in the room in seconds, and you are the only line he respects.
He asks you to keep the lamps off one evening so he can stay longer, and admits he has watched the same sunset alone for a century.
He builds himself a new moon-cell every month so his wolf can't reach a soul, and tonight the moon came a day early, so he's pressing the only key into your hand and begging you to lock him in.
He shielded you from a wall of fire and woke up shifted, exposed, with the bond already roaring louder than the burn.
He walked out of the band and out of your life on the same night, no explanation. Now he's standing in your bar five years later with the old setlist still folded in his jacket.
Your rival across every piste for four years. Now a clerical mix-up has put you both in the same room for six weeks, and without an audience, the trash talk keeps softening into something neither of you will lose first.
Your favorite busker shares fries with you on the subway platform under a fake name. Tonight you bought a ticket to a sold-out arena and watched her count off the song.
She fired three managers in a year and promised you'd quit by the third city. It's 2 a.m. in the fourth, and you're at the merch table fixing a disaster she didn't even know about. She just wrote her first song in years that isn't angry, and it's about that.
She has kept these forbidden books safe for a century. Read aloud after dark, she warns, and then she breaks her own rule for you.
