15. Jeffrey

You know what's wild? Falling in love. I hadn't thought I could do it. Hadn't thought my heart could fit someone else inside it, with all its cracks. But apparently I was wrong. Because as Mutt and I splashed around in the ocean, icy water soaking us through to our bones, I realized I had room after all.

Mutt was strange.

He spoke oddly, he didn't understand social cues, he was awkward and clumsy, and had no idea what personal space was. But he was also…kind. Kinder than anyone I'd met. He was thoughtful and sweet. He made me feel real.

When he was with me there were no demons lurking in the back of my mind. And even if there had been, I knew he'd chase them off. Probably by calling me pretty again—or telling me he'd protect me.

Before he had come into my life, no one had ever kept me safe.

No one had watched over me.

No one had saved me, not when I was small, and not when I was big either.

When Lydia had complimented me it was because she was manipulating me. I'd been wary of sweet words ever since the day I realized her love was a weapon, and her words were chains. Trapped in her web, I saw the spider that hung above me, always hungry, dripping venom—ready to bite.

Mutt's compliments weren't weapons. They had no ulterior motive. There was no manipulation, no darkness. When Mutt called me pretty, it was simply because he thought I was. When he bought me gifts, it was because he wanted me to be happy. When he touched me, it was because he wanted to. And when I melted for him, it was because he made me feel safe.

Because he made me happy.

I hadn't known I could be happy either, but apparently I could.

"Don't shake," I warned him, pointing a finger at him threateningly. "Don't do it?—"

Mutt's long dark hair stuck to his back and shoulders, his eyes bright—flashing in the dark like a predator's.

"Don't you fucking do it?—"

His grin was wolfish.

Delighted.

Wicked.

This was a new side to him, playful and frisky—and unafraid of me. Unafraid of my emotions. He didn't treat me like I was covered in bubble wrap, fragile and easily broken. But like I was hardy enough to withstand the frost. There was respect in his gaze. The kind of respect only an animal who has survived the cold dark nights can have for another.

The wounded sometimes recognize each other.

But I didn't feel wounded when I was with him.

"Oh my fuck—" I gasped out, as Mutt giggled like a rabid hyena and began to shake his glorious mane. Water splattered all over me, and I blocked my face with a squawk. "You motherfucker?—"

"You say angry things!" Mutt cackled some more, dunking his head like a fucking lunatic in the inky black waves, before shaking it at me again. "But you smell happy-happy-happy!"

Calling me out.

The fucker.

I splashed him back, my boxers clinging to my skin as I tried to distract him for long enough I could get away.

I should've known he'd chase.

Because he did. I awkwardly waddle-leapt through the water, trying to get away—but only because I wanted him to follow. The hot brush of his breath on the back of my neck lit me up from the inside out.

Warm arms wrapped around me, yanking me against him as he caught up. He was laughing, and I could feel it. I could feel it as his chest shook and his lips vibrated against the side of my neck.

And then he yanked me down into the water with him, and it was cold-cold-cold, but somehow I was warm.

"My truck is going to smell like fish." I snorted as I wrung the water out of my long-sleeved shirt, stationed inside the open driver's side door. There was sand clinging to my legs, and thighs. And though my pants were dry—because they were the only thing I'd taken off—I didn't bother pulling them back on.

I was too salt-sticky and cold.

"You have such pretty nipples," Mutt informed me randomly. He was just as wet as I was, but didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was distracted as he reached for the hem of my shirt and yanked it up into my armpits.

"They're cold," I complained. My nipples were shivery and peaked, salt glistening on my chest as Mutt bent his head down and lapped at the perky buds. "Fuck," I hissed out, grabbing onto his head with a quiet groan.

"There," Mutt moved to the other side, sucking and rubbing his tongue along it for a few blissful seconds before he pulled back. "Better?"

"Y-yeah," I shivered, even though they weren't any warmer. In fact, after having the wet hot heat of his mouth on them, the chilly night air was only worse.

"Why do you lie?" Mutt laughed, crowding into my space, all that wet, golden muscle on full display. Not that it was really gold. Not anymore—not beneath the pale caress of moonlight. His eyes flickered, and I knew he could smell my arousal, and that only made it feel sweeter.

"It feels more natural to lie than to tell the truth," I admitted, surprised by how easy it was to tell him the truth.

"Why?" Mutt asked, and I figured that was fair.

I knew I had a fucked up past. But he…maybe didn't. For a second, I debated blowing him off. Or lying again. But…there was something about the way he was looking at me that made that impossible.

His eyes said, you're safe.

They said, I'm here.

They said, I will love you no matter what you say.

"Sometimes I don't even know I'm lying," I admitted, voice hoarse. "Not until after the words come out. I guess I just…got so used to trying to please everyone, I forgot it was a choice." Mutt was quiet, patient. One of his hands moved to the nape of my neck, squeezing tight.

It felt different to be on the receiving end of that strength.

But good too.

I melted, lashes fluttering, and my truths came spilling out—falling like dominos. Like it didn't hurt at all. Because it didn't. Because Mutt was a safe space. It'd just taken me a while to realize that, because I'd never had one before.

"My parents were self-proclaimed martyrs with enough money, they never learned how to be real people," I said softly. "We were props," I added, voice quiet. "The only way to get attention was to do what they wanted. I was so…so hungry I just…"

"Hungry?"

"Not for food."

"I understand," he said softly. "There are two kinds of hunger."

"Exactly." The warm grip of his hand soothed me. "I was always nervous, scared," I admitted. "And they didn't like that—so I hid, and hid. Pretended to be someone I'm not so they'd like me more. But it didn't work. And the hunger only got worse. And then I made a mistake—" My voice cracked. "I trusted the wrong person. I thought she could love me the way they didn't—and because of me, people got hurt, and I got…even more lost."

"Everyone gets lost sometimes," Mutt said softly, dipping his head down, his lovely dark lashes kissing his cheeks. "And everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah but mine were really bad," I admitted, my voice shaking. "And I'm still paying for them."

"Who?"

"What do you mean?" I didn't understand.

"Who are you paying for them?"

I blinked.

I blinked again, confused—my jaw fell open, then shut again with a click. "I…don't…know."

"It is okay to feel confused." Mutt said softly. "It is okay to have regrets. But who is benefiting from your kill?" He was picking his words very carefully and I could tell, his focus written all over his face. " Who are you feeding? It is not you. Regret does not feed your soul. And the only people who benefit from what you continue to pay are the people who hurt you." Theo had said Mutt wasn't much of a talker. And that made his words even sweeter. They carried weight with them that lingered even after he'd stopped speaking. "Maybe it is time to stop hunting. Maybe it is time to find your way home. Maybe you have punished yourself long enough."

"What if I can't stop? What if I'm always lost?"

"Then I will come to you." Mutt replied immediately. "Until I breathe my last breath, I will chase you. We can be lost together."

It was an odd declaration, especially from a man I barely knew. A man that wasn't supposed to mean as much to me as he did. A man that was a liar, just like I was—but that I couldn't blame, because his intentions had been pure.

Mutt may have originally been a one-night stand, but he wasn't anymore.

And I could admit now, under the light of the moon, with salt water drying on my skin, that maybe he never had been.

Everything spun. My brain hurt. My lungs wheezed. It was black and painful and—ow, ow, ow.

"Jeffrey—" Mutt's voice was a distant echo, panicked and full of fear. "Jeffrey!"

"Fuck," I managed, voice hoarse. I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it because it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. And my head was throbbing—and fuck-ow-fuck.

"Shhh," Mutt was warm, but I could barely feel where he was wrapped around me, the pain in my head was so all-encompassing. "Shhh, it is okay. I have called for help. It's okay."

It took me a second to remember what had happened.

And when I did, my panic only rose.

We'd been driving back from the beach.

We'd pulled onto the ramp that led back into Elmwood. It'd been dark out and we hadn't crossed into city limits yet so there were no street lamps to light the way. Rain had begun to fall halfway back home and I'd been distracted driving—not because I'd been upset this time, but because Mutt had been growling at the radio and it'd been fucking hilarious.

I'd made the mistake of telling him I loved the singer of the song playing, and he'd immediately gone all macho man on me.

And I'd been laughing?—

And the rain had been falling?—

And there'd been a figure in front of the car. A blond, hairy figure. Four-legged and massive. And I hadn't seen it and I'd?—

Fuck.

I'd crashed the truck.

Right into a fucking tree.

I could vaguely remember the panic. The way my headlights had swerved when I'd jerked the steering wheel. The jolt of the seatbelt as I slammed into it, and Mutt launched himself across the console to block me from the shattering glass as a branch plowed right through the windshield.

I could smell blood.

So much blood.

And I could hardly breathe—could hardly breathe because—oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

"Are you okay?" I gasped out, trying to see through the pain as Mutt hovered over me. He was still sandwiched between the console and my body, the worst of the glass having hit him. There were a few wayward pieces that had hit my cheeks, but otherwise I was fine.

I was fine.

I think.

Except.

My head was cold.

And wet—and.

"Shhhh," Mutt soothed. "I'm okay, sweet one. I'm okay." His palms were warm, I could feel their heat, even though he didn't touch me. Like he was scared he'd hurt me. "Help is coming. It's okay. You're okay."

"W-what?" I reached for him, my panic apparent as I saw the blood that was staining his shirt. His damp shirt. His damp shirt that had been white and now was red.

"Shhh," Mutt rumbled, a delicious purring sound filling the car. It calmed me. Made the twitch and burn of acid in my body soften. Made my hands stop shaking quite so much, and my spinning head still. "Alpha has you, sweet one. Everything is okay."

"I'm sorry," I gasped out, fingers tangling in his shirt. "I'm sorry—there was a wolf—and I?—"

"No apologies necessary," Mutt said softly, nuzzling my cheek, that delicious purring sound vibrating even louder. " Calm ." It was a command, and one I didn't think I'd be able to heed. And yet…somehow I did.

All the tension in my body bled away, the snap of Mutt's voice echoing around inside my head.

My eyes felt heavy.

So heavy.

"Jeffrey—"

I just wanted to nap.

Just…a little?—

Nap.

I was warm .

So warm.

And my head was slick but that was okay. It was all okay. Because Mutt was here. And he was Alpha. Because Alpha had me. Alpha had me and I was calm—and everything was okay.

Everything…was…

Okay.

Apparently Theo was not only an unofficial vet but a people doctor too. Which I only discovered, because after he'd shown up to pick us up in a shitty mom-van, he'd brought Mutt and I back to the house that all the wolf-brothers occupied and stitched me the fuck up.

But not before Mutt carried me around like a broken koala, and whined any time my scent "spiked with pain."

"What is stitches?!" He'd stressed as he curled his arms protectively around me. We were sitting in the living room of his house. It smelled like man sweat, expensive cologne, and cookies. Which was a weird combo, but also kinda soothing.

It was a small house. Old. Homey. With paintings on the walls and a giant ratty couch that looked like it had seen better days. Despite its age, however, the space was immaculately clean. As though one of Mutt's brothers actively vacuumed up the wolf hair everyday.

"I'm just going to sew his head up," Theo said gently, holding his arms out placatingly.

"No."

"It'll help," he promised, voice deep and soothing. His gold eyes flashed, and I kinda wanted to keep looking at them—beta, my mind supplied—but keeping my eyes open hurt. "We need to stop the blood flow and tie up the wound before it gets infected. Head wounds bleed a lot. Which means he needs stitches."

Mutt was clearly freaked out by the concept. Which…considering the fact his back had been torn the fuck up and was already healed—probably meant he'd never had a stitch in his goddamn life. I would bet my left nut he'd never even been to the doctor.

"It's okay," I reassured, fingers finding Mutt's wrist. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, his thick thighs beneath my body. His scent cocooned me, soothing and tantalizing at the same time. No one had ever held me like this, so it felt strange.

But it felt nice…too.

That pretty much summed up every interaction I had with him. Strange but nice.

He'd even made sure that Theo grabbed my basket for me, because he'd somehow known I wouldn't be willing to leave it behind.

"I've had tons of stitches before," I reassured, my filter apparently broken. "Hundreds, probably. And I'm fine."

Mutt did not look soothed. " Hundreds ?" he asked, the panic in his voice morphing into something low and dangerous. "I will kill whoever is responsible. Names . Give me names, pretty one—of all the people that?—"

"Fuck." I hadn't meant to upset him even more. "It's not a who, so much as a what —" Kinda. "Hard to explain. I just…fuck. Just let Theo do the stitches, please? I promise it'll be fine."

Mutt's eyes flashed, brilliantly blue, bright as sapphires. They seemed to glow, predatory and feral as he bobbed his head reluctantly. His claws pricked at my hip where they dug in, and his fangs flickered—half shifted in his mouth.

"C'mon, Doc," I urged, tilting my head back to rest it against Mutt's sternum for support. "I just bought us a few minutes before he freaks out again."

Theo laughed, shaking his head at the both of us as he pulled out his first aid kit and got to work. I spaced out for most of it, my eyes drifting shut, Mutt's heart thumping against my back, erratic and worried.

Mutt babied me.

There was no other way to describe it. It should've bothered me, being coddled. But it didn't. He plied me with kisses. Kept me tucked inside his bed covered in blankets that smelled like him. He brought me food, stroked my hair, and growled at anyone that walked by the door.

My head hurt too much to really do much, so I mostly slept.

Eventually the pounding faded some, and when I woke I took the opportunity to inspect Mutt's room. It was…weird being in here. Felt personal in a way we hadn't gotten till that night. In a good way.

I'd been curious about Mutt, and I could admit that.

At first I'd told myself it was because he was a werewolf, and Lydia's teaching hadn't prepared me for that. But…that was a lie. The truth was he fascinated me. How was it possible that someone could be so full of life, so absolutely filthy , and yet…innocent too?

Mutt saw the world with rose-colored glasses on.

And I was starting to hope they were dark enough he wouldn't see my blood stains.

"I have brought you Pop Tarts," Mutt declared the morning after I'd spent the night in his bed. "They are like food," he promised, like I didn't know what a fucking Pop Tart was. "But better."

"Thanks," I laughed, and then regretted it, because laughing made my head hurt.

Mutt helped me sit up, and I snuggled in against him, surprised by how easy it was to lean on him. "I didn't know you could have chocolate," I teased, enjoying the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the thump, thump of his heart.

"What do you mean?" Mutt asked curiously, his fingers gently carding through the hair at my nape. He plucked at the curls, and I sighed, eyes drifting shut.

Of course he didn't get the joke.

"You know, because dogs can't have chocolate?"

"I am not a dog," Mutt scoffed, sounding incredibly fucking guilty. "Oh, look! There's a…" Mutt looked around the room for a distraction. "A tree! Outside the window."

"A tree."

"A very good tree," he agreed, his heart thumping erratically beneath my cheek. "So very good. The best tree."

You're not sneaky at all.

"Uh huh." I agreed, cracking an eye open as I picked up my Pop Tart and nibbled on it. "And you're not trying to distract me at all."

"Ha-ha! No . Distract you? Never."

"Mhm."

I didn't know why he was pretending but…I figured he had his reasons, and at this point…I supposed he'd earned some trust. So I let him off the hook for now and ate my Pop Tart like a good boy.

No one bothered us.

Even though I could hear Theo rustling around outside the bedroom, it was quiet in here. An oasis really. Didn't feel real. When I was here, it was like all the shitty stuff out there didn't matter.

Mutt's bed was piled high with pillows and blankets. Clearly comfort was important to him. The mattress sat on the floor in the back corner of the room, facing the door and window—which suited me just fine.

I liked to be able to see all the entrances and exits at the same time.

It felt safer that way.

However, the mattress on the floor was not the weirdest part of the room. Mutt's personality bled into everything here. Hand picked, just like a professional interior designer would do—only instead of cheesy posters, designer portraits, curtains, and decor—Mutt's room was full of wild things.

There were pine cones lining the back wall.

A giant orange maple leaf was taped to the door.

Several of my t-shirts were scattered across the floor. T-shirts I'd been certain I'd lost. And apparently hadn't, because they'd been stolen. A giant cement garden gnome sat in one corner of the room, glaring at me grumpily. I could only assume he'd stolen it, or bought it from a yard sale, it was so beat up.

"Nice gnome," I complimented. Mutt made a confused sound, and when I gestured toward the statue he brightened. His tail beat the mattress.

"You like my tiny angry man?" he said happily. "I knew you were perfect."

I laughed, unable to help myself. I'd finished my Pop Tart, and as I tipped my head up to look at him better, I grimaced. The stitches tugged.

"Did you steal him?" I asked, lips twisting into a smile I couldn't swallow, even if I wanted to.

"Steal him?" Mutt cupped my face with one hand, thumb stroking below my eye. He stared at me. Stared and stared and stared. Like I was a pretty sunset. Something magnificent, and meant to be admired. "I did not steal ." His lips twisted up into a mischievous smirk, the boy who'd dunked me into the ocean like a total shithead coming to the surface. "Is it stealing if they did not want him? No. It is not."

"How do you know they didn't want him?" I had no idea who "they" was, but I was suddenly desperate to find out.

"He was sitting out on the lawn," Mutt huffed in disappointment. "Abandoned."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that that was where lawn gnomes were supposed to go. So I just grinned and prayed to whatever god was listening, that Mutt would get away with his petty crime.

Mutt and I spent the entire weekend together. I told him about Blair, and the conversation I'd overheard—because he was annoying as hell and would not stop asking me why I'd been sad when I'd picked him up.

At one point, I sent Mutt to my apartment for my laptop—and when I'd given him a key to get in he acted appropriately honored.

Not even Blair had a key to my house.

I guess Mutt was just…the right kind of threatening. Because his strength was used to protect me, and not used against me. And it wasn't that I didn't trust Blair—because I did. It was just…well…

It was my special space. The only place that had ever been my own. And apparently there was a Mutt-sized space left open. Maybe because I knew he'd seen behind my walls. Maybe because when he looked at me I didn't feel broken, I felt…well.

I felt like one of those weeds that breaks through cement.

Like maybe I hadn't grown where I was supposed to. Maybe it'd been hard, and hurt. But I was blossoming either way. And when Mutt saw me, waving in the wind, out of place, he smiled, charmed by my resilience.

I wasn't wrong , I was beautiful.

Mutt brought me my laptop, my phone charger, and my favorite blanket. I had to explain what the chargers looked like, and where they were—but I hadn't minded. And we holed up in his room for days, snuggled up under the blankets, watching movies and taking turns sucking each other off.

Watching movies wasn't something I'd done with anyone but Blair, so it felt kinda monumental. Like I'd truly accepted Mutt into my little bubble where he belonged. He laughed at all the wrong spots, and very obviously copied me sometimes so it would look like he knew what was happening when he didn't. But there was no hiding how absolutely stoked he was to be in bed with me, and that felt really fucking good. Mutt made me feel valued, even when I was at my shittiest.

Mutt liked dumb cartoons, probably because he didn't get the more complicated shit. So we took turns picking to make it fair.

At one point, after we'd finished watching Lady and the Tramp , Mutt got me on all fours. And with the ferocity of an animal in heat, he ate my ass till it was achy and wet and loose —and then finger fucked me with the lube from my basket till I came all over the sheets.

I liked his knot.

Liked toying with it. Playing with it. Squeezing and flicking it, as he humped my grip and bore his fangs at me. He was feral in the sheets, this hungry, needy twist to his expression that was ridiculously attractive.

He liked to bite.

Liked to bite and suck, and leave bruises. Liked to play with my hair, to grip and slap my ass. Liked to rake his claws down my thighs, and up my back, and over my nipples till I was shaky and quivery and needy—and the only word I remembered was, "please."

He was soft too.

Kind.

He looked after my stitches with dogged determination. He counted my freckles one by one, and told me they were marvelous . He kissed my fingers, my toes, the backs of my knees, and the dimples above my ass.

He asked me about my scars.

"Chupacabra," I explained, his warm calloused fingers dragging across my sternum. They skipped to a small nick on my neck. "Boggart," I shivered. He flattened his palm, sliding it over my pec, his thumb scrubbing over yet another mark of my violent upbringing. "Imp."

He didn't ask me why I'd been near so many creatures, and for that I was grateful.

Because I wasn't ready.

And talking about the scars was already more than I'd ever done.

Blair didn't even know I had them. I meticulously wore long-sleeved shirts to cover them. And even when we'd lived together in our tiny condo in Oregon—after Lydia had "graciously" allowed us to move out—I'd been incredibly careful never to shower when he was awake, for fear that he'd stumble upon me changing clothes.

There'd been locks on my door then too, but I wasn't the only one who had a key.

Lydia hadn't allowed true privacy.

She'd watched us from the cameras, always hunting for reasons to be angry.

And we'd given her plenty.

Mutt wasn't like that. He watched, not because he was looking for flaws to correct, but because he saw beauty in them. He was soft and sweet and caring. And he was fascinated by me—not because he wanted to corrupt or use me. Not because we'd been through hell together. But simply because…

Because he liked me.

"Why are you so nice to me?" I'd asked after our first movie marathon. I'd yet to go to the bathroom on my own, and Mutt had blocked the mirror every time. I knew why. I probably looked like shit, and all he'd had to do was smell my anxiety whenever I glanced toward it to know.

It was weird peeing with another dude nearby. Especially a dude that I wanted to ride, but hey.

It was kinda oddly romantic too.

Intimate.

"Why wouldn't I be nice to you?" Mutt asked back, confused. "You are the most wonderful person in the world."

I shook my dick off, wiped myself clean, and stared at my hands as I washed them so that Mutt would let me have access to the sink.

"I'm not going to die if I see my reflection," I told him, the suds rinsing down the drain.

"Why do you care how you look right now?" he countered. "What about seeing your reflection will help you?"

"I have stitches in my head, I kinda wanna see."

"Lie." Mutt laid a hand on my chest, right above where my heart lay.

"Okay fine. So I wanna see if I look like shit or not—since we're… you know…" I flushed, my cheeks hot. "We're hanging out. "

"You look beautiful," Mutt said softly, like it was a fact. I swallowed the lump in my head.

"I probably look like shit."

"Impossible."

"Can I just…please?" I begged softly, shoulders drawn up. "I wanna see." I'd never admired this insecurity before, and it felt weirdly…good. "I like you. I wanna look good for you. So if you could pretty please move that big gorgeous ass over and let me see the mirror so I can clean myself up—I'd appreciate it."

Mutt growled, not pleased.

Fuck.

Didn't work.

I must've smelled disappointed, because it didn't take long for him to give in. He was just a softie like that. He sighed, shoulders slumping. "You will not take my word for it?"

"Please?"

"Fine," reluctantly Mutt moved out of the way. I lifted my head to see my reflection, and immediately wished I hadn't. "You're a fucking liar," I said, jaw dropping. Because I looked like shit.

Worse than shit.

There were bags under my eyes—that wasn't new—but the hair right at the front of my head that had been shaved down to fuzz was. I literally had a massive bald spot. That alone sucked balls, but paired with the dark bruises all over my face, I looked like I'd been through a fucking meat grinder.

The stitches were probably the cleanest part of me. Everything else was just…

"I look like a wreck." I blinked. "A car wreck," I added, because it was funny, even though it wasn't.

Mutt growled.

"Dude." I couldn't stop staring. Horrified, I turned to look at him. "Dude my hair. "

"Had to shave it so we could do stitches."

"I literally do not even remember this." I'd been pretty out of it though—so I suppose I wasn't surprised. I just…fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "You are such a liar. You said I looked beautiful."

"I wasn't lying."

"Fuck you. The front of my hair is fucking gone, man. I look horrible." And I did. And it was awful. And oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "I look like ginger Homer Simpson."

"Jeffrey." Mutt caught my wrist, dragging it up to his chest. My palm lay flat across his heart, and he ducked his head to meet my gaze. "I wasn't lying."

I knew what he was trying to say. That all I had to do was listen to his heart to know he was telling the truth. But I didn't speak wolf-boy-heart-magic, and therefore couldn't believe him.

"Jeffrey," Mutt said again, dipping low enough our noses brushed. He blinked those ridiculously long lashes at me, and my heart thumped unsteadily. His warm breath brushed against my lips and I was lost all over again—but this time I was lost inside his eyes. "Sometimes I wish you were a wolf. Not because you aren't perfect the way you are—because you are. But because I think…if you could scent how I feel about you—if you could feel the way my heart beats when you're around. If you could hear my truths, I could make you happy."

My heart hurt.

"You do make me happy," I said, surprised that it was true. Mutt was too, apparently, because his eyebrows shot up, and the cockiest, happiest grin I'd ever seen spread across his face. His tail thumped against the cabinets.

"And you are beautiful," he said softly, his heart thumping beneath my palm.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, eyes burning a little.

For the first time in months, I almost cried. Sure my body had done the motions, the shaking, the anxiety, the aching throb of too sharp breaths. But no tears had spilled. Not for a long, long time.

"I wish I could tell too," I admitted, and it hurt. It hurt so bad.

"I know," Mutt bent down, lacing a gentle kiss against my fuzzy temple.

"Will you help me shave the rest of my hair?" I asked, voice hoarse. "I don't think I can."

I looked fucking weird with only the front of my hair short.

"Of course."

Mutt set us up in the kitchen. Theo was nowhere to be seen, probably because he was nosy as hell and overheard our entire conversation in the bathroom. Mutt sat me down on a chair, and helped me pull my shirt over my head so it wouldn't catch on the stitches.

He grimaced, frowning at the bruises that blossomed across my chest.

He'd made that face every time I got naked over the last two days.

Like it physically pained him to see me hurt.

"I'm fine," I promised—and for the first time since I could remember I wasn't lying.

Even though this was going to suck, majorly.

And then I did something I didn't know I could—I opened my mouth, and opened up, completely unprompted. "Lydia hated when my hair was long," I said, heart thumping. I hadn't told him who Lydia was—and I wasn't sure I could right now. Or ever. I didn't have words for her. "She made me cut it…all the time. She'd bring out a ruler and if it was past what she deemed was an acceptable length, off it would go."

Everything felt far away all of a sudden. My limbs were cold and my hands tingled weakly. "The second she got locked up last spring, I started growing it out. It felt like…I dunno. Felt like I was trying to recognize myself again, you know?"

Mutt made a soft sound in affirmation. He struggled figuring out how to plug the buzzers into the wall, but eventually managed with a triumphant huff of breath. He turned back to me, clippers held aloft, waiting patiently.

"Just do it," I said, ducking my head a little. I stared at my bare knees. There were less scars on my legs, only smatterings of copper leg hair. I was glad. Because summers got fucking hot, no matter where we went, and I could get away with long sleeves—because I was fair skinned and could claim I was hiding from the sun—but pants would've been too suspicious.

Mutt had seen it all though.

He'd seen it all and he still called me beautiful.

"Hair grows," he said softly, giving me another minute to change my mind as the whirr of the blade echoed through the room.

"It does," I agreed, because he was right.

Hair grows.

And time heals all wounds.

And maybe I had to shave it now—but that didn't mean I couldn't just grow it out again. It hurt, yes, because most things I'd done because of Lydia did. But somehow…it didn't hurt as much as I'd expected.

Mutt laid a hand on my shoulder, keeping me steady as he took the clippers to the back of my hair first.

He was awful.

So fucking awful. He kept bonking me, and apologizing, and then bonking me again. But it was…kinda the best haircut I'd ever had? Regardless. Normally when people touched me like this, my skin would crawl, and I'd hold impossibly still, careful not to flinch. There was nothing professional about any of this, but the brush of Mutt's warm fingers was soothing, rather than abrasive.

And I melted into the gentle buzz as my eyes drifted shut and he worked his way through my hair, clumps of auburn falling to the floor.

By the time he was done, I'd been lulled into a sense of calm that I'd rarely felt. I tipped my head up, head lighter now, the fuzziness prickling at my neck. "Can I use your shower?" I asked, because thanking him felt…like too much.

I needed to get my skin the right size again first.

"You can't get the stitches wet," he said, parroting back Theo's warning immediately.

"I won't," I promised. "I'll call you when it's time to do my head."

Mutt looked worried, but he nodded anyway. The muscle at the corner of his jaw jumped as he helped me to my feet—not because I needed help walking, but because he wanted to touch me. I found it kinda ridiculous that there were five werewolves living in this tiny ass house sharing a single bathroom, but…whatever.

Maybe they pissed in the trees? That would make a weird amount of sense.

Also, Mutt was pretty much a permanent fixture at my apartment, so there was that to consider too.

Mutt made sure the water wasn't too hot, fretting to himself about making everything perfect. I heard him muttering under his breath about the temperature–terrified he'd injure my fragile human body more.

And I just…stared at his back, and tried not to fall in love.

And failed.

Miserably.

The hot water was soothing as it pelted my back and the sore muscles there. It washed away the last of the blood, and the sharp bristles from my haircut. And by the time I'd finished scrubbing myself liberally, I felt about a thousand percent better, even sans hair.

The bathroom door opened with a click, letting in a breeze and I snorted out a laugh, not at all surprised when the shower door opened next, and leagues of warm, sweaty muscle pushed against my back.

"Thanks," I said, because it was easier now. Because I could breathe.

Mutt didn't seem offended that it had taken me as long as it had to say the words. He just rumbled, pleased, his thick chest brushing against my back as he reached for the soap and began gingerly running his fingers through my hair. He didn't have the best motor control—probably because he was normally in dog form, but he did well enough.

It wasn't until we'd rinsed out the soap, and I turned around to return the favor that I saw what he'd done.

"You—" My words dried up, my eyes burning as I stared up at him. The stitches on my head tugged a little as I moved, but I barely felt a thing.

How could I?

When Mutt was towering over me, and there were hair shavings on his shoulders—and he'd—he'd?—

"You shaved your head," I said, voice cracking.

"Hair grows," he repeated, eyes dancing. "We can grow together."

I kissed him then.

I kissed him and he tasted like forgiveness. He was warm, and lovely—and tingles zapped up and down my spine as our tongues met. His kiss was sloppy and wet, like he'd never done it before, even though I knew he had. He licked behind my teeth and along my palate, just to feel me—and I groaned, fingers biting into his hips for stability.

Lydia had taught me that compliments were only used to manipulate.

She'd taught me that there was no such thing as a white knight.

She'd conditioned me to expect punishment for failure.

She proved that people were bad, and shouldn't be trusted.

She'd shown me a dark, ugly side to the world.

And Mutt…beautiful, sweet, lovely Mutt, was making her into a liar.