10. Mika

MIKA

Irummage through the cabinet under the kitchen sink, my hands trembling slightly as my fingers close around the dusty old bottle of whiskey I know is hiding there. God, it feels like I"ve been holding my breath for years. Silas"s agreement is the first gasp of air I"ve had in ages. My fingers aren"t cooperating, fumbling with the stubborn cap. I finally get it open and pour two hefty glasses. We're definitely gonna need them. Actually, I think we might need this whole bottle.

With mismatched glasses in hand and a bottle under my arm, I stroll into the living room, setting it all on the chunk of wood that stands in for a coffee table while Silas moves back to the couch to join me.

I think about the story I"m about to tell. It"s been so long since I"ve trusted anyone enough to share the full extent of my nightmare. But something about this man—something about his eyes—makes me believe that under that rough exterior, he's a good man, and that he might even be able to help me end this.

Silas takes his glass from my outstretched hand, his fingers briefly brushing mine. It"s a small gesture, but it feels like an unspoken promise. I swallow hard, then take a long sip of whiskey, letting the burn steady me. Here goes nothing.

"His name is Henry Richards," I begin, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "At least, that"s the name he does business by. I met him a few years ago, back when I was living in New York. I was working as a receptionist at a small law firm. He was one of our clients, always coming in and acting like the most charming guy alive. Everyone trusted him because, well, why wouldn"t they? But I saw through his charm the moment I looked into his eyes. Predator's eyes."

Silas leans forward, his attention laser-focused. "What kind of business was he in?"

I take another gulp, the liquid courage mixing with my fear. "Real estate, mostly. Or at least that's what he claimed. I didn't really know the extent of it beyond the surface-level transactions. But there was always something off about him, something that didn't sit right in my gut. You know that feeling when you just know someone is bad news?" I glance at Silas, who nods back, eyes darkening with understanding.

"Yeah," he says, his voice gravelly. "I know that feeling all too well."

I take a deep breath and continue, "It started harmless enough. He"d stop by my desk, make small talk, bring me coffee. Then one day, he asked me out for dinner. I declined, of course, but he didn"t take no for an answer. It was subtle at first—flowers on my desk, notes slipped into my purse. Then it escalated. He"d show up outside my apartment, send me gifts I never wanted, find ways to insert himself into my life." My voice cracks, and I"m grateful for the whiskey"s numbing effect.

Silas"s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching near his temple. "And this went on for how long?"

"Months," I admit, my grip tightening around the glass. "I was afraid at first to go to the cops at first. I didn't want to risk losing my job, and he hadn't done anything they'd consider threatening enough to give me a restraining order. But then one night, I came home to find my apartment ransacked. Nothing was taken, but... everything was moved. Like he wanted me to know he'd been there." The memories flood back, each one sharper and more painful than the last. "I went to the police then, filed restraining orders, but nothing worked and I knew I couldn't stay in New York anymore.

Silas leans back, a dark look settling on his face. "So, you ran."

"Yeah," I say, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "I ran. Changed my name, cut ties with everyone I knew, only took jobs that paid cash. I thought I could stay ahead of him." My fingers drum against the glass in a nervous rhythm. "But he"s always one step ahead, always finding me. I'm exhausted, Silas. I can"t keep living like this."

Silas"s piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, and I swear I see them flash a bright amber for just a second. Maybe it"s the low light or the whiskey playing tricks on me. I blink, and the moment"s gone.

"Anyway, that"s the whole secret. It's why I came out here," I say, downing the last of my whiskey and reaching again for the bottle. "I thought if I hid in the middle of nowhere, he"d finally give up." I pour myself another glass and offer to top up Silas's, but he refuses with a lifted hand. "But deep down, I know he won"t quit. He"ll find me eventually, and I'm afraid of what he"ll do when he does."

Silas's jaw tightens, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "He's not going to find you here, Mika. Not while I'm around." His voice is low, gravelly, and I can tell he means every word.

"Easy to say," I mutter, swirling the whiskey around in my glass. The liquid catches the dim light, reflecting my muddled thoughts. "But you don't know him like I do. He's relentless."

When I lift my eyes to him, I can't help but notice the way his muscles ripple under his shirt, the rugged handsomeness of his features, the intensity in his eyes. There"s something magnetic about him, something that draws me in despite the fear that still lingers in the back of my mind, telling me I shouldn't be trusting anyone.

Silas's lips curl into a half-smile, but it's more grim than reassuring. "Relentless doesn't scare me, Mika. Hell, I invented relentless." He leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. "Besides, you're not fighting this alone anymore."

"I don't have any money to pay you," I whisper, taking another sip from my glass.

Silas bounces his shoulder dismissively. "I don't want your money, sweetheart. Some things…" He pauses, as if he's trying to weigh each word carefully. "...are worth more than cash. Like seeing that bastard get what"s coming to him." His eyes darken, a storm brewing behind those blue depths, and I know he means it. "The club's got resources, and we take care of our own. You're under our protection now."

Relief washes over me, an unexpected wave that leaves me feeling light-headed. For the first time in years, I allow myself to believe I might actually have a chance here. My fingers loosen their death grip on the glass, and I set it down gently.

"Thank you, Silas. Really." The words feel inadequate for the weight they carry. I try to smile, but it wobbles, half-formed and fragile. "The least I can do is make us some dinner. I'm a pretty decent cook, you know."

He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint breaking through his stern exterior. "You don"t have to do that, Mika," he says, but I"m already on my feet. I need to do something with this restless energy. The kitchen's small, but it has the basics—pots, pans, and a fridge that hums quietly in the corner. I start rummaging through the cabinets, scouting out anything I can use.

Silas stands up, following me with that easy grace he seems to have mastered. He leans against the counter, watching me with a curious mix of amusement and concern. "Need some help?"

"Ah, no. I've got it." I dig out a bag of rice, some canned beans, and a few spices. My mind races with potential recipes as I turn a little too quickly, the bag of rice slipping from my hands and exploding on the floor like a tiny avalanche. Rice scatters everywhere, cascading over my feet and bouncing into every corner of the cramped kitchen.

"Oh, crap," I mutter, dropping to my knees as if I can somehow scoop it all back into the bag with sheer willpower. The absurdity of it all—trying to pick up each grain of rice, the sheer futility of the task—hits me like a sucker punch. A lump forms in my throat, and before I can stop it, hot tears spill down my cheeks.

Silas is in front of me in an instant. His strong, warm hands wrap gently around my arms, pulling me up from the floor and into his arms. "It's OK, sweetheart," he says softly, a strange contrast to the rugged toughness in his voice. "You're safe now."

I collapse against his chest, the weight of years of running and hiding crashing down on me all at once. It's not the spilled rice that broke me—it's the realization that I'm not alone anymore. The scent of leather and a faint hint of motor oil clings to him, grounding me, reminding me that he's real, that this moment is real. I clutch at his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric as if it's the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity. My sobs are raw, ugly, a catharsis I didn't know I needed.

Silas's hands rub soothing circles on my back, each stroke melting a little more of the tension away. I can feel his breath against my hair, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. "You're doing great," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "Just let it all out."

"I don't even know why I'm crying," I manage to choke out between sobs, the words catching in my throat like jagged rocks. "It's just rice."

He tilts my chin up gently, forcing me to look into his eyes. Those blue depths are softer now, almost tender. "It's not just rice, Mika. It's everything you've been holding in. It's everything you've survived until now."

I blink up at him, my vision blurry with tears. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he's seeing right through me, peeling back the layers of fear and doubt to reveal the raw nerve endings beneath. For a moment, we just stand there, locked in this private bubble of vulnerability and unspoken truths. His thumb brushes away a stray tear from my cheek, and I swear the world narrows down to just the space between us.

"Silas…" My voice is barely a whisper, just a wisp of sound that mingles with the silence of the room. His name feels like a lifeline, a tether anchoring me to this moment, to this man who's somehow managed to crack through my tightly woven defenses.

He leans in slightly, his breath warm against my skin. "Mika," he answers back, voice husky and low, and suddenly it's like the air between us is charged, electric. Every nerve in my body is hyper-aware of him, his presence, his touch. My heart races, competing with the wild rhythm of my thoughts.

We stay like that for a beat longer than necessary, just breathing each other in. Then, almost reluctantly, his lips brush against mine—so softly, it"s like a whisper carried on the breeze. It"s tentative, testing the waters, but the spark it ignites is anything but gentle. I gasp against his mouth, and before I can overthink it, my hands are fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Our kiss deepens, turning into something fierce, desperate, almost primal. It's like we're both drowning and this kiss is our only source of air. His hands find my waist, pulling me against him with an urgency that matches my own. Every touch sends a jolt of electricity through my veins, each second stretching into eternity.

Never in my life have I been kissed this way—like he's trying to breathe life back into my broken soul. Silas's hands are everywhere, grounding me and making me feel alive all at once. His thumbs trace soothing circles on my hips as his lips continue their assault, leaving me no room to hide, no space to retreat.

"Damn it, Mika." His voice comes out as a growl as he tears his mouth away from mine. "I can't do this."

"It"s OK," I whisper, my hand still curled around the back of his neck, fingers in his thick hair. "I want this. I want you."

He shakes his head, a pained look in his eyes. "You don"t know what I am. What you"re getting into."

And there it is, that flash in his eyes again. I pull back slightly, confusion and hurt swirling in my chest. "What do you mean?"

"You"re better off not knowing," he mutters, stepping back, putting an agonizing distance between us. His eyes avoid mine as he looks to the windows, his hands raking through his too-long hair. "I should go. The storm has let up enough up so..."

I grab his wrist before he can bolt. "No, wait. You don't get to do that—kiss me like your life depends on it and then run off."

He looks down at where I'm holding him. "Mika, you're safe now. I promise. But right now, you've got to let me go." When his eyes lift to mine, I swear I see it yet again. A flash of bright amber that takes over the blue of his iris and makes me suck in my breath and step away from him. "I'll watch over you."

Before I can process what I just saw or question him further, he turns around and walks out the door. I watch him go, my heart pounding in my chest as I try to make sense of everything that just happened. His kiss, the way he touched me, and the look in his eyes—it all felt so real. And then there were those flashes where his eyes changed color and… No. It can't be. I must have been imagining things.

I push the strange thoughts away and move over to the window like I'm hoping that maybe he's still there. But when I look out, there"s no trace of Silas. Nothing except for the slightest bit of movement in the treeline. And that's when I see it—the giant black wolf, standing at the edge of the clearing, watching the cabin.

Without thinking, I go straight out onto the porch, a warm blanket in hand.

"Hey, big guy," I call out softly. The wolf's head snaps up, and he locks eyes with me. I take a tentative step towards him, the blanket held out in front of me like a peace offering. "I don't know why I think this, but you've got something to do with the biker, right? Like, you two are connected somehow?"

The wolf doesn't move, but he lowers his head submissively and I can't help but let out a slight laugh as I press the flat of my palm to my forehead like it's somehow going to make all of this make sense. "I'm probably going crazy from the stress of running, aren't I? Like, this is some kind of mental break I'm having, and both the biker and you aren't even real." I roll my lips together and let out a sigh. "I am definitely having a mental breakdown, and I should probably seek professional help. Right?"

The wolf lets out a low, rumbling sound that feels like it vibrates through my chest, and when I look up, he's standing right in front of me, meeting my eyes.

"Why do your eyes look like his?" I whisper, as I swallow hard and reach out a hesitant hand to touch the wolf"s fur. The wolf doesn"t move away, instead leaning into my fingers, his warm fur brushing against my hand.

"You"re real," I murmur, still trying to process everything that"s happening. "But you're not…you're not him, right? People and wolves can't... So you can't be." I back away slightly as the wolf continues to study me, as if it understands every word I'm saying. Then I lean forward slightly and whisper, "Silas?"

The wolf does nothing. It simply looks from me to the blanket, then steps back a little and sniffs at the bare wooden planks of my porch.

"Oh, you want me to lay this out for you?" I ask, picking up on the subtle cue. The wolf seems to nod its head, and I quickly spread the blanket out on the porch for it. It hops onto the blanket, turns in a circle and then lies down, making itself comfortable with a gentle huff.

"OK. So there's a giant wolf taking a nap on my porch." I let out a sigh, rubbing my head again as I look at the massive wolf curled up on my blanket. "And you're not Silas—I don't know why I ever thought that. That kind of thing only exists in stories." I rest my weight against the cabin's exterior wall. "But what am I now? Snow White? God. This is all so messed up," I mutter, shaking my head. "But you know what? I do feel safer knowing you're here. And if by some wild coincidence it is because of Silas that you're here, tell him I said thanks—not that you can talk or anything, but you get my drift. Or you don't. God. Maybe I am going crazy."

The wolf doesn't move, just continues breathing deep like it's trying to go to sleep, and I feel a bit silly talking to a wild animal like this. So I just tell it good night and retreat back inside my cabin.

As I close the door behind me, I can"t shake off the feeling that something strange is going on. A biker coming to my rescue and a wolf lying on my porch, acting like a dog wanting affection in the space of one afternoon—it"s just not normal. But then again, neither is my situation. And believe it or not, there"s something oddly comforting about having this big furry protector lurking outside my door. For once when I get into bed, I don"t feel alone or scared. Instead, I feel a strange sense of peace washing over me. And for the first time in a long while, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I'm not alone anymore.